959 D773 UC-NRLF IN THE PATHS OF THE WIND By Glenn Ward Dresbach THE ROAD TO EVERYWHERE In the Paths of the Wind By GLENN WARD DRESBACH BOSTON THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY 1917 Copyright, 1917, by THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY The Four Seas Press Boston. Mass., U. S. A. TO BETTY PREFATORY NOTE Many of the poems included in this volume have appeared in Poetry, The Bookman, Poet Lore, The Smart Set, The Midland, The New York Times, The Poetry Journal, and Panama Life. GLENN WARD DRESBACH Tyrone, New Mexico June 21, 1977 CONTENTS PAGE THE SOWER WHO REAPED THE SEA n SPRING IN THE BURRO MOUNTAINS 14 ONE FACE FROM THE CROWD 15 QUATRAIN 17 O DREAMER OF DREAMS 18 ON THE ROAD WITH THE WIND 19 NOCTURNE 20 WHEN I AM DEAD 21 SONG TO THE DAWN WIND 22 OF BATTLES 24 TORNADO 26 WHEN MY ROBE OF DREAMS is TATTERED 35 MORN-LOVE 36 FAUN SONG 38 Music 39 THE ROOM OF THE MOONLIGHT 42 AT A FACTORY DOOR 40 OCEAN 43 THE HOUSE IN THE WILLOWS 45 A NEW MEXICO HILL SONG 54 A MOUNTAIN NOCTURNE 55 DIRGE 56 A GIPSY SONG IN THE CITY 57 SONG 58 A FATHER AND His DEAD SON 59 LIKE THE WIND IN THE DUNES . , 61 PAGE ON THE ROAD WITH THE MORNING 62 THE CITY IN THE DESERT 63 SONG 74 PURPLE 66 INTERLUDE 67 BEYOND His MEANS 68 SHADOWS 72 To JULIA 73 SONG 74 SONG 75 OF DREAMS 76 IN THE PATHS OF THE WIND THE SOWER WHO REAPED THE SEA The road was dusty and the grass was gray Along the roadside. In the harvest field That I was passing heat-waves surged above The fallen grain, and butterflies moved there Like derelicts of Dreams. An old man stopped His reaping and looked up with reddened eyes, Dust from the grain had settled on his face And sweat had washed innumerable paths To nowhere. When he saw me watching him A smile broke through the crust, and then he laughed, "Go wash your face if you'd make fun o' mine !" "How is the crop?" I asked. He mopped the sweat "Upon his brow and answered, "None too good. I sowed too late in season for the drouth." "The same with me," I said. "What did you sow?' He asked me, looking at my city clothes. "Some wild oats and a bag o' Dreams," I said, And laughed a little harshly for the dust. He thought awhile and then his deep voice said, "Well, we are better off than one I knew The sower who reaped the Sea, the bitter Sea!" "Who reaped the Sea?" I asked, in wonder, then. "Who reaped the Sea," he said, "the bitter Sea !" "I have not always lived here," he went on, "In youth I left a place where dikes hold back The sea from little valleys cool and green. I lived in a small town, and worked with iron Beside a man of iron. One day he hurled His tools aside and cursed the town and went Out of the shop with hate for every one. "Later I heard that he had bought a farm That covered a small valley near the town. "His valley was more favored than the rest That first year, and while crops about us failed, His ripened well and gave a golden yield. And while the town went hungry he sent off His harvest to another town that paid A price a little higher. People went To him and begged to buy some of his grain. 'Oh no!' he said; 'while I lived in your town I had to pay the prices asked of me. I'll sell where I do best. That settles it.' "The next Spring found him sowing in his fields. The warm days made his little valley green. The Summer turned it into living gold. And on the Summer evenings he would sit [12] And chuckle as the valley waved at him A host of gleaming hands. . .Again the town Was hungry and the people went to him And begged to buy his grain. He laughed at them. 'Once I was hungry in your cursed town. Who ever helped me?' he yelled out at them. 'A few days and I shall be reaping, fools, As I have sowed. Who has a better right?' "A great storm broke the dike the very night Before he was to reap. We heard the sea Rush with a purring madness as it came Into the little valley near the town. The morning after, all the storm had passed. Most all the valley where he had his farm Was under dark green water. Just a few Tall heads of grain stuck up and they were dead. The water rocked them back and forth. Some folks Went down to see the valley. And they found The farmer, waist-deep, grasping at the grain. He did not see the people. All who saw Said he was weeping, and his bitter tears Made little splashes on the bitter sea. "A woman cried to him, from out the crowd, 'You have a mighty harvest on your hands. You should be happy. You have reaped the Sea !' [13] SPRING IN THE BURRO MOUNTAINS There is no sudden glory-growth of blooms Here on the greening slopes, but rapture wakes In many things. The Wind of Dawn that takes From rainbow-distance subtle, sweet perfumes Sings like an angel through the vast blue rooms Of Heaven-Near-To-Earth. Each tree forsakes Its listlessness and languor, and partakes Of the fair feast of Sunlight. From the tombs Of Dreams there comes a whispering stir of wings Responding to the promise of the Sun, And new dreams come to join the common days. There is a glory for the heart that sings Though of its many dreams it keeps but one To greet new Springs down the immortal ways. ONE FACE FROM THE CROWD Where have I seen your face before? W T hy does it seem so out of place In a room with curtained windows And a closed door? Ah, lovely face That a star has kissed and the sun, That the wind has touched with loving fingers, Still the wonder lingers, lovely one. I remember. Summer came With a heart of song and flame. Boughs were swaying, winds were playing Little lutes that knew your name On a hillside where the grasses Waved into the waves of sea And the sea waved into skies . . . Now it all comes back to me As I look into your eyes As I looked into them then. Wonder goes to come again. Long ago, long ago On the hillside near the sea What did we talk of? [15] Was it Love? Or did we stand there silently? So it seems to me As I look at you today. Wonder comes, words go away. [16] QUATRAIN This much I know of Dreams that ache and sing Seeking the glory of Life's vast estate : I'd rather dream a great dream of a little thing Than dream a little dream of something great. O DREAMER OF DREAMS O Dreamer of Dreams, have you heard men say, "The glory of dreams must fade away?" Then I know that you smiled and I know that you said, "Not until Dreamers of Dreams are dead." O Dreamer of Dreams, have you heard men sigh, "The Palace of Dreams must fall from on high?" Then I know that you spoke, and said as you thrilled, "Not while a Dreamer of Dreams may build." O Dreamer of Dreams, have you heard men say, "The fight is lost ere it starts today?" Then I know that you shouted out in your might, "Not while a Dreamer of Dreams may fight." O Dreamer of Dreams, have you heard men say, "Even Love turns from his own today?" Then I know your heart sang while the winds sang above, "Not while a Dreamer of Dreams may love !" [18] ON THE ROAD WITH THE WIND The wind went up the road And the trees shook with laughter, For the wind was filled with mirth And the gladness of the Earth, And I longed to follow after Down the road and far away, Far away and far away, Till my heart could laugh and say, "I have left behind the tangles Of the threads the Fates have spun, And I dance in golden spangles Of the sun. I have left behind my load And my withered rose and lily. All the ashes of old fires, All the dust of dead desires I have scattered willy-nilly. Down the road and far away, Far away and far away, Rose and lily bloom today But for me, and horns are blowing Out of Elfland, and above Larks keep singing that I'm going To my Love." [19] NOCTURNE Clouds, piled up like the dunes, In a world that cried for rain, Shifted by winds that shifted The dunes themselves in the night, Came from the night and drifted Into the Night again. Dreams, restless as the dunes Where things that were remain Buried while the winds shifted Or brought once more to sight Wandered from you and drifted Back to you again. [20] WHEN I AM DEAD When I am dead, O speak to me No words that I have heard, Lest to my peace come misery, Lest my calm sleep be stirred With want of mortal love again; But bring a drop of April rain, The dawn-song of a bird, The leafy lyric of a tree, A slender flower with its dew, That I may dream and seem to be Dead to all but you ! [21] SONG TO THE DAWN WIND Rover of heights where rainbows find their being, O wandering singer of the House of God, Ever unseen and yet forever seeing, Still near to heaven when you kiss the sod With laughing lips, what do you know of striving In narrow places dark with sordid things? What do you know of pain, you that are thriving On Beauty, sure forever of your wings? O singer young forever, what of making A palace of four narrow, cheerless walls? You have a vasty mansion when is breaking Splendor on heights and dancing water falls. O singer glad forever, what of singing After the songs were mute a lonely while, Because there came a wondrous blessing winging Into the heart out of a single smile? But even you have debts to pay for living, Spirit of Youth, that nothing may outlive. You pass along the Earth each morning giving Gifts to all things that in their turn must give. What seeds you sow are sown beyond our knowing- [22] Concerned with our own ways while Morning gleams But every Morn I feel that you are sowing, If nothing else, the golden seed of Dreams. Roamer of Roads where star-dust waits the Morning, Though many hearts have longed to follow you, To rest in Lotus Lands, forever scorning The nearer beauties that they wander through, I do not wish to follow you, and never Come back to my own ways of sun and rain, Of love and longing and of brave endeavor. The World is yours and I have my domain! But take me with you for a rainbow hour Beyond myself and all that minds may know, Where meadows of the Morning are in flower, And I shall not be sad if I may go Back to my own place, to my own Dreams crying, "Beauties you showed to me I saw again!" O deathless Singer, from age to new Age flying, One day may mark a life not lived in vain ! [23] OF BATTLES i. O when the fighting spirit dies in one, And when one cries for only peace and rest And days where no wild Dreams are manifest, Beware ! The glow fades deadened in the Sun. There is an urge no more where waters run Shouting their challenge from the Earth's scarred breast, No great adventure calling from the West! When dies the Fighting Spirit, Dreams are done ! On to the battle, Youth. The battle pays. War lasts forever in the growth of things, The change of seasons, and the Winds of God. War lasts forever in a heart that stays True to a Dream that fights to keep its wings Out of the dust where broken men must plod. II. Since one must die, why die before Death's hand Shuts off the Sun and Moon and seals one's eyes To smiles or tears, rainbows or stormy skies, And all one hoped sometime to understand? [24] O living Death, O life in empty land, When one's heart has no more a voice that cries A challenge to the dullness and the lies Of peaceful days, no voice of great command. Give me a fighting chance for Victory And I can better bear the great defeat Than if I leave my Sword of Dreams to rust. O Life be praised! I thrill that I can be Here in the days whose bugle calls are sweet, With Dreams to fight for, and to love, to trust ! [25] TORNADO i. All through the early afternoon the airs Were hot and heavy as if old despairs Had burdened all their gladness. And each tree Seemed stricken with a touch of mystery. Weird, half-heard whispers came from leaf and grass. Dull, listless clouds dragged onward in a mass Over lack-lustre skies, and far away The whelps of Thunder-lions rolled in play. ii. The prairie stretched for miles about the place Where Andrew stood. Strange shadows filled his face As he looked on his house, the few tall trees, The garden withered so that even bees Could find no profit there, the yard that laid Sun-parched and useless. For no children played There through the time that he had toiled to make It hold some beauty even for the sake Of olden dreams. . .Often his wife would say, "Such work will never make this old farm pay." Now as he gazed, his wife came to the door. She stood there plain as the plain dress she wore, [26] A woman tall and heavy-boned, with eyes Lacking in something like the heavy skies They gazed upon. The dull light on her face Was like the light upon a desert place. "It's going to storm," she called. "Go drive the cow Into the barn. Don't you be standing now Like all you have to do is look around For flowers that will not bloom on this ground." Andrew stared at her and his sunken cheek Grew red beneath its tan, for being meek Could never please him. Still, he hated strife And tried to turn his anger from his wife Against the land that had so often lied To him through days when all his crops had dried In the hot winds, leaving him always poor While the new seasons offered some new lure. And while his wife stood there with wrinkled brow He turned in silence to drive in the cow From the dry pasture and the promised rain, And as he went he lived his life again. in. From boyhood Life to him had always seemed A muddled thing, although sometimes he dreamed Of great endeavor, but the dream soon passed. Each new Dream came less strenuous than the last. And poverty was nothing new, and so He went a careless way, seeming to grow [37] Like city plants set high above the street At someone's window, half -drooped in the heat. Each task he tried was worse than one before, Not worth his while, not worth the ache in store. And so he came to hunger for the fields In places where he heard of golden yields, For brooks and trees and rain scented with bloom And for the sunlight and the peaceful gloom. He was a dreamer with no tools to build The lofty castle that vain vision willed, And so he seemed to fail, though meaning well, For reasons that his fellows could not tell . . . Then one clear day in Spring, sick of his load Of emptiness, he followed a long road Out to the farms where it was time to sow. Five years ! And now it seemed an Age ago ! VI. Five years ago he came along the lane, That stretched before him now, after a rain Had made the scrubby willows sweet and new. And he remembered how Life thrilled him through With a new gladness, as if from the Spring He gained the something that had made birds sing Along his way. And new hope stirred in him Till all the muddled past seemed growing dim In distance whence he came praying to find More strength of body and more peace of mind Than toil within a smoke-hung city gave. And as he neared the house his heart grew brave. Five years ago ! . . . Old Wynne came to the dooi And greeted him and offered him a chore For food and lodging for the night. Next day He had arranged with the old man to stay To help upon the farm. And Summer passed And crops were in before he knew how fast Affection bound him to the quiet place And to the old man's daughter in whose face He seemed to read a promise and a lure. So he remained although his pay was poor. v. The next Spring old Wynne let him take the lead At tending crops, and Andrew, taking heed Of Kate, the farmer's daughter, worked his best, And was as good a farmer as the rest Who tilled the soil for miles on either side. Then one night after harvest old Wynne died, And Kate was left alone and, when her woe Had passed its storm, Andrew begged her to go With him to town and there become his wife. And she clung to him and a strange new life Seemed waking in him as he stroked her hair, And looked into her eyes and found them fair, And kissed her lips and found them like a fire Waking the half -cold ashes of Desire. When they were married they began to do Old tasks upon the farm, but all seemed new. The winds were softer there, even the trees [29] Had learned new whispered sounds, and mysteries Of sun and moon came over them until Their narrow world seemed to awake and fill With unguessed wonders. So they planned to make The farm pay double for each other's sake, To grow quite well-to-do and, later blessed By all good comforts, settle down and rest In some small town near by, as farmers do When they grow old and worldly goods accrue. VI. The drought came then. Two years they struggled through, Two hopeful, anxious years with work to do, And then another year that seemed to be Filled full of doubt and strife and misery. And so time passed and they were always poor, Struggling, and almost hating, while the lure Of the new seasons led them. So they lost Their faith and understanding, and the cost Was bitterness that rose between them so It grew like weeds where Love had ceased to grow. VII. When Andrew drove the cow along the lane He tried to whistle while great drops of rain Made little clouds of dust on the dry field. Then suddenly the trees and grasses reeled * In a wild wind that seemed to rend the sky. [30] Out in the west dark banks of clouds loomed high, Then toppled over and began to roll, Maddened, through space, held in the storm's control. Even the cow that Andrew drove became Aware of danger and, though old and lame, The last of the good herd he sold to pay For ravages when drought had held its sway, She tossed her head, and, bellowing, rushed to gain An over-hanging bank that turned the rain. "Well, go then, you old devil," Andrew said, And running to the house he bowed his head Against the storm. Then through the rain he heard His wife call sharply, and with vision blurred By wind and rain, he saw her at the gate And heard her cry, "Andrew, run back. Don't wait For me. Tornado coming! There's a place Down by the creek." Her hair half-veiled her face As she came running. Andrew seized her arm, Filled with concern, and partly with alarm, And then they ran together, scrambled under The over-hanging bank, and over thunder They heard the solid roar of the storm. Near by the cow lolled quite as calm and warm As any cow should be, munching her cud. And Andrew and his wife laughed in the mud Close to the damp clay of the bank, nor knew The reason why the laugh rang loud and true. [31] Then they looked out above the bank and saw A sight of mingled horror and of awe. A hell-soot cloud shaped funnel-like drew near Trailing upon the ground, and they could hear The crash of trees as it came near the house. Then as a lion could toss aside a mouse The great cloud hurled their house in wreckage high, Splintered the barn, and then went tearing by Upon the prairie, leaving in its wake Ruin and desolation . . . Some hearts break Seeing the work of years so hurled aside To nothingness, while Life's needs still abide. VIII. Andrew said to his wife, "Well, it is past. This is our greatest, may it be our last Affliction on this cursed ground," and tears Burned in his eyes. He thought of troubled years Strained through for nothing, and he bowed his head. His wife reached out her arms. No word was said. He felt her hot lips on his cheek. He filled With a great wonder, as if God had willed New gladness wake in him instead of pain. And so they stood forgetting wind and rain. He heard his wife say, "While you're safe I care But little for the house." It seemed the air Became a rare wine, singing at each breath, And what had been so near despair and death [32] Was now a new life stirring wild and strong Within his being, in a place of song. His wife had said few words of love the while They worked and doubted. Seldom came a smile That he could claim his own. But could he know Her heart grew numb to see him suffer so Upon the farm, and that he did not give The little kindness that makes kindness live? IX And when he kissed her and looked on her face It was no longer like a desert place. Flowers awoke, and sweetness lingered there The while he touched with tender hands her hair Blown by the storm. He seemed, at last, to see Beauty is mostly what one makes it be. And while they stood bound close by Love again The wind ceased and the rushing troops of rain Left them behind. Dusk had begun to fall And the world seemed all intimate and small. Then Andrew said, "Tomorrow we will build A shack up there and have it amply filled With Love and sunlight. Maybe Life will be Much better now if you care but for me And I care but for you instead of gain From crops that dry up for the lack of rain." [33] Said Kate, "We are not paupers even now. The storm forgot to take along our cow." And Andrew said, "It takes tornado weather To wreck a house and bring two hearts together." So arm-in-arm they went along the lane Back to the wreckage scattered on the plain. While Love, who cares for neither wealth nor place, Led them afar into a starry space. [34] WHEN MY ROBE OF DREAMS IS TATTERED When my robe of Dreams is tattered, If ever it is so, And some one seems to scorn it, O I would have him know That it was torn on points of stars And gold of the rainbow. MORN-LOVE When youthful Dawn Wind wakens In mountains of the morning, The Willow in the valley Stirs, and begins adorning Herself to meet her lover, While perfumes cling and thicken, And all earth-pulses quicken In meadows of the clover. She spreads her silver tresses, Her cool arms softly gleaming. She looks into the brooklet And smiles for all her dreaming. Thrilling with song and laughter She waits the Dawn Wind's coming ; Her fresh young lips keep humming Of joy the World gropes after. And when the Dawn Wind dances Across the clover to her, The madness and the gladness Of morn-love dances through her. [36] Her soft arms clasp her lover, Her lips to his keep clinging While the heart of morn is singing In the meadows of the clover. O woe and wonder of it! The Willow loves him only, And when he leaves her, singing, Though she is still and lonely, She knows he is her lover And so her love discloses No envy of wild roses In meadows of the clover. [37] FAUN SONG The grasses billow in the wind Fragrance-laden, The maiden Willow sighs to see The Moon-Maiden. Lovely things of Earth and Heaven Meet and greet and stars are seven. Come with dancing feet ! [38] MUSIC Oh! I have heard you in vast silences Of mountains and of deserts; I have heard You in the forest where no leaf was stirred, And I have found you in white distances Of moonlight on the sea where wonder is Too well expressed for sounded note or word, And I have known you when an unseen bird Shook song and dew drops from a dream of his. But never did I know all of your sweetness Until her voice came to me in the night Of swarming stars and pagan winds. O then You spoke with new expression and completeness For me alone. And when Death snuffs the Light I shall not wake till speaks her voice again. [39] AT A FACTORY DOOR I wish I could be a piper With power to lead away The children, toiling and dreaming When they should dream and play, To a place where grasses sway And a mountain stream is gleaming Under the skies that are gleaming With the scattered gold of Day. I wish I could be a piper With power to let them see The green boughs that are swaying On hills where winds are free. Where the music of a tree Seems made for children playing, For glad-eyed children playing On the Road to Arcady. And I am but a dreamer Who can give but a song To the children toiling and waiting For God to right the wrong. O may the song ring strong [40] Over sounds of wheels they are hating, Where hearts are aching and hating, And bear their dreams along To places sweet with silence And the hush of growing things, Where the clearest streams are flowing And the lark is glad for wings, To places where Earth sings A song for the Spirit growing, For the Spirit groping and growing Till its great challenge rings. [41] THE ROOM OF THE MOONLIGHT I call this the Room of the Moonlight, For only the moonlight came To me in the night and silence When dreams called out your name. the moonlight came and lingered Hopeful, it seemed, and kind Then lonely and pale it wandered Back to the arms of the wind. And often I watched the moonlight Along the still bed creep, White flame over white of your pillow And it would not let me sleep. 1 call this the Room of the Moonlight, For I saw in this very place A dream come true in its beauty When the moonlight found your face ! Glory creeping to glory, I saw the moonlight creep To you, in a night of magic Too powerful for sleep ! [42] OCEAN O once almighty vast of Mystery, O restless Power of wide glooms and gleams, Still burns a wonder that Man made you be A bearer of his Dreams! Once over you only the winds had passed And nameless monsters stirred your silent deeps. Now all your ways are marked with ships. At last Beneath your breast there creeps The steel that seems to live, as silently As monsters crept into a hidden lair. All that you are is known. And Man would see The unreached heights of Air! And yet you are as powerful as when Man trembled on your shores. The endless moan Of you went trembling through him. Ah, but then You were a vast Unknown ! And though you rose in anger, and white foam Leaped from bared teeth on reefs where ships were hurled, Man came again, a wanderer from home, Until he claimed the World. [43] O Beautiful, yet cruel in beauty, now Man sees your beauty, blind with fear no more. Lifter of hearts by one touch on the brow, Why break them as before? Yet nothing you may ever say or do Can drive Man from you till the greedy sky Has sucked you up and days all wild and new Mark vasts grotesque and dry. For Man has made a playground and a mart Upon you, and his battlefields are spread Across you and deep down into your heart, Restless, uncomforted! O waves that wash the white feet of the Moon When first she rises from her place of rest, Reach out with a soft touch and soon, O soon, Join hands of East and West, Join hands of North and South not but in trade But in a Brotherhood like no men knew When their great war on the Unknown was made . . . With Dreams they conquered you! With Dreams they conquered you! And can it be The Dreams have failed their ancient, changeless trust, To fall, at last, upon new Mystery And new Unknowns of Dust? [44] THE HOUSE IN THE WILLOWS i. The sudden twilight put dark shadow-cloaks Upon the trees dripping with recent rain. The Summer night came like a weary woman In mourning, with a breath of sighs, into The southern valley where I lost my way. And, feeling the great loneliness man feels At such a time, I went on stubbornly, Just to keep going, and I came at last Upon a group of willows and a house With no light in its windows. Shadows clung About the place, and there was not a sound But whispers of the willows and the stir Of sluggish waters somewhere in the gloom. I mounted creaky stairs and stood awhile Upon the porch. A bat swerved dizzily From out of the shadows. Not another sign Of life I saw about the place. I tried The door. It opened slowly, with complaint Of rusted hinges, on a narrow hall. I called into the gloom of it and heard My voice grow into something strange and loud; And half afraid, I laughed at my own fears, [45] And heard my laugh go crazy as a bat Into the darkness of the musty hall. I struck a match and entered. To my right A door, half open, led into a room With dusty floor and heavy earthy smells. Two half-burned candles stood in tarnished sticks Upon a table and I lighted them And looked about the room. A fireplace With scattered ashes, and a narrow couch Beside a window with the curtains drawn Was all I saw at first. I turned about And struck against a wicker rocking chair That stood beside the table. I sat down In it for lack of something else to do. Idly I looked about the cheerless walls. And whispers of the willows came to me And stir of sluggish waters in the gloom. n. I must have s!ept, for I remember now I woke from troubled dreams and heard a sound As if a curtain rustled at the window. And then I saw a woman somewhat old, Either in years or age that sorrow gives, Sitting upon the couch. Her dark eyes gazed Into the fireplace. Her slender hands Were clasped so tightly that the fingers looked Like ivory on the black dress she wore. She was not beautiful, but as I stared [46] I saw such charm as only years can give When all the dross of Dreams is burned away And some great Dream or Love remains to touch The features to new power and new life. "Madam," I said, "forgive me. I intrude Upon your revery. I did not know You were about the place, so still it was When I came in." She turned her eyes to me, Then in a voice toned with the willows said, "I'm only sorry that the house affords So little comfort for a weary guest. If you will listen I shall tell you why." My heart was like an instrument that knew Only the single sad note of her voice. "It was a southern springtime," she went on, "When mocking birds were singing and their songs Were everywhere, that he came down the road To father's house. The sun was on his hair And he had nothing but his violin And Youth and Dreams. I loved him then with love That could not run or hide and so I did. "My father met him at the door. They talked And one voice reached me like a lovely song. Then there was silence. Father said to me, [47] When I went back into the room again, 'That fellow wanted some place he could spend A month or two. I sent him up the road To find a place. I can't be bothered here With him and all his airs and lengthy hair/ My mother laughed and I was very still. "The next day I went to a neighbor's house Upon an errand. Near the house I heard His violin singing of unborn Springs. We met beneath the trees. The mocking birds All seemed to know that Love was there . , . And so Spring passed in glory and we often met In secret places sweet with growing things. We loved each other dearly. Father learned About it and forbade us our great joy. "In brief, we ran away and, in a city Not very far from here, were married. Then My husband looked for work and found it soon And we were very happy . . . Afterwhile He started work, at nights, upon a song That haunted him. Often he worked all night. "Before it was completed I grew ill And doctors said it was my lungs. They said I must live in the country for a time. We had no money, so my husband worked Like mad upon his song and finished it. [48] He kissed me, I remember, and went out To sell the song. That night when he came home I heard him singing. He came in the room And showed a roll of bills to me. He said A publisher had bought the song at once. "Not until long months after did I learn That he had borrowed money from a friend, And brought me part of it, and with a part Had taken life insurance, fearing that If he should die no one would care for me. "Later we left the city and came here And rented this small house. My husband said That he would care for me while I was ill And work upon a new song. I grew worse. And he kept growing thinner all the time. I wrote to mother. Father answered me. He said, in part, I was no child of his, And that I might have married well. He blamed My husband for his poverty and called Him coward, thief and other cruel names. My husband saw the letter. His dark eyes Filled slowly with great tears. He sat and looked Out of the window. Willows all about Were sighing. After that he seemed to be More troubled . . . Since I was so very weak His music made me nervous, so he went Down by the stream tc work upon his song. [49] Late in the night, when gray mists hovered near, I heard the faint, sweet sorrow whispering, Like willows, from his violin. One night He came into this room and wrote the notes On paper not as white as his poor face. "Next day he seemed more cheerful, and he took His song to the small village down the road And sent it to a publisher. He brought A doctor back with him, and told me now I could have better care since he would have Money for all our needs . . . The song came back With nothing but a little printed note. He stared at it a long time; then he hurled It where these ashes are and looked at me With awful eyes. After a time he spoke. He told me of his debts, that all the money He borrowed had been spent. And he cried out, 'I am a coward, as your father said, Or I would do more for you.' Then he came And bowed beside me on this couch and wept. 'If I were dead you'd be well-off,' he moaned. / "I could not comfort him. I was too deep In my own pit of sorrow and despair. I thought that all the world was wrong. My faith In him was broken for the time. He seemed To have failed me. When I looked up at last He was not there. A little later came [50] An old nurse from the village, and she said My husband sent her, saying he would be Away from home awhile. Towards evening A neighbor rushed into the house. He said My husband had been bitten by a snake Sometime that afternoon and had been found Dead by the stream among the willows . . . Now I well remember that he told me of The water moccasins that crept about Among the grasses by the sluggish stream. And how he hated them! He used to say The sight of one sent shivers up his spine. "When I had heard that he was dead I swooned And knew no one for days. They buried him Down in the village churchyard, while I tossed In fever, crying out in misery. "When I was stronger the old nurse told me The snake had bitten him upon the wrist And that they found him, with his violin Clasped to his breast, stretched out beside the stream Under the willows . . . All too well I knew How he had died. And with an irony Of Fate my strength came back until at last I could walk down beside the stream where he Had died for me, and hear the willows sing The lost song of his silent violin. [51] "I did not want for care. His death had sent His life insurance to my aid when he Thought there was nothing else to do but die. OGod. OGod!. ." in. Her voice seemed suddenly To be a part of whispers that I heard From willows all about. I started up With strange fear over me. And she was gone. The candles, burned down to their sockets, cast A sickly light about the room. I called. My own voice frightened me. It crept away Into the musty hall and lost itself Among the whispers of the willows there. I rushed out of the room and after me Came whispers of the willows, till at last I found a road and, down the road, a house. Dawn was just blooming and I heard near by A mocking bird that sang as if the world Had known no sorrow. At the house I stopped. An old man was already at the well Drawing some water. I went up to him. "Who lives," I asked, "in that house, up the road, With all the willows 'round it?" Not a word [52] He answered me. He stood and blinked at me. And then he muttered, as if to himself, "No one has lived there since they found her dead Of snake bite where the willows meet the stream." [53] A NEW MEXICO HILL-SONG Out where only the high hills wall us In the lap of a world that is full of sun, Out where the hill-winds dance and call us On for adventurings just begun, We feel the thrill that Spring is waking And every path is worth the taking, Far from the world where hearts are breaking In the race that is never won. Out here joy comes for the asking And every tree is a friend today, And the lazy rabbit dreaming and basking Only from habit runs away. And hand in hand we follow the turning Of any path, and the wild hills' learning Makes us wise and sets us yearning With open skies to stay. Out here dreams are worth the dreaming, Where every wind has a dream to sing, And just ahead is a glory gleaming, Behind, some sweet remembered thing. And I feel that all the brooding sorrow Of hearts would pass if they came tomorrow And followed our trails and dared to borrow Gold from the stores of Spring. [54] A MOUNTAIN NOCTURNE Folded are wings of the winds; No wandering cloud-ship mars With motion a sky that sleeps In the singing silence of stars. Folded are wings of my dreams And closed are the gates of unrest And I would not stir in the night From your lips and the spell of your breast. As still as the mountains are We sit in a world that is young But more than words have we said And more than songs have we sung! fss) DIRGE Oh ! take your flowers from his grave, You custom-guided people. And still the bells that now disturb The owls in the steeple. He would not have the flowers die As he has died for you, Torn in his bloom from a place in the sun There is nothing you can do ! [56] A GIPSY SONG IN THE CITY You have turned my feet from the open road And the hills where the winds are calling. Would you hold me here in the youth of the Year When the apple blooms are falling Pink and white by the Bluebird's nest, When rainbows come from the heart of the West? When the grasses stir and the maiden Willow Suns her hair, and the young Earth's breast Is as soft and sweet as any pillow Where Israfel's head may rest? You have turned my feet from the open road But back again they are turning, And with laugh and shout my heart goes out To the places of its yearning. It scatters the dew by the pasture bars And it laughs where the violets cover the scars On the brow of the hill, and where nooks are shady It dances with fauns, and nothing mars Its crystal dreams of a lovely lady Who shall come to my tent of Stars ! [57] SONG Sometimes your love's a Rainbow Arching my world for me, Sometimes your love's a white ship Coming in from sea. The Rainbow goes, the white ship Turns again to sea! And then your love's an angel That brings them back to me. [58] A FATHER AND HIS DEAD SON little, white, still son Lying upon your little, white, still bed, Never to laugh and run Among the wind-blown flowers blue and red Nor chase the butterflies With gold and purple wings, Nor want the rainbow in the skies, Have you found lovelier things? What dreams I dreamed of you! 1 saw you go down the white road of Years Now even dreams can do Nothing but trace the empty miles with tears. You will not look at me, Yet on your face there gleams A sweet, faint smile. Oh ! can it be You have found dearer dreams? O little, white, still son, The beautiful home that I had planned for you ! The windows, every one Looking on something wonderful to view, [59] Till you at last could see All things beneath the dome Of vast blue sky. Oh ! can it be You have found a happier home? little, white, still son, The deep, grave, hopeful love you woke in me ! 1 dreamed somewhere was one, Born lovely for you, who would come to be Your mate some blossomy spring, While star-blooms spread above. Oh! do you need no earthly thing Having found a vaster Love? LIKE THE WIND IN THE DUNES The wind came into the dunes And shifted the weary sand As if it sought old patterns Of a loved, remembered land. A mood, like the wind, found my heart And shifted the dreams it knew As if to find lost glories And beauties that were you ! [61] ON THE ROAD WITH THE MORNING Heigh-ho ! The winds blow Down the Road that gleams As if bands of fairies scattered All their packs of Dreams In their flight when Dawn's first light Danced on singing water. And I go, with dream-robe tattered, With a shield the years have battered, Where has passed the laughing daughter Of the fairy king And for joy I sing: "Heigh-ho! The winds blow Alike for man and fairy As if nothing really mattered But that hearts be airy ! Sunbeams pass across the grass And in the boughs above me. Lo ! They mend with gold my tattered Robe of Dreams, and gems are scattered At my feet. The Road must love me That it squanders so Treasures where I go !" THE CITY IN THE DESERT He, whom Life drove from the City, In the desert came to die, And Death, though not in pity, Reared a city in the sky For him to see in silence Before all light passed by. He saw great hazy towers All of dull lights and hues, Like stuff of withered flowers, Pale purples and thinned blues, All casting ghostly shadows On endless avenues. He saw the hazy towers Where no one human came To use their puny powers For nobleness or shame. He saw a magic city Where none could bless or blame. He saw ethereal places Back from the endless street, [63] But neither forms nor faces Seemed anywhere to meet Only the dizzy wavelets Surged outward from the heat. He saw frail, giddy spires Lift in the rocking sky, Touched with weird lights and fires Forever passing by, And wharves all still and empty Where long pale sands were dry. He saw no stir of gladness Down the endless avenues, No sign of strife or sadness Stirred those unearthly hues. And over all the city Pale purples and thinned blues ! There in the desert lonely Over the shifting sands, He cried, "I can see only A city that empty stands Empty as hearts when broken, Empty as empty hands !" "Empty of all I wanted, Towers and avenues, Empty the houses haunted With all infernal hues [64] A hell where demons painted Pale purples and thinned blues!" And Death, though not in pity, Closed his half -maddened eyes, Wiped out the swaying city, The dizzy desert skies And who knows but thereafter He looked on Paradise! PURPLE Purple grapes hung in the purpling gloom. Frail purple flowers swayed in the musky grass. I caught a breath of passionate perfume, And saw you pass (A shadow in motion, a drifting purple hue) And I reached out my arms and called to you Only to lose you in purpling shadows that between us came. Nothing I heard but the autumn winds whispering your name. Maddened I rushed to find you, to hold you in my caress, But my open arms closed only on purple emptiness. I called. . .No answer came. Nothing I heard but the autumn winds whispering your name. [66] INTERLUDE Upon the wall of shimmer-sky Climb roses of the Dawn, And clouds, like gorgeous birds go by, Forever on and on Unto the cryptic vales and steeps Where no one sows and no one reaps. If I could climb that lofty wall (So raptured dawn- winds tell) Oh ! I would hear, o'er whispers all, The harp of Israfel With notes like rose leaves falling through A space of star-dust and of dew. But, Love, could I not bear to you One little dawn-rose fair, One note that Israfel sent through The gardens of the air, I would not wish to climb the skies Beyond your smile, beyond your eyes. [67] BEYOND HIS MEANS The short trial ended and the verdict came. Then voices droned and then a silence fell As Gordon Courtland bowed beneath his shame Was led back to his cell. An old man near me said, "This is like hell For his poor parents. Man, he left his teens Only a few years back. He started well Then lived beyond his means . . ." And I could not forget young Courtland's face, The high, white brow, dark eyes and the pale cheek, The full lips that could smile in ready grace, The chin so nearly weak. It was the face of one who went to seek Life's gold and was won by the gleam of dross, A face not beautiful for being meek, Nor scarred beneath a Cross ! So, one year out of college, Courtland fell For his wild dreams into the pit of things To have his heart seared in the heat of hell. Again the poor moth's wings Have touched the flame, again a cruel Fate sings Over a broken thread and so it goes! [68] There is a price to pay that sometimes brings To us another's woes ! Who is to blame? Let us go where he went Through these young years and see what we may see . This was his Home, and here the twig was bent And now the twig's a tree! The stained glass windows ! How they stare at me ! Here at the very start we find a clue The light of heaven struck them but to be Colored as it passed through ! . . . This is the School where first his feet were set Upon the new roads. How did it fail him then? In leading out the mind does it forget The heart in little men? Somehow, it seems if he were here again Some one could find a surer way to teach What is worth while to guide the judgment when Some things are out of reach. This is the Church his parents forced on him Before he thought of God in his own way. . . Did he hear any prayer or mighty hymn That made him want to pray? Even here Pride and Jealousy held sway, And costly raiment came here from the marts. He saw fair women in a vain display Hide something in their hearts. . . [69] This is the College where men are wise. Has it, too, failed him? Or was he to blame? Does not it not offer too much to the eyes And carp too much to Name? And does it bow too low to empty fame And prate of Vision and love Money more? However it may be, his is the shame ! Here all is as before ! . . . This is the Bank. He learned of finance here. The crooked deals he saw ! The little schemes ! Can it be that his vision was not clear? That these crept into Dreams? And yet the Bank is upright, so it seems, For it has nobly sent him to a cell. How will the balance be when fire gleams On old accounts in hell? This is the City. Here he went the pace The people set for him, and laughed his way Through wealth and lust to many a pretty face In home and cabaret. Is it all his, this debt he has to pay? As went the evidence it seems to be ! Or might it be nearer correct to lay It to Society? O throng that dances on the shifting sands, Do you not see that some one falls each day [70] Spent and alone, with empty, groping hands? Have you no price to pay? What of each drop of blood that slips away A Nation's strength when these you trample bleed? The years are long and t his is but a day ! O mirth-mad hosts, take heed! SHADOWS In the large room was gaiety and light And laughter louder than a song should be. I watched the well-dressed people making free With Life, and then I passed into the night. The curtained windows of the room had might To hold my eyes. And there in front of me Came shadows and passed shadows, ceaselessly Acting a tableau that burned in my sight. I thought of the gay room, the near-content, The sharpened laughter, and the lure of eyes, The joy of pride, the efforts made to please. The windows held me. Shadows came and went Upon the curtains while the brooding skies Sent down a wind that chuckled in the trees. [72] TO JULIA Aged Seven What wonderland have you been through? You, with your heart so full of dreams. Its magic lingers over you. I hear the laughter of its streams Within your laughter, and its skies Leave dawn and moon-rise in your eyes. What Palaces have you in Spain? Princess of childhood's golden hours! I know the rainbow o'er the plain Reflects the glory of their towers. And oh, my worldly heart bows down To kiss the hem of your white gown. And may the years not take from you Your Wonderland, and may the rain Of coming years let rainbows through Upon your Palaces in Spain. And may God smite with sword that gleams The one that dares to rob your dreams! And may my worldly heart bow down To kiss the hem of your white gown! [73] SONG The Moon was silver over the silver willow In the garden by the sea, And each fairy had a rosebud for a pillow Up in the red rose tree, And each had a lute with silver strings That held the wonder and lure of things. And the Wind took up the tune, Till the Child cried out to his Mother, "O Mother, I want the Moon, The Moon, the Moon, the Moon!" But I heard the voice of the Mother, As soft as the winds above, "Hush, little man, there's not another Thing as good as Love !" (74] SONG A hurry of wings past the sunset's gold, A flurry of cloud-ships touched with fire! And my heart goes out all glad and bold, Swift on the wings of an old desire. A flutter of wings as they sink to rest In the nesting place where the young have grown, And my mad heart still toward the darkening West Goes through the silence alone, alone. A whisper of winds \vhere the waters roam With an undersong in the hush and dew! And my mad heart far on its flight from home Suddenly calls, like a child, for you. OF DREAMS i. THE DREAMS OF ONE DEAD What has become of all the glorious dreams That once thrilled in this heart now ever still? Have they gone with the dead unto the hill Or gone with the free soul some place where gleams The trace of star-dust washed by astral streams On bars of Light beyond the mortal will, Beyond our vision in the years until Death works a change within the theme of themes? If they have joined the earth upon the brow Of the wise hill they may inspire the dust To give new glory from the sunny sod. If they have followed with the soul, and now Find glory even beyond their hope and trust, How they must long to tell us more of God ! ii. THE GLORY OF DREAMS But if Death is the end of all in all, And if there is no soul that flies at last Beyond our wander-ways to places vast Where constellations, not men, rise and fall, [76] Then these dreams, though bound in a region small, Worried with doubts, and often overcast With clouds blown from the chill waste of the Past, Have glory enough for growing proud and tall. Even as blooms and trees, even as grain, They grew from out the dark into the light, Bringing new worth unto the native sod. They knew the beauty of the dancing rain, They knew the whispers of the winds at night, And, knowing these, they knew something of God. ill. THE IMMORTALITY OF DREAMS Some hearts are as the sod and dreams like these Are as the seed the dead stalk leaves the Earth. Their kind will live, and thrilling with new birth, Take an alloted place with stones and trees. Nothing so true, for all Life's miseries, For all its doubt, for its misguided mirth, Will pass and leave with us a dreaded dearth While the Unseen works magic where He sees. Oh ! is there not, then, Immortality Even in such a simple life as this? Is it not glorious? Is it not well That Truth and Hope and Beauty still may be For dreams long dreamed, long lived, although we miss The Dreamer while he works his miracle? (77} 'c.