MJcMRLF *B 2S1 ^El AS THE LARKS RISE AS THE LARKS RISE BY THEODOSIA GARRISON AUTHOR OP "the JOT o' LIFE," "tHE EARTH CKT' AND "the dreamers'* ^ G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS NEW YOKK AND LONDON ^be •Rnicfterbocfter pre00 192 1 Copyright. 1921 BY G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS ^% Printed in the United States of America To MY FATHER 4SS751 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/aslarksriseOOgarrrich For the privilege of reprinting the poems included in this volume the author thanks the Editors of Everybody's, Harper's, Scrihner's, The Century, Good Housekeeping, The Smart Set, The Delineator, McClure's, Woman's Magazine, Red Cross Magazine, Ainslee's, Collier's Weekly, Poetry, and The Independent, CONTENTS PAGE As THE Larks Rise .... 3 The Keepers of the Light 4 The Coward 5 The Easter Angel 7 November . 8 The Answer 10 Little Convent Songs 11 The Kerry Lads . 13 The Empty Room 14 Mary, the Mother . . 16 Memorial Day . 18 The Better Part 20 Spinsters . 22 The Martyr 24 ix] CONTENTS The Free Woman I HAVE Grown Tired of a Harlequin Laughs An Old Poet Her Heaven Success Pierrette . A Certain Joy Cophetua's Queen The Hosts of Mary . At the Road's End Good-bye, My Youth . One Wife . The House in Trouble The Healed Ones Love Speaks to Time Ruins .... Boots and Shoes . The Shepherd Who Stayed [x] Tree CONTENTS PAGE A Mood 58 The Windows 59 Signs ..... 61 The Father 62 A Ballad of Easter . 63 Gratitude . 65 Love Songs 66 St. Cecilia's Choir 67 The House in Order . . 70 The Conqueror . 72 The Rebuilders 73 The Place of Dreams 75 Judgment . 77 The Stranger 78 Mors Benigna . 79 A Voice at the Door . 81 The Lyric . 83 Giants 86 The Master of the House 87 [xi] CONTENTS PAGE The Like o' Him • 91 How Many Women . 93 Blighty ..... • 94 The Storm .... . 96 Gardens ..... . 98 Herself ..... 100 The Witch- Wife 102 Those Who Went First 105 The Soul of Jeanne d'Arc 107 The Jilted no The Years III The Sea Bride .... 112 The Wishes .... 116 A Wedding Song . . . . 118 Xll AS THE LARKS RISE [1 AS THE LARKS RISE \T0 gypsy born of the old, true blood -^ ' Dies between walls of stone or wood; They are too courteous to Death To bid him come for that last breath Through a low door to a mean space Unfitted to his rank and grace. But when their hour is come to die They room between the ground and sky; On shore or meadow, hill or heath They wait the gracious hand of Death; From a free place to open skies They rise with him as the larks rise. God grant that in no narrow room Death peers at me through curtained gloom; But somewhere in the first, fresh dawn Green be the hill I lie upon, And let Death come to me as one With the wind and the dew and the lifting sun. [3] THE KEEPERS OF THE LIGHT WE are the keepers of that steadfast light That guides a people's course and destiny ; Not ours the skill directing over sea The mighty beams that blaze the path aright ; Ours but the hands that, serving, keep it bright, The bringers of the oil, the workers we Who day long, without pause and faithfully, Toil that its radiance may pierce the night. Above us are the wills that guide and turn; It is not ours to watch nor question these, — Ours but to see each wick is trimmed and fit Lest on a night of storms it fails to burn And a Great Ship goes down in awful seas. O, Keepers of the light, keep faith with it ! [4] THE COWARD f MUST be off and a long time gone before •^ the Spring comes back; Before the last snow thaws and dries, before the first bird sings — Before me heart's the like of a hare with yelpin' hounds on its track, With the old sounds and the old sights and the liftin' of new-fledged wings. I must be gone and a long way off before the Spring comes on; Before the hedges are comin' green the ways that we used to go. 'Tis bad enough on a winter's night for a lad to sit be his lone. But I'm dreadin' the time when Phelin's pipes call up from the glen below. I must be off and a long time gone, and there's no one to bid me stay, And she and the man of her choice may laugh at seein' a fool depart. [5] THE COWARD I must be off and a long way off before Spring comes this way, Before the sight of a child of hers would tear the chords of me heart. THE EASTER ANGEL TnWO angels were in Mary's life; •■• One came when she was young, When the fields of Spring were blossoming And the birds of morning sung. In a green garden between folded wings He gave her heart the promise that was Spring's. Two angels were in Mary's life; One came when she was old. She sought her son on an Easter dawn In a carven tomb and cold, And lo ! one stood before her there who said . * ' Rejoice, rejoice ! He lives and is not dead ! ' ' Two angels were in Mary's life; The second loved she best. God grant this day he comes to stay Each heart that, grief-possessed, May turn to sudden rapture at the voice That cries: "Thy dead have never died — Rejoice!" [7] NOVEMBER NTOVEMBER is a spinster who never had -^ ^ a lover ! All her pretty sisters have sweethearts by the score, Wilful April, singing June with roses wreathed above her And the gypsy girl October flaming out from brake and cover ; But a gaunt, gray spinster is November evermore. Brown earth beneath her feet, dull skies above her, Not a flower anywhere nor any wings to start, November is a spinster who never had a lover — But when you see her sunsets you look into her heart. [8] NOVEMBER I have loved her sisters, I have praised their graces, But in gaunt, grim November I find a better thing — A grief that asks no comforting, a heart that seeks no praises. I'd rather have her courage than all their pretty faces. Her honest, blunt assurance, than the promises of Spring. Brown earth beneath her feet, bare boughs above her. Walking through the empty fields, silent and apart, November is a spinster who never had a lover — And only through her sunsets you look into her heart. 9] THE ANSWER A LWAYS laughin' she was — havin' her joke **"*" and singin' — Her heart the Hke of a fountain where joy was dancin' and springin' ; And ourselves by the fire would say, "She's stretchin' her hand to sorrow — God save the child from the trouble, the trouble that comes tomorrow ! " Always happy she was — and happy it was Death found her In the place that she loved the best, with the arms of love around her. And ours is the answered prayer who were askin' against her sorrow. God saved the child from the trouble, the trouble that comes tomorrow ! 10 LITTLE CONVENT SONGS I DO not understand the Saints — -■■ They care no more for my complaints Or wistful prayers I bring to them Than our stone Mary at the door Cares for the birds that sing and soar And light about her garment's hem. She does not care, — but yesterday I placed some crumbs there — carefully — Perhaps some time, in some such way. An answered prayer may come to me. II When Father Martin talks to us We sit up straight with careful eyes, Like soldiers taking orders from A Captain very stern and wise, fill LITTLE CONVENT SONGS But oh, when Father Clement talks, It seems as though he led one through An open door to Some One there Who takes your hand and smiles at you. Ill When Sister Mary- Joseph sings Something besides her voice sings, too ; But far away behind closed doors That bar and will not let it through. She sings of calm and holy things — I wish I could not hear at all That other voice which beats its wings And sobs and cries against the wall. [12] THE KERRY LADS ly 4Y eyes were all too wary, ^^^ My heart was none too gay Until the lads from Kerry Came tramping through this way And lodged about the village And helped us with the hay. The lads that come from Kerry Are not like lads at home ; They show you where the fairie Dance circles on the loam And tell old tales and sing old songs That lift your heart like foam. The lads that come from Kerry. They never stay for long ; But oh, their mouths are merry ! And oh, their arms are strong ! And what's a careless kiss or so To one remembered song ? [131 THE EMPTY ROOM /^H, little room that knew such light and ^^ cheer V/hen she was here; That held as any love-locked garden might, The rose that was her presence night and night, What are you now but four poor walls that press About mere emptiness — A garden devastated, through whose door Joy enters in no more? Oh, little room left chill and desolate, I wonder if you wait Long day by day to hear again the sweet And yearned-for sound of her returning feet Upon your threshold, — waiting for that one Whose coming brings the sun And light and fragrance, — all your banished bloom. Oh, little lonely room ! [14] THE EMPTY ROOM Oh, little lonely room, so warm and dear When she was here. You that her love made beautiful! I, too, Must share this want with you. Seeing I close in silence, for my part, An empty heart Filled one day with the very joy of her. Oh, little room, my heart is lonelier! 15] MARY, THE MOTHER WHAT is the great light falHng through the door?" TheHghtof a white star shining Hke the sun ! "I will hide His eyes," she said, ''covering them o'er Lest the sight should harm Him, my little, helpless one!" "What is the great sound ever drawing near? " The sound of singing voices in a vast wind's sweep ! " I will hold Him close," she said, " so He may not hear. So these may not wake Him in His first, sweet sleep!" Her bright hair covered Him between her breast and arm; "So my care shall cover Him from all unhappy things, [16] MARY, THE MOTHER I shall be His shield," she said, ''between the world and harm!" And nearer, ever nearer, drew angels, shepherds, kings. Low laughed Mary among the drowsing kine : '* Mine and mine alone He is, by all my love possessed!" And even as against His cheek she whispered, "Mine," and "Mine! " Heaven came in, the world came in and claimed Him at her breast. 17 MEMORIAL DAY A HANDFUL of old men walking down '**' the village street In worn, brushed uniforms, their gray heads high ; A faded flag above them, one drum to lift their feet — Look again, heart of miney and see what passes by! There's a vast crowd swaying, there's a wild band playing. The streets are full of marching men, of tramping cavalry. Alive and young and straight again, they ride to greet a mate again — The gallant souls, the great souls that live eternally ! A handful of old men walking down the highways? [181 MEMORIAL DAY Nay, we look on heroes that march among their peers, The great, glad Companies have swung from heaven's byways And come to join their own again across the dusty years. There are strong hands meeting, there are staunch hearts greeting — A crying of remembered names, of deeds that shall not die. A handful of old men? — Nay, my heart, look well again ; The spirit of America today is marching by! [10] THE BETTER PART rH, but the days when I was young and ■"-^ Phelan's Molly would none of me — And little blame to herself, God knows, for I was the moon-struck calf, Blushin' up to me hair I was times she'd be havin' her fun of me, And me heart the like of a rushin' wave to be breakin' against her laugh ! Faith, I went in misery, and sorrow walked beside me. Yet here's the truth I'm tellin' you — I'd give me ease today To feel the heart-thrust in me for all that love denied me. For 'tis better to be in love and sad than be merry when pipers play. Eh, but the days when I was yOung and for all I laugh at the thought of it, [201 THE BETTER PART Of the times I went like a crazy thing and the nights that I lay awake! Little I guessed I'd know today the wisdom that last I bought of it — 'Tis unhappier far to be old and at ease than to sorrow for loving's sake. Glad enough am I today that Molly would have none of me, (And she three years the older one the time you come to think.) But here's the truth I'm owing her since age has had the run of me — *Tis better to be unhappy in love than merry with fiddles and drink! 21] SPINSTERS OHE sang of Love so loud and long ^ That when one day he came to call She was so busy with her song She did not hear him knock at all ; And as he left, unrecognized, He looked exceedingly surprised. II Searching for Love, the distance o'er She scanned the high and starry way, And never knew that by her door He greeted her, say, thrice a day, Because he wore, ah ! hapless one, The aspect of her neighbour's son. Ill About her everywhere she saw Love's double breaking love and law, [221 SPINSTERS So when at last, Himself, he came She gave him that impostor's name And told him such unpleasant things He went away with drooping wings. IV She made her House of Life so trim, So white and starched, so neatly prim, She would not let Love in until He scraped his boots and brushed the sill. Hence, after much vain argument Before the entry door — he went. 23 THE MARTYR A FLAME above his cradle hung — •**■ A flame no earthly torch had lit — And even as his cradle swung His eyes would follow it. And older, as he bent to turn The book that held his heart, behold ! The shadow of a flame would bum Across its page like gold. And men reviled him in those days, When from old creeds and tenets grim He turned to follow through strange ways The flame that beckoned him ; That flame that never burned above The tall cathedral spire, but stood Above that outcast flock his love Had made a brotherhood. [24] THE MARTYR And when before his judges flung, Daring their council to be meek, The Hve flame fell on Hps and tongue And, burning, bade him speak. Hence, one day glorious with grace. Men led him with bell, book, and prayer Out to the crowded market-place Where the heaped faggots were. And lol he saw his flame — his flame, Spring from the pile men's torches lit. Exultant to its light he came. And gave himself to it. [25] THE FREE WOMAN W70MEN who do not love are free; ^^ All day their thoughts go carelessly. I know they do not fear at all When the nights come and the snows fall. But those who love — their thoughts must trace All day the well-beloved face, And they are fearful and grow chill At the snow's fall and the night's ill. And they would fire their hearts to burn Like a bright light at the road's turn, And flay their souls to keep him warm In the cold night and the white storm. Surely I may be glad that I Softly a night of storms may lie, For I have watched a woman's face A black night at a window's space. [261 THE FREE WOMAN Surely I should be happier, Nor envy — envy — envy her ; But I have heard the word she spoke In her man's arms as the dawn broke. 27 I HAVE GROWN TIRED OF A TREE f HAVE grown tired of a tree, *- And had a mountain weary me As might some guest who stays too long After the feasting and the song ; But I have never tired at all Of the city's ceaseless carnival, Or mountains made of brick and stone, Raised by the hands of man alone. I have been weary by the sea, But never where humanity Surges like some deep tide that beats Day-long against the city streets; Better than gardens Spring-endowed, The hundred faces of a crowd. Each with its history that lies Clear-writ between the mouth and eyes. God made some lives for silent places. And some for tumult and men's faces. And some find peace in flower and herb, And some on a crowded, city curb. [28] HARLEQUIN LAUGHS IF we one day had guessed how death •■' Would claim at last our Harlequin — He to whom laughter was as breath, He of the lifted brow and chin And eyes that seemed as though just turned From pages where a love-song burned. One would have doubtless said, " Some night, Blown on the Carnival's high gust, His life will go out like a light Between a kiss and dagger- thrust, And his fantastic ghost will rise With a black mask across its eyes." Or one might say, "Some Springtime dawn Will find him, in all certainty, Full-flung upon a dewy lawn Beneath a rose-hung balcony. Lips curving in a song struck mute, And at his side a broken lute." [291 HARLEQUIN LAUGHS Or say, "Upon a raft at sea, Careless if death come late or soon. So he but end the rhapsody He sings to the complacent moon, Saluting with his finger-tips Till the last ripple strikes his lips." O well-beloved ghost, what chance Is yours to make the answer due? There is an unnamed grave in France That in its silence speaks for you — The soldier's grave you fought and died to win. . . . Laugh — but laugh gently at us, Harlequin! 30 AN OLD POET I ONG since his song was broken by weight ''— ' of toil and tears, The loveHness unspoken lost in the mist of years. Is joy his part, or sadness, when now against the skies. Like notes from a choir of gladness, the new songs soar and rise? Voices of youth, with dower of dawn and life and mirth. With that exultant power that lifts the song from earth. Does he, grown old and tired, grieving, recall that one Morn when he too aspired to reach the very sun? [311 AN OLD POET Or does he hear, rejoicing, that though his lips are sealed, These vibrant hearts are voicing his vision unrevealed? God grant to him is given this joy what time youth sings, So well assured of heaven, so confident of wings. S2] HER HEAVEN 1 SHALL be young again — and pretty enough To make the saints smile at me as I pass With swift, white feet across the heavenly grass. I shall be gay and careless, and my heart, Forever like some hidden bird, shall sing Of some approaching and most lovely thing. Surely, a thought absurd, unorthodox, To enter through an office door, or come Grotesquely, as the subway crowds rush home. There is a mirror in my lodging-house Stained here and there with lines like slanting rain. That shows a woman neat and tired and plain. But in that mirror that no other sees I watch sometimes the girl in Paradise, — Pretty — and young — with laughter in her eyes. [33] SUCCESS VV/HEN Love and I came out of the night ^^ To the wind and the sun and the high bird's call, With the highroad before us wide and white, He did not heed me at all. He loosed my hand to salute the day ; He was one with the wind and the soaring lark. He called me to follow along the way — We had walked so close in the dark ! [34] PIERRETTE ALL his gallant youth he gave to love them, Reverenced and honoured not a few, Blue eyes — black eyes — how he bent above them, Tender, almost true. Woman in her glory and completeness, This his sum of knowledge and of joys. Knew her moods, her vanities, her sweetness. As a child his toys. Ever through his heart the sweet progression Made its never-ending wilful way, Strange of all that varied, vain procession One alone might stay. Nay — I know, for yesterday I drew him From his cherished books and cameos, To the garden where the slow wind threw him A welcome from its rose. [351 PIERRETTE Just an old man now who in his garden, Bends and lingers by the blossomed throng, A little sadly, — as though asking pardon For being old so long. And as his tremulous, white fingers righted One rose that bent from out its sister-band, A white-winged butterfly — bewildered — lighted A moment on his hand. Just a moment and as quickly vanished, But he stood, his hand extended yet, And with that gallant smile the years had banished Said one name, '"Pierrette!" That was all — no other word — no story. We paced the garden till the West was red. Yet in that instant all Youth's flame and glory Sprang from the ashes dead. Strange that a heart wherein so much had perished. Where many loves had lingered but to die. Of all the dear — the beautiful — but cherished Pierrette — a butterfly. f36l PIERRETTE And so I think of all who stand to greet him, When Death may lead him where his own are met, But one alone shall laugh and run to meet him, But one alone — Pierrette. [37] A CERTAIN JOY A CERTAIN joy unto my window-sill ^^ Came singing through the morning yesterday. I scarce dared smile, so still I sat, so still — Yet did it fly away. There, when my red-cheeked neighbour opposite Had spread — ah! craftily — her rose-hid snare, So still I sat, I heard her loud delight, What time she trapped it there. The night comes on — I ponder many things — Ah ! better far that joy should fly away Than hold it thus with bruised and broken wings, And, crippled, bid it stay. [38] COPHETUA'S QUEEN ly^Y neck was never bowed before I hung a '*'^* jewel on it, My hands were always free until I weighted them with rings. Till I found the golden robe and the pride to don it, Till I wore the silken shoon with their silver strings, I ran free and ragged with the world's wild things. Yet honour is a jewel, and one is proud to bear it. And duty makes the rings I wear and one would keep them bright, A King's love is a golden robe and glad am I to wear it. And I must walk in careful paths to keep my shoon aright. / wonder how the brook would feel to naked feet tonight ! [391 THE HOSTS OF MARY OHE came unto a great tree ^ With low boughs and fair, Out of the hard road And the noon's glare; The cool shade encircled her Like kind arms there. She came unto a still brook In a green place ; There did she wash the dust From her sweet face, There did she stoop and drink, And rest a space. The great tree, the little brook — Kind hosts were they ; Think you she thought of them At end of day, When from the inn's closed door She turned away ? [40] AT THE ROAD'S END COMETIMES the road was a twisted riddle ^ Where one might stray for a crooked mile, But O, she danced to the pipes and fiddle Most of the while, most of the while. Sometimes the wind and the rain together Blurred the hill that she needs must climb, But O, she tripped it in primrose weather Most of the time, most of the time. Who may say that the journey tried her? Never a Romany went as gay. Seeing that true love walked beside her All of the way, all of the way. [41] GOOD-BYE, MY YOUTH /^OME a little nearer! Now we part, ^^ Why should you seem dearer to my heart ? Troublesome, unruly, discontent — Were you ever truly heaven-sent ? Made of grief and blisses, hopes and fears, I have known your kisses and your tears. Joy, when joy compelled you, day by day; Grief, when duty held you from your way. Every fancy wooing, false or true; Every wind pursuing — that is you. Now the years grow riper — why romance? Child, we owe the piper for this dance. Yours is all the riot, pipes and drums — Now I long for quiet; evening comes. [421 GOOD-BYE, MY YOUTH Evening and candlelight, — I claim my due. Here by the hearth-flame bright, good-bye to you. Go you where dreamland lies for girls and boys; Where vanished butterflies still have their joys. Wanton, tonight we part, with little ruth; Yet — once more to my heart! Good-bye, my youth! 43] ONE WIFE CHE knows the length of hell, ^ The space between The bland clock ticking on the mantel there And the window screen. She knows the look of hell, The empty street That holds no form, no shadow and no sound Of stumbling feet. She knows the light of hell, The first grey dawn That tells the fading lamp, the dying hope That night has gone. [44] THE HOUSE IN TROUBLE A S we rode through the village, the houses '^*' every one Were open to the west wind and merry with the sun ; All except the one house, shuttered from the day, Like a soul in sorrow who hides his face away. As we rode past the village it would not quit my mind — The little house in trouble that we had left behind ; Smoke lifted from the chimney, but the closed door cried, "Oh, hurry by, oh, hurry by, nor seek the grief I hide." O little house in trouble, when back again I ride, God grant I see your windows shine, your door flung wide, [451 THE HOUSE IN TROUBLE And all your new-grown garden tremulous with Spring, Like a face that smiles again through peace of comforting. [46] THE HEALED ONES CHOULD I win to paradise (since even ^ sinners enter there) , I shall not seek the high saints with crown and aureole, But I shall find the humble ones, the healed ones, that centre there, Who followed through all gratitude the love that made them whole. He who once was blind shall tell me of his sight again, Tell me of the glory that flooded land and sea, When across his opened eyes surged in golden light again The yellow sands — the blue waves — the sun of Galilee. I shall not seek the martyrs, the staunch souls victorious, Those who won to ecstasy from faggot and from rod ; [47] THE HEALED ONES But I shall seek the simple folk in no fashion glorious, The broken straws of mankind that proved the winds of God. He who once was dumb shall tell me his first word again; He who long was helpless shall tell his joy to me When first his bonds were broken and his bound limbs stirred again — He shall tell me of the word and touch that made him free. Never saint nor martyr, when heaven opened wide to him, Knew a greater joy than these whom I shall seek therefore; And a little lad shall tell me what first his mother cried to him, When he who limped out sighing, ran shout- ing through the door. 48] LOVE SPEAKS TO TIME V/OU shall have all my vanities : * The curl and colour of my hair, The hundred happy coquetries, The rose-hued gowns I love to wear. Perhaps I shall not greatly care. Or, caring, mourn them but a day ; But oh ! this joy, this joy of mine — May this not stay ? You shall take laughter's clearest note. The very dancing from my feet, The warmth and whiteness of my throat- I shall not tremble when we meet Save for this joy of mine, this sweet Rose of delight I close away Within my inmost heart. O Time, May this not stay? You shall have all that women prize : The little things of loveliness, 4 [49] LOVE SPEAKS TO TIME The very blue from my two eyes. I would not stay your hand with less- But oh ! my singing happiness, The joy that lights my life today ! You shall have all my vanities — May this not stay? 50 RUINS A BOUT the time the Shakespeare Club •**■ fell through For lack of members — then the movies came And woke the town up . Look at Judson 's Hall That never had a crowd before (except The time the Elks here gave their minstrel show) And now it's packed from eight till half -past ten. The people drive in from the outside farms, Mill-hands and servant girls and half -grown boys With giggling girls, — the usual movie crowd You'll find in any town, with kids as thick As flies about the windows and the doors. I take them in sometimes — to please myself. Last night, between a comic and a play They slipped a reel in, "Ruins of Old Rome." [51] RUINS Not much to look at, — broken pillars, big Ungainly piles, stone buildings looking like A court-house in the earthquake zone, and some Statues in bad condition. Well, I yawned Until I saw a man in front of me — A big, stoop-shouldered fellow, none too young. Soft collar and soft hat — you know the kind. Dopey, I called him, for he never laughed At any of the comics. But when these Pictures of broken things came on, he sat A little forward in his chair, and stared ; And once I heard him groan — so — through his teeth — Just once, and on the hand that gripped his knee I knew his knuckles whitened. He got up And shambled out before the show was through. [52] RUINS I asked Ed Stevens who he was. He said, "Oh, that's Jim Andrews on the Eagle here. He draws cartoons, writes jingles now and then. Fills in the humour column when they're short, — That sort of thing. They say that once he tried To be an artist, the real thing, you know, — Studied in Europe and all that, and failed. And came back broke. Lives with his old maid aunt Who keeps the boarding-house on Market Street. The boys say he's an artist, though, all right At one thing" — and Ed winked. "Step in the bar," He said. "He'll be there till Joe closes up." We went and had our beer. The place was full Of smoke and oaths and smells and talk and noise. And men that roared out jokes and stamped and laughed. [53] RUINS Jim Andrews had a table to himself, Back in the shadow, close beside the wall. Nobody seemed to look or speak to him. Once in a while Joe went and filled his glass, And Andrews nodded, — that was all. He sat, His hat pushed down until it hid his eyes. His elbows on the table and his chin In his cupped hands. He sat there in the smoke, A gilt girl advertising someone's beer Over his head. "He's got a grouch for fair Tonight," Ed said. "We'd better let him be." We went out in the night and left him there. [54 BOOTS AND SHOES rAME hung me a crown on the mountain top •■■ Where the strongest eagles soar. I had only to climb to make it mine — Only that — no more; But Happiness left a pair of shoes — Dancing-shoes — at my door. Oh, the way is rough to the mountain top, And the dancing green is fair ; And there all day do the fiddles play, And the mountain is gaunt and bare ; And one has blood on his hob-nailed boots, Ere he gains the summit there. Happiness left me dancing-shoes, Tasselled and trim and neat ; And the fiddles play and the dancers sway And my partner's face is sweet. There's time enough for a lad to climb With hob-nailed boots on his feet. [551 THE SHEPHERD WHO STAYED There are in paradise Souls neither great nor wise. Yet souls who wear no less The Crowns of Faithfulness. MY Master bade me watch the flock by night; My duty was to stay — I do not know What thing my comrades saw in that great Hght. I did not heed the words that bade them go. I know not were they maddened or afraid ; I only know I stayed. The hillside seemed on fire ; I felt the sweep Of wings above my head ; I ran to see If any danger threatened these my sheep. What though I found them folded quietly, What though my brother wept and plucked my sleeve ? — These were not mine to leave. [56] THE SHEPHERD WHO STAYED Thieves in the wood and wolves upon the hill— My duty was to stay. Strange though it be, I had no thought to hold my mates — no will To bid them wait and keep the watch with me, I had not heard that summons they obeyed — I only know I stayed. Perchance they will return upon the dawn With word of Bethlehem and why they went. I only know that, watching here alone, I know a strange content. I have not failed that trust upon me laid — I ask no more — I stayed. [57] A MOOD^ nnODAY there's singing on my lips '■' (And more if one should ask). Today I kiss my finger-tips And curtsy to my task. My heart's a butterfly today, The world a garden blows, With every wind a roundelay And every hour a rose. My soul is vagabond today, A gypsy on the grass Who dances by the King's highway Where solemn coaches pass. Angels of joy whom joy must please. Today my heart hath wings, And 'neath your golden balconies A mirth-mad Pierrot sings. 58 THE WINDOWS THE windows of the little house look down the crooked lane, Windows that are watching like a child's wide eyes, Hopeful in the sunshine and wistful in the rain And anxious in the winter when the blown snow flies. Morning after morning I walk the fields a mile, I go to town and back again — I swing the little gate. But though I lift my face to them the win- dows never smile, They only look above my head and watch, and watch — and wait. Long since my watching ended — the heart- throbs and the care. 'Tis only for the little house I keep its windows bright, [591 THE WINDOWS And sometimes on a May day put a crimson flower there, Or a lamp that burns unshaded on a wild Fall night. [60] SIGNS T^HE city has a million lights ; * They blaze on shops and shows and bars, Through all the blaring, crowded nights They dim the glory of the stars. But in the day, one only sees Dull frames and hoardings where these stood, Unlit by flashing witcheries — Poor things of lettering and wood. And high above the domes and towers. Glowing and glorious and bright, God swings his sign for working hours, — His undimmed, golden sphere of light. Before the door of heaven, the sun ; Before the marts of men, the mean And burned-out lights of Babylon, — And we — bewildered moths — between. [611 W] THE FATHER were such friends, such lovers, she and No door closed ever between mind and mind — And surely I shall love him by and by — This tiniest rival of all humankind. Perhaps no man may ever understand The woman's brooding o'er the child she bore; Yet strange it is that such a little hand Should close so great a door. 62 A BALLAD OF EASTER I HEARD two soldiers talking As they came down the hill — The sombre hill of Calvary, Bleak and black and still. And one said, "The night is late; These thieves take long to die." And one said, ' ' I am sore afraid, And yet I know not why." I heard two women weeping As down the hill they came. And one was like a broken rose, One was like a flame. And one said, **Now men shall rue This deed their hands have done." And one said only through her tears, ''My Son! My Son! My Son!" [63] A BALLAD OF EASTER I heard two angels singing Ere yet the dawn was bright, And they were clad in shining robes, Robes and crowns of light. And one sang, ** Death is vanquished," And one in golden voice Sang, "Love hath conquered, conquered all: O Heaven and Earth, rejoice!" 64 GRATITUDE^ VV/HEN Death at last shall take my hand ^^ and lead me to his gateway dim, There at the threshold I shall pause to make my one request of him. I think that he will smile and say, ' * One mo- ment, then," and I shall run Across that narrow space where Life walks with her face toward the sun ; And I shall say, ' ' I have come back one little moment more to bless And thank you for my splendid years of love and song and happiness ; O, thank you, thank you," I shall say, and kiss my hand, and, happily Run back across that narrow space where Death, benignant, waits for me. 65 LOVE SONGS A S many songs of love there are '**• As green leaves in a summer wood, While yet the autumn is afar And the swift rains are good. And some leaves fall in any storm And some dance lightly East and West ; But some — ah, some cling soft and warm About a nest. 66 ST. CECILIA'S CHOIR « T^HE little neighbour led me in, across the •■• class-room, up the stairs. Into that very room so long the centre of my daring prayers. For there at the piano sat he who might grant my heart's desire, That Fate who judged the voices fit to sing in St. Cecilia's choir. To sing in St. Cecilia's choir — that meant to rise in starched state, And sing while all the church admired, with dignitaries forced to wait. That meant rehearsals — lovely things, and late hours sanctioned by one's sire, And ice-cream festivals whereat would chant the St. Cecilia choir. And I who knew nor time nor key, nor when to stop, nor when to start, — [671 ST. CECILIA'S CHOIR The object of a brother's scorn, the anguish of a parent's heart — I, tuneless, toneless, even I, dared through sheer longing to aspire To sit among those fifty mates that made the St. Cecilia choir. And he — that judge who held my fate — I saw him as I see him now : The rough, white hair, the heavy form, the eyes beneath the generous brow. I stood as any peasant might before Apollo and his lyre ; He glanced and struck a note, and I — I tried for St. Cecilia's choir. My face was flame, my feet were ice, my heart one passionate appeal ; I tried so hard to follow him — this Master of my woe or weal ; He struck another note — and frowned; then wheeled about — O, portent dire ! — And looked her through — this imp who dared to dream of St. Cecilia's choir! Perhaps he only saw a child and not an image of despair, [68] ST. CECILIA'S CHOIR A child with round, imploring eyes beneath her boyish, close- cropped hair. He looked — he laughed — he laughed again, and then — I turned from ice to fire — He nodded, waved his hand, and I — was one with St. Cecilia's choir. Peace on his soul ! — I like to think he guessed that desperate request, Who let the kindness of his heart subdue the critic in his breast : Nor do I doubt when angels chant in his abode of song and bliss. Some little cherub off the key will know that kindly laugh of his. 169 THE HOUSE IN ORDER J HA VE been so untidy all my days. I only thought to make my House of Life A place of happiness — a dwelling bright With mirth, and gay with hearth and lantern- Hght; A banquet-hall wherein the board was set For many mates. But now the time has come To set my house in order, — to prepare For that last guest. About me everywhere Are soiled, unlovely things. My floors are marked With many footsteps and my table stained With wine rings. There are broken things to mend Pushed back upon the shelves — old faiths — old hopes And dingy ornaments. Once cherished things That youth outgrew, old friendships and old loves — [70] THE HOUSE IN ORDER These to be mended, these to be made bright. O, there is much to do before the night Brings my last guest. I will throw wide the door And all my windows to the sun and wind ; I will wipe out these footprints on the floor. Surely I shall have time, before he comes, To set my house in order ; to arrange The fair, white linen ready to his hands; To lay my table in a quiet room With cleanliness and peaceful candlelight. I will work very hard the live-long day. For when the sun is setting he will come — That guest who cries no greeting at my gate, Who casts no slanting shadow on the lawn. I do not know what face he may disclose Beneath his mantle. Who may say, indeed, It is not God's? One should not be ashamed To bid him in. My house at close of day Must be in order. There is much to do. [71 THE CONQUEROR 'T'HEY saw her conquer sorrow day by day, •■■ Laugh, sing and hide with roses every scar; And deemed it but her right to hear them say, "How brave — how brave you are!" A high reward! — They never knew nor guessed How all her heart but craved a beggar's dole, Yearning for any voice from all the rest To say, "Poor Soul, poor Soul!" [72] THE REBUILDERS \Y/^ send them off to school again today, ^^ This cool September morning. All the street Is musical with patter of small feet, And little, shining faces all the way Seem wayside posies for our smiles to greet. I wonder if they ever guess or know With what strange tenderness we watch them so? Just children on their way to school again? Nay, it is ours to watch a greater thing. These are the World's Rebuilders! These must bring Order to chaos, comforting to pain And light in blasted fields new fires of Spring. [731 THE REBUILDERS Dear Lord, Thy childish hands were weak and small, Yet had they power to clasp the world withal, — Grant these. Thy little kindred, strength as true, — They have so much to learn, so much to do! 74 THE PLACE OF DREAMS DACK to the Place of Dreams I came, '■-' where I was young so long — An old house in the sunset's flame, the great sea's crooning song. And there upon the dunes one stood who gave no heed to me, A slender slip of maidenhood between the sun and sea. The sea wind on her gypsy face, the sea spray on her hair, For all I shared the selfsame place she did not heed me there. Only upon the sand-dunes high she stood as one who sees Between the blue of sea and sky his outbound argosies, [75] THE PLACE OF DREAMS And dares to dream of their return with treasures manifold, With strange, great gems that flash and burn and cloth of vair and gold. Ah ! Well she did not guess at all, the loss that shipwreck seems, Or know what havoc would befall her fragile fleet of dreams. But I — I turned and left her there ; she did not see me go — A dreaming girl with wind-tossed hair that once I used to know. Oh, little ghost, dream on content; not yours life's wreck and wrong. Out from the Place of Dreams I went where I was young so long. [76] JUDGMENT COME plod through dusty lowlands, and *^ some fly On even wings beneath a constant sky ; Yet surely this is very good to know: Little the Master recks of how we go ; Not His to mark the devious, winding ways Of that long journey through the little days ; Not His to plan the separate road for each, Who judges only by that goal we reach. Nor do I think the angels smile to see How blindly some may grope and awkwardly ; Nor do I think their high approval springs For those who know the glorious gift of wings. Only I think that, all exultant, one Glad watcher from the ramparts of the sun May cry, ' ' Rejoice ! Another valiant soul Unaided and alone hath reached the goal ! " f771 THE STRANGER f HAVE a longing on me for my own land — * Oh, people of the mountains, let me be ! For the wide, flat meadows and the gray sand And the sound of the singing of the sea. I have need to walk the long, level roads again To watch the white sea-fog roll in, To call out the weather to the fishermen When the soft, white nights begin. I would question how the bulkheads stand When the high September tides run free ; I have a longing on me for my own land — Oh, people of the mountains, let me be ! 78 MORS BENIGNA I DO not think of him as one who stalks, * a helpless enemy, Who some day will blot out the sun, and lay relentless hands on me; Nay, rather do I think of him as one who in all kindness waits At the road's end, when shadows dim, to draw me gently through his gates, And lead me, like some kindly host that gives a long-expected guest The comfort that he craves the most — the hospitality of rest. So shall I think of him each day, while the road shortens mile by mile. Guessing the word that he will say — almost familiar with his smile. [791 MORS BENIGNA No foe with fury in his breath shall charge me from some ambushed place, For I shall make a friend of Death long, long before I see his face. 80 A VOICE AT THE DOOR DRETTY one, sad one, lift up your eyes * and greet me ; The April wind is in the land and apple- blossoms drift. Come from out your shadowed place — take a step to meet me. I am new Love, true Love — who comes with many a gift. With fresh, red roses bespangled with the dew For the withered ones your sweet hands cherish, With a handful of happy dreams to all come true In place of the wistful ones that perish. Pretty one, sad one, lift up your eyes nor doubt me; I am new Love, true Love who at your threshold stands, 6 [81] A VOICE AT THE DOOR The West wind comes in with me, the sun is all about me, And the first gift of many gifts is eager for your hands. A long love letter, clean and crisp and new. Every word as fragrant as a blossom, In place of that old one almost wept in two That lies like a sorrow in your bosom. 82 THE LYRIC A YOUNGSTER in the Regent's time '**' One day poured out his heart in rhyme And slipped the manuscript between "Ye Sermons of Sylvanus Greene," For there I found it, As walking through dark woods and chill One comes upon a daffodil With sunshine round it. What of the writer? Dust so long. The heart and hand that made his song To Kate or Nancy ; Naught but a lyric, faded, dim, To give a ghostly glimpse of him — Still, let us fancy That, losing Romance from his state, He took Ambition for a mate, At her dictation Forsook the Muse and travelled far, Say — studied law, attained the bar. Gained wealth and station; [83] THE LYRIC In time achieved the wig and gown And graced the bench in London town, No judge empiric. His people never knew, 'tis said, The reason why he died unwed ; But here's his lyric : "O joy, sing joy, I sent my Love a posy, She took it and she kissed it and she wore it on her breast. All the world was happiness and all the clouds were rosy, And I thought about the Parson who could read the service best. **0 sing sorrow, I sent my Love a posy With never mark nor sign thereon to show the owner's name. But now I wish had gone with it a billet rhymed or prosy. For that she gave another thanks who bowed and took the same. '*0 woe, sing woe, I sent my Love a posy, And all the good it might have done an- other hath possessed. [84] THE LYRIC And now she's walking out with him, con- tented all and cozy, And no one knows 'tis my heart that is fading on her breast." [85] GIANTS I WALKED with giants once upon the height For that one look you gave me one May night. Comrade of theirs was I as bold as strong For that one note I dreamed into your song. By none could I be worsted or o'erthrown, Feeling your hands a moment in my own. II Now must I face my giants one by one — I who but dreamed a dream and wake alone — Love, Joy, and High Ambition and Delight. What though I battle through the live- long night Seeing that Love must slay me ere 'tis done? [861 THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE I AST night the West wind bent the pop- *— ' lars' boughs And like a whisper passed above the lawn : "The well-beloved Master of the House "Is gone," it said; "is gone!" White in the whiter moon the great house rose And its unlighted windows blank and drear, Murmured each one the while the wind drew close — "He is not here!" The Trees: His was the first of human love we knew. New strength he gave us — leaf and bough and limb. Closer we held our little singing crew Because of him. [871 THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE Daily he walked among us; now there stirs A grief like some great wind that bows us thus. Oh, little birds that were his pensioners, Mourn ye with us. The Birds: There were no crumbs this morning at the door. No kindly voice to greet our downward flight. Oh, Brothers, let us sing to him once more — He still may heed tonight. A Rose in the Garden: Waken and heed, my sisters! He our lover Will come no more to watch our blos- soming, And, smiling, bend to say our sweet names over. A Columbine : How may this be in Spring? [881 THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE The House : Many came through my door today — not he! Many came out. He did not. Tell me, then, Whence comes this loneliness — this want in me Unknown of men ? Surely, the dawn must bring his voice once more. He passed not through my door. A Dog at the Threshold : He has not called nor whistled; I have waited So patiently — I have not moved at all. My ears are bent to hear the step belated When I will spring to meet him in the hall And leap to touch his hand. I must not move Lest I should miss him ; must not take my sight From that one door. Oh, Master of my love, I have been very patient. Come tonight ! [89] THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE A Voice in the Garden : Oh, Master of the House — the voices call And will not cease. Surely, this wistfulness is audible Even in your far peace. And so I may not doubt that once again Your stricken garden shall rejoice, your trees Toss their green boughs in rapture — nor in vain One little, faithful friend shall watch by these. We may not guess, we humans blind and dull, That day your halls may sing — your trees carouse; Yet these shall know that moment beautiful — I may not doubt, oh. Master of the House ! 90 THE LIKE O' HIM V/^UNG men a-plenty have passed the door, "■- Broad in the shoulder and strong of limb, But never my two eyes saw before The like o' him! The drummers and fif ers woke the town ; The lads were leanin' from roofs and trees, And the girls came swarming up and down The like o' bees. I stood by the hedge to watch them pass, Laughin' and lookin' the way they came, The sunshine glintin' on steel and brass The like o' flame. And himself looked down as I looked up — 'Twas first he went in the marchin' line, And the light of his eyes might fill a cup The like o' wine. [911 THE LIKE O' HIM A proper lot are soldierin* men — Plenty I've seen of them, tall and trim; But Faith, I'll not be seeing again The like o' him! He's fit for ladies in silken gowns — And well I know, if he turns to see, There's fifty girls in as many towns The like o' me. Ah, well! the hedges are comin' green; I'm walkin' out with Terry and Tim, Walkin' — and wishin' I'd never seen The like o' him! 92 HOW MANY WOMEN T TOW many women this moon-smitten night •■• * Liesleepless,smiling,holding each apart, Like exquisite white roses on her heart, The wondrous words Love whispered her all day, Fearful lest slumber dim their dear delight. Oh, happy sisters, through the moon and dew Here with my roses I rejoice with you ! How many women this moon-smitten night Turn from its wonder lest their hearts may break, And, yearning, only sleep — yet count awake Each empty hour, these steps that lead from Love, Praying but rest, but rest in joy's despite. Oh, sisters, would tonight your eyes might take This sleep I banish for my roses' sake! [93] BLIGHTY TPHE train purred into Charing Cross, "*• The nurse bent overhead. "A moment now and we'll be in; Lie easy, lad," she said. Lie easy ! Never easier ! Small wonder if she guessed It was the noise of London That soothed him into rest. The nurses came, the doctors came. The stretcher-bearers last ; Mute crowds about the platform Uncovered as he passed ; The ambulance crawled through the Arch And then — he heard it clear — It was the voice of London That said, ''Old man, you're here!" He'll never know the girl's name Beside the curb who cried, [941 BLIGHTY ''Here's luck, my lad ! " and tossed the bunch Of posies at his side — A bunch of English daffodils, Yet never gift as rare — It was the love of London His one hand Hfted there. [95 THE STORM^ ' I 'HE souls of the cruel, dead kings ride out * on the wind tonight, They slash the trees as they pass, and the branches shiver and fall; They thunder with galloping hoofs on the roofs of cottage and hall, And the flame on the hearth leaps high, and we cross ourselves in fright. Kings that were slain in fury, and kings that perished in pride, They have bridled the black North winds and loosed them to work their will. They crash through the lowest valley, they sweep up the highest hill. And the sound of a thousand trumpets goes with them the while they ride. The souls of the cruel, dead kings are out in the hail and snow. [96] THE STORM (That was a mailed hand striking just now at the window bars) ! I wish I might think of my placid saints or the friendly, vigilant stars ; But my heart is a blown and trampled leaf on the roads the mad kings go. [97] GARDENS HTHE rain that beat the whole night long •■• was still when night was gone, (O sorrow beating on my heart, how long before you cease?) All the garden rose and shone and sparkled in the dawn — Glad, oh, so glad again of warmth and light and peace ! If you should forgive me — as you will never do— My heart would be a garden after rainfall in the sun. Shining, growing, glowing with a hundred loves of you ; But oh, it's wear}^ waiting till the long rain's done! If you should forgive me sometime when I am old, [981 GARDENS I would break my youth in bits to hurry on the day. A garden lifts and lives again for all the rain and cold, But, oh, its weary waiting when the sun's away! [99] HERSELF W7HEREVER she was, was laughin' and ^^ singin' and story-tellin', And kind words of the old friends, the like there were there to hear; And always the bite and sup for the schuler that marked her dwellin'. And herself with the step of a girl — and close to seventy year. Eh, blue eyes, that I knew when they were young. The sorrows of a long life could never dim their light; Still I know there's laughin' and still a song is sung, And still a kind word spoken where you may he this night. Wherever she was, was comfort and all that she had for sharin' ; [100] HERSELF The water she gave from the well was better than drink at a fair. Never a daughter she had with the half of her wit and darin', With the like of her rosy cheeks or the curl of her silver hair. Eh, woman dear, who was joy to me so long. There's many ran to greet you in the place of your delight; And I think you do be sayin\ between tJie mirth and song. The kind word for one old friend who's mis sin' you this night. 101] THE WITCH- WIFE NTONE of our village would he wed, My son, but brought across the sea A woman with loose locks of red To brew my wine and make my bread And take a daughter's place with me. Her eyes are darker than the night When lightning flames across the wold; Her flesh is white as curds are white. Her form is of a strong man's height And red her mouth as daemon's gold. She will not sew; she will not spin; She heeds no word of aught I say ; And her curved smile is like a sin When — (lest my son's ship ne'er come in) I say old prayers for him each day. At hearth and board her place is set; Of my son's bed she hath her share — [102] THE WITCH-WIFE (He hath been long away) — and yet No tears have made her strange eyes wet, And not to any god her prayer. My son is mighty among men, Strong-armed and fair and passing wise, Who had no thought for maids. Where, then, Found he this one of all women To lure him with her stormy eyes? I know she is no mortal maid. But one of whom my granddam told. Born of strange sins and, netlike, laid To catch men's lives, and, unafraid. Drink of their blood and leave them cold. For see ! That month I watched her first (For my son's sake I did this thing) I knew her for a witch accursed. One in a pool of sin immersed And wedded with a devil's ring. Because I made and gave her name A waxen form, and three times three Long nights it melted by the flame ; Yet every morn she woke the same, And smiled upon me cunningly. [103] THE WITCH-WIFE And all this day I watched her stand High-poised between the sea and sky; With turn and waving of her hand I know what ship she draws to land, What storms she brews to drive it by. Ere that ship comes is much to do, (For my son's sake I must be bold) ; She thinks to have her feast anew. To stain her mouth a redder hue And drain his blood for her hair's gold. Here at my spinning do I sit And say no word, but, sick with dread, Plan snares to foil her awful wit With book and bell, or, failing it, Find if a witch's blood be red. The ship draws near, and to and fro There goes a swinging in my brain ; Two kissed my son and watched him go — Mother or witch, I dare not know Which one will bid him home again. [104] THOSE WHO WENT FIRST 1914 A DISTANT bugle summoned them by day, A far flame beckoned them across the night. They rose — they flung accustomed things away, — The habit of old days and new delight. They heard — they saw — they turned them over-seas, — Oh, Land of ours, rejoice in such as these ! This was no call that sounded at their door, No wild torch flaming in their window space, — Yet the quick answer went from shore to shore, The swift feet hastened to the trysting place. Laughing, they turned to death from peace and ease, — Oh, Land of ours, be proud of such as these! [1051 THOSE WHO WENT FIRST High hearts — great hearts — whose valour strikes for us Out of the awful dissonance of war The perfect note, in you the chivalrous Young seekers of the Grail relive once more. Acclaimed of men — or fallen where none sees — Oh, Land of ours, be glad of such as these ! 1061 THE SOUL OF JEANNE D'ARC ^ 1915 ^HE came not into the Presence as a mar- ^ tyred saint might come, Crowned, white-robed and adoring, with very reverence dumb; She stood as a straight, young soldier, confident, gallant, strong, Who asks a boon of his captain in the sudden hush of the drum. She said: *'Now have I stayed too long in this my place of bliss, With these glad dead that, comforted, forget what sorrow is Upon that world whose stony stairs they climbed to come to this. But lo ! a cry hath torn the peace wherein so long I stayed, [1071 THE SOUL OF JEANNE D'ARC Like a trumpet's call at heaven's wall from a herald unafraid, A million voices in one cry, 'Where is the Maid, the Maid?' I had forgot from too much joy that olden task of mine, But I have heard a certain word shatter the chant divine, Have watched a banner glow and grow before mine eyes for sign. I would return to that my land flung in the teeth of war, I would cast down my robe and crown that pleasure me no more, And don the armour that I knew, the valiant sword I bore! And angels militant shall fling the gates of heaven wide, And souls new-dead whose lives were shed like leaves on war's red tide Shall cross their swords above our heads and cheer us as we ride. For with me goes that soldier saint, Saint Michael of the sword, [1081 THE SOUL OF JEANNE D'ARC And I shall ride on his right side, a page beside his lord, And men shall follow like swift blades to reap a sure reward. Grant that I answer this my call ; yea, though the end may be The naked shame, the biting flame, the last, long agony; I would go singing down that road where faggots wait for me. Mine be the fire about my feet, the smoke above my head; So might I glow, a torch to show the path my heroes tread; ''My Captain, oh, my Captain, let me go back!'' she said. 109 THE JILTED /^H, she held her head high; ^^ She walked the fields as though She trod a crimson carpet That bowing slaves held low. Yet once her feet had followed his The path he chose to go. Oh, her eyes were proud ones, Jewel-bright and clear, Haughty as a queen's might be When poor folk come too near. Yet once they laughed back joy to his And melted at his tear. Oh, her mouth was scornful — Not a smile amiss ; Over-quick to mock, perchance. At another's bliss, Yet once 'twas tender with his name And lifted to his kiss. [110] THE YEARS TTHE Old Year looked at the clock, -■■ Smiled his gallant old smile, and so Took his beaver, arranged his stock, Kissed her hand — while she curtseyed low — (That demure coquette of a world,) And sighed as she watched him go. The Old Year closed the door; She waited — half mirth, half fear, Till the clock's last stroke gave o'er. And over the casement clear — (O, demure coquette of a world !) Leaped that dashing blade, New Year! Ill] THE SEA BRIDE OHE was like no other one ^ All the parish round; In her soul were sea and sun, In her laugh the sound Of swift waves on shell-strewn sands Never man hath found. Father, mother, none she knew. On the beach one day All amazed, a fisher crew Found a child at play. Lithe and white and wild, with hair Gemmed with sun-dried spray. So they taught their speech to her, So she grew apace. In her voice the sea- winds stir. Like a curved wave's grace Moved her slender form, the sea's Beauty seemed her face. [112] THE SEA BRIDE Not a lad the parish round But when she drew nigh Flung his heart upon the ground For her feet to try ; Not a lad the parish round Gained her smile thereby. Not for her their prayers and sighs. Long day after day, From sun rising to moonrise, Still her feet would stray Where the wild sea beckoned her In its combers play. Only one who, day by day, Followed her again ; One with eyes of stormy grey, Passionate with pain Of that love despised, that burned Hot through heart and brain. On the cliff that taunts the mad Waves that leap to it. So they met there, maid and lad, Oh, a trysting fit ! Red the great moon rose — as some Torch the furies lit. 8 [113] THE SEA BRIDE Still she mocked him fearlessly, Said him still the same, 'None I love but this my sea," Till the madness came — In the hungry eyes of him Like the red moon's flame. ' In your lover's arms this night Lie you then," quoth he. Hand of brown on throat of white. Swiftly, silently, Down her lithe young body flashed, Down into the sea. Know you what he saw who leant, Maddened through and through? Sudden waves that curved and bent As strong arms might do When they draw the bride beloved To a heart thrice true. Know you what he heard, who so Crouched there, hate-possessed? Laughter tremulous and low, E'en that laughter blest Of the happy bride who lies On her lover's breast. [1141 THE SEA BRIDE She was like no other one All the parish round ; In her soul were sea and sun, In her laugh the sound Of swift waves on shell-strewn sands Never man hath found. [115] I THE WISHES T was on Midsummer Eve I made wishes three, Since the fairies gave me leave And the thing might be. And the first wish was for peace, And the next for rest, And the next — the fear might cease That possessed my breast. And straightway my lover turned That these things might be, Kissed my lips with lips that yearned, Laughed, and left me free. So came peace and so came rest ; Yea, but who could tell That the heart within my breast Seemed an empty shell, [116] THE WISHES Void of all unrest and fear? Oh, but this is true, I would bear and hold them dear For that love I knew. So on next Midsummer Eve I shall wish again For my olden right to grieve, And my ancient pain. Better these than that I lack, I shall wish once more, And my lover will come back Laughing through the door. [117] A WEDDING SONG CPRINGTIME in our village! ^ Between a dawn and night The orchards grey but yesterday Come out in pink and white, Like little bridesmaids all bedecked To give the bride delight. Springtime in our village ! Through all the countryside From bough and wing the robins fling A carol glorified, Like lusty little choristers Who sing before the bride. Springtime in our village ! Before the sun is high The little crowds of fleecy clouds Come drifting through the sky, Like happy children all in white To see the bride go by. [118] A WEDDING SONG Springtime in our village ! Oh, heart of mine, be gay! The lass that frowned the season round Hath found her mirth in May, And all of Spring is but the ring About our wedding day. [119] UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY, BERKELEY THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW Books not returned on time are subject to a fine of 50c per volume after the third day overdue, increasing to $1.00 per volume after the sixth day. Books not in demand may be renewed if application is made, before expiration of loan period. '■'^^ (j^-^ JUL f ? tm OCT 11 \m Ml 25 1Q25 mAni7i92<: N0V23 1£)?S fss,m^ JUL AUG 11 197a ■ EB 8 1996 riirC'OBiOo APtti2'95.EOopD| RECEIVED APR 1 5 1995 CfRpULATION DEPT. 20m-l.'22 is^ U. C. BERKELE HIES CDSEED313S '468751 UNIVERSITY OF CALirORNIA UBftARY