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 U 7 9 THE VOICE 
 V N THE SILENCE 
 
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 TWOMAS S. JONES, JR 
 
 I 
 
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BOOKS BY MR. JONES 
 
 The Voice in the Silence 
 The Rose- Jar 
 
 Interludes 
 
 From Quiet Valleys 
 
 The Path o' Dreams 
 
 (with Clinton Scollard) 
 
 From the Heart of the Hills 
 
THE VOICE IN THE 
 SILENCE BY THOMAS 
 S. JONES, JR. 
 
 PORTLAND MAINE 
 
 THE MOSHER PRESS 
 
 MDCCCCXV 
 
COPYRIGHT 
 THOMAS S. JONES, JR. 
 
 1911 : 1915 
 
 FIRST EDITION, DECEMBER, 
 
 SECOND EDITION, JANUARY, 1913 
 
 THIRD EDITION, APRIL, 1915 
 
TO 
 KATHERINE OSBORNE 
 
 312544 
 
The one whole song of this true poet touches the 
 imagination in a way which may be best, yet far from 
 perfectly, described by likening its effect to that of a 
 single episode in a masterwork of a closely allied art 
 to a certain scene in Tannhauser. The curtain rises 
 on the stage, disclosing the edge of a beautiful forest. 
 In full view is a solitary high rock around the base of 
 which winds an ancient road the road of human 
 feet. On the rock sits a youthful shepherd and in the 
 shepherd's hands is the pipe of his sylvan solacing art. 
 Amid the forest's beauty, stillness, loneliness, first he 
 sings self -attentive to his wistful joy. Then he 
 places the pipe to his uncompanioned lips and blows 
 his song out upon the bright atmosphere still retain- 
 ing for himself the gayety of a consecrated surrender 
 to its plaintive note. Soon he is disturbed and silenced 
 by another sound the slow heavily burdened chorus 
 of a band of coming pilgrims. Their variously com- 
 mingled voices draw nearer, grow louder. The sandaled 
 wayfarers of the soul appear. They advance. Their 
 chant rises with fullest volume as they surge round 
 the rock. They pass on; they are seen no more; for 
 a while their song lingers down the leafy glades ; then 
 it too dies out in the distance. Again is the unchanged 
 
stillness of the forest, the unchanged loneliness of the 
 road save for fresh imprints of care-worn feet. And 
 yet once more the youthful shepherd will take up his 
 pipe and blow upon the air his uninterrupted song. 
 He will neither forget it nor will he change it. He 
 will borrow for it no note from any particular band of 
 pilgrims afterwards arriving, because it is his finished 
 song of them before they arrive. It heralds their 
 approach before they are heard; it continues their 
 presence after they are gone. It is the one song of 
 his life about all pilgrim bands who pass his way 
 along the same human road around his woodland 
 rock : the rock overlooking the road, the song blend- 
 ing the sounds of the road and the forest. Thus this 
 poet's song : native to the woods from which it never 
 wanders; intent upon a theme which it never relin- 
 quishes the forest and the pilgrims. And thus while 
 his pipe has no rift in it, his song has one the never 
 to be mende,d rift between nature and humanity. 
 
 JAMES LANE ALLEN 
 
Thanks are due the Editors of Harper's 
 Magazine, Scribner's Magazine, The Book 
 News Monthly, The Pathfinder, The 'Deline- 
 ator, The Smart Set, The International, The 
 Lyric Year, The Boston Transcript, The 
 New York Sun, and the other publications 
 in which the poems of this collection 
 originally appeared, for their kind per- 
 mission to reprint. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 TO SONG . '. v **v r . C/>-W. 3 3 
 
 IN EXCELSIS -. . . .-- . 4 
 
 INTIMATIONS . . 3JHTA V-jJJ 6 
 
 A DEBT . . . -Y . >M ^ 7 
 
 OF ONE WHO WALKS ALONE . a 8 
 
 IN MEMORY < . - . T* ; } v* Ll . " 9 
 
 THE GUARDIAN ANGEL . ; V 10 
 
 A SYMPHONY . . . . * P 11 
 
 THE PINES '. a:< ^ :: "'"'?* : HT 12 
 
 AS THROUGH A GLASS ... 13 
 
 BEYOND . . . . . 14 
 
 THE WAY BACK ' f *' Ti l ' " f '" ; f 15 
 
 THE QUIET VALLEY . . / 16 
 ON A FLY-LEAF OF U THE CHOIR 
 
 INVISIBLE" .*' . - a ^ li: / 18 
 
 URBS BEATA . . . . V 19 
 
 TO ROSAMUND MARRIOTT WATSON 20 
 ENDYMION . . .21 
 
 AT THE WHITE GATE . . . 22 
 EMBER-GLOW . . . . .23 
 
 THE SILENCES . 24 
 
 XI 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 LILAC-TIME < .. . . . 26 
 
 THE WAYS OF SPRING . .. ; ftfcf 27 
 
 EBB-TIDE . . .. . -VH:^ 28 
 
 STILL-WATERS , . ." * 1 1* Ht <\ ** 29 
 
 THE MOORS t ; ... . . 30 
 
 THE ROAD >JA #^w,WiHW 3H< 31 
 
 CANDLE-LIGHT .. ;; 'fga&lil 32 
 
 FORGOTTEN ,Jj . ^/ j ^ 33 
 
 WIDE PASTURES ^ v . | - . ; ; ^^t 35 
 
 AT THE ROAD'S END . . r * 36 
 
 SAPPHICS 
 
 TO A GREEK STATUE *, : ,^ 43 
 
 ONLY .V ^ 4 rii *^M M t 44 
 
 AT THE WINDS' CALL ^ f . ? ". 45 
 
 TO A HILL-TOWN . ^Hf^iyMi 46 
 
 ELEGY . . . . *7 47 
 
 THE GIFTS OF PEACE 48 
 
 Xll 
 
THE VOICE IN THE SILENCE 
 
TO SONG 
 
 t ERE shall remain all tears for lovely things 
 And here enshrined the longing of great hearts, 
 Caughtonalyre whence waking wonder starts, 
 To mount afar upon immortal wings ; 
 Here shall be treasured tender wonderings, 
 The faintest whisper that the soul imparts, 
 All silent secrets and all gracious arts 
 Where nature murmurs of her hidden springs. 
 
 O magic of a song ! here loveliness 
 
 May sleep unhindered of life's mortal toll, 
 
 And noble things stand towering o'er the tide ; 
 Here mid the years, untouched by time or stress, 
 Shall sweep on every wind that stirs the soul 
 The music of a voice that never died ! 
 
IN EXCELSIS 
 
 CPRING! 
 
 ^ And all our valleys turning into green, 
 
 Remembering 
 
 As I remember ! So my heart turns glad 
 
 For so much youth and joy this to have had 
 
 When in my veins the tide of living fire 
 
 Was at its flow ; 
 
 This to know, 
 
 When now the miracle of young desire 
 
 Burns on the hills, and spring's sweet choristers again 
 
 Chant from each tree and every bush aflame 
 
 Love's wondrous name ; 
 
 This under youth's glad reign, 
 
 With all the valleys turning into green 
 
 This to have heard and seen ! 
 
 And Song ! 
 
 Once to have known what every wakened bird 
 
 Has heard ; 
 
 Once to have entered into that great harmony 
 
 Of love's creation, and to feel 
 
 The pulsing waves of wonder steal 
 
 Through all my being ; once to be 
 
 In that same sea 
 
 Of wakened joy that stirs in every tree 
 
And every bird ; and then to sing 
 
 To sing aloud the endless Song of Spring ! 
 
 Waiting, I turn to Thee, 
 
 Expectant, humble, and on bended knee ; 
 
 Youth's radiant fire 
 
 Only to burn at Thy unknown desire 
 
 For this alone has Song been granted me. 
 
 Upon Thy altar burn me at Thy will ; 
 
 All wonders fill 
 
 My cup, and it is Thine ; 
 
 Life's precious wine 
 
 For this alone : for Thee. 
 
 Yet never can be paid 
 
 The debt long, laid 
 
 Upon my heart, because my lips did press 
 
 In youth's glad Spring the Cup of Loveliness ! 
 
INTIMATIONS 
 
 O O life goes by, yet leaves this starry gold : 
 ^ All things that once were wonderful and true, 
 Kin to the best and what may not grow old, 
 Sifted of dust, disclosed forever new. 
 
 Thus in the waste of swiftly passing years 
 
 These wondrous things are proof of what may be, 
 
 For even now beyond the gate of tears 
 They stand revealed in immortality. 
 
A DEBT 
 
 F^IME has been prodigal of fairy-gold 
 -* Which I have hoarded tenderly away, 
 Mayhap to squander in that later day 
 
 When Winter has come on and I am old ; 
 
 But now the Spring has marvels manifold, 
 And youth still trembles in its sunlit sway, 
 So do I wonder how I shall repay 
 
 A debt for all the joy one heart can hold. 
 
 I wonder, and the answer comes full clear : 
 To keep a heart in joy, to sing again 
 
 When Winter has come on and life is bare ; 
 For you do know the Spring is ever near, 
 And haply to some lonely soul in pain 
 You may pay back in largess unaware. 
 
OF ONE WHO WALKS ALONE 
 
 P^HESE are the ways of one who walks alone, 
 -* Sweet silent ways that lead toward twilight skies, 
 Bees softly winging where a low wind sighs 
 Through the hills' hollow, cool and clover-blown. 
 
 These are the ways that call one back again 
 To old forgotten things in faded years, 
 Swift on a moment of remembered tears 
 
 They stand from out the dust where they have lain. 
 
 These are the ways life's simple secrets bless, 
 
 Keen homely scents borne by each haunted wind, 
 Here in the silence one may ever find 
 
 That last strange peace whose name is loneliness. 
 
IN MEMORY 
 
 F^HERE is one cloistered place that still would keep 
 -* A single dream should all the others go, 
 For ever it is just the same as though 
 It rested in God's loving hand asleep. 
 
 Its hills are steadfast and its trees are true, 
 And all its winds are like the winds of June ; 
 And life is never old nor out of tune, 
 
 And youth is golden as the skies are blue. 
 
 O quiet vale asleep beneath God's smile ! 
 I ever need you for the ways are far, 
 And through all things I seem to know you are 
 
 A little vision of the after-while. 
 
THE GUARDIAN ANGEL 
 
 OOMETIMES a waking dream my life will be 
 
 ^ Too wonderful for words or any song, 
 As if the moment time had burst its thong 
 
 And passed the verge of immortality ; 
 
 Sometimes the fates do spin so lavishly 
 
 A web of rarest joy with threads so strong, 
 That then I know grief cannot last for long 
 
 Since endless beauty is unveiled to me. 
 
 What though one stand without the gates of gold, 
 Seeing beyond, time is a little thing, 
 
 And in the silence all things may abide ; 
 For Memory her mighty wings will fold 
 About each dream with gentle winnowing, 
 And they are safe . . . and I am satisfied. 
 
 10 
 
A SYMPHONY 
 
 TO-DAY, a symphony ! 
 An ecstasy of sound, a rushing sea 
 Of tonal wonder through the trees ! 
 Truly are these 
 The flutes ^Eolian, 
 And Pan 
 The piper of lost melodies ! 
 
 Winds all day long, 
 
 Sweeping the branches on a thousand strings 
 
 Of myriad notes ; and tremulous, the song 
 
 Of birds in haunting harmony ! 
 
 Floods of full sound, piercing and strong, 
 
 Yet laden with a tenderness that sings 
 
 Into the soul, an undertone 
 
 Poignant as memory : 
 
 A sweetness blown 
 
 Across discordant years, 
 
 Caught from the rhythm of the chanting spheres ! 
 
 It must be Pan, indeed ! 
 
 For now the dusk unveils the evening-star, 
 
 And as a dream 
 
 The winds blend into one exquisite theme, 
 
 Then faint afar 
 
 Like the low piping of a shepherd's reed. 
 
 11 
 
THE PINES 
 
 TN lofty galleries of greenery 
 
 ** They rise and meet the azure of the sky, 
 A pillared nave whose arches frail and high 
 
 Breathe with an organ's solemn melody : 
 
 Now like the minor surging of the sea 
 
 Or low and faint as wings that startle by 
 As sweet-tuned winds that quaveringly sigh 
 
 Adown dim aisles of cloistered pageantry. 
 
 While through the stretches of this lovely fane 
 The swaying censers shed a drowsy smell 
 
 Heavy with some rare fragrance from afar, 
 Upon the pavement falls the sunset stain, 
 
 The dusk creeps on ... softly a twilight bell 
 And now, the altar-candle of a star ! 
 
 12 
 
AS THROUGH A GLASS 
 
 A SOFT thin haze of misty golden-green 
 * ^ Lies on the valley, tenuous and frail, 
 Touches the far hills with its sunlit sheen, 
 And folds the distance in a filmy veil. 
 
 Is there naught else drifted between our eyes 
 And endless beauty that can never pale? 
 
 Are these but vistas of some paradise 
 
 Seen through the meshes of a golden veil ! 
 
 13 
 
BEYOND 
 
 T WONDER if the tides of Spring 
 -* Will always bring me back again 
 Mute rapture at the simple thing 
 Of lilacs blowing in the rain. 
 
 If so, my heart will ever be 
 
 Above all fear, for I shall know 
 
 There is a greater mystery 
 
 Beyond the time when lilacs blow. 
 
 14 
 
THE WAY BACK 
 
 NO more the road shall turn, 
 And sudden through the trees, the hills, 
 The gleam of water, and the winding road. 
 Never at sunset, the low lying clouds, 
 The scent of all the loveliness of Spring, 
 And then the moon and silence and your hand. 
 
 But I shall ever turn 
 
 Back on that road 
 
 In memory, and stand 
 
 With you at sunset, while the clouds 
 
 Lie golden on those well-loved hills . . . 
 
 So shall I ever come to you and Spring. 
 
 15 
 
THE QUIET VALLEY 
 
 T TERR only dreams will come the live-long day, 
 - * Dreams left behind, but here fulfilled at last ; 
 For in this haven time is put away, 
 
 And, like the clouds, the freighted hours drift past. 
 
 Far, far away within the guarding hills 
 The changing beauty every moment fills, 
 Here, in the shelter, is the sweet release 
 Where life drains deeply from the cup of peace. 
 
 16 
 
II 
 
 ' I V HE west is liquid in the tawny light, 
 * The hills are billows of a purple sea, 
 
 Low in the east the shadows of the night 
 Creep up the sky in waves of mystery. 
 
 And now above the fading after-glow 
 The little moon hangs like a silver bow, 
 Till it too sinks behind the purple-bar, 
 Leaving the silence to the evening-star. 
 
 17 
 
ON A FLY-LEAF OF U THE CHOIR INVISIBLE" 
 fail 7 TO J. L. A. 
 
 Tf OREVER burns the glory of the Grail, 
 
 * And still across the years its crimson stain 
 Shadows the heart of him who seeks in vain 
 
 A perfect service that may never fail ; 
 
 And lest the sacred radiance should pale 
 It still is served by the unending train 
 " Of those immortal dead who live again" 
 
 And lend new wonder to a time-sweet tale. 
 
 So here anew is one who saw the gleam, 
 And followed blindly on the valiant quest, 
 
 Whose windings may seem ofttimes dark and sad ; 
 Yet to our eyes he shows a clearer Dream, 
 And in his knighthood of divine unrest 
 Bears on his arm the shield of Galahad ! 
 
 18 
 
URBS BEATA 
 
 it not be that we at last shall win 
 That Place long sought whose towers we bo.th 
 
 have seen ? 
 
 Can we forget, who oft so near have been 
 That ever music sounds above life's din ? 
 For now there beats a melody within 
 
 Each moment, and white visions intervene 
 Where earth's dull clouds unfurl their misty screen, 
 And where the paths are dark and choked with sin. 
 
 It lies so near that often in the dawn, 
 
 Or when the stars first show their silver fire, 
 
 We seem on old lost ways we once have trod : 
 Upon the grass a Light no more withdrawn, 
 Upon the wind a Song time cannot tire, 
 And in our hearts the very Voice of God. 
 
 19 
 
TO ROSAMUND MARRIOTT WATSON 
 
 DIED DECEMBER, 1911 
 
 \\ 7lDE scattered rose-leaves on a dewy lawn, 
 The call of birds, the hush of gentle rain, 
 Low airs that whisper at the verge of dawn, 
 Music and twilight and the shadows' stain. 
 
 These fill your song, apart from noise and stress, 
 Sweet with the murmur of faint winds afar, 
 
 Steadfast in peace and nature's quietness, 
 Laden with beauty as frail roses are. 
 
 20 
 
ENDYMION 
 
 NO elder hour may speak to you and me 
 While this sweet moment breathes oblivion, 
 For even now the west enfolds the sun 
 And all the valleys are a flaming sea ... 
 A distant flash of wings unfurled and free 
 
 Toward one lone star where clouds their ravels run, 
 An4 through the drifting veil in silver spun 
 The summer moon's white face of mystery. 
 
 But with the moon, old dreams and old-world pain, 
 Borne on the winds of memory and time 
 
 That sweep away the fading twilight spell ; 
 And in the pale glow something back again, 
 
 Something to wake the blood's swift pulsing rhyme, - 
 Immortal Youth amid the asphodel ! 
 
 21 
 
AT THE WHITE GATE 
 TO THE MEMORY OF MICHAEL FAIRLESS 
 
 is not far, the life of adoration, 
 For all about its many symbols lie : 
 Each dawn has known the mystic elevation, 
 And twilight burns pale tapers in the sky. 
 
 * 
 It is not far, but in each touch of wonder 
 
 That clothes the landscape in a filmy veil, 
 And in the winds and the deep voice of thunder, 
 And on the music of a summer gale. 
 
 Yet in the darkness of the silent places 
 
 Is the one door that guards the sacred shrine, 
 
 Around the portal are the angel faces, 
 Within, the everlasting Bread and Wine. 
 
 22 
 
EMBER-GLOW 
 
 TO ROY ROLFE GILSON 
 
 A SILVERED sky swept by the misting rain, 
 4^*- A maze of tree-tops tossing to and fro ; 
 
 But here within, the fading ember-glow 
 Streaking the shadows with a golden stain. 
 
 Outside the storm, but here where discords cease 
 In warmth and silence and the fire-light's spell : 
 A sheltered space for simple faith to dwell, 
 
 A little haven of eternal peace. 
 
 
 23 
 
THE SILENCES 
 
 I 
 
 in the stress of noon's unshadowed tide 
 But where the dusk is vague with memory, 
 Down lonely lanes where dreams mayhap abide 
 Or far adrift on some unfathomed sea. 
 
 There for the moment, we who knew the flame 
 Of one sad day beside life's heedless stream 
 
 May, through the stillness, almost hear the same 
 Soft falling waters on the shores of dream. 
 
 24 
 
II 
 
 T"\ID we but always know that this were best : 
 -*^ These silent trees that guard the sunset's rim, 
 These old gray hills that once meant only rest 
 Nor wavered when our memory grew dim. 
 
 Yet now no loveliness may speed in vain, 
 No waste of dawn in youth's fast fading year, 
 
 Sweet with the tenderness of twilight rain 
 And wistful with the songs we did not hear. 
 
 / 
 
 25 
 
LILAC-TIME 
 III 
 
 CO still the lilacs hang, so ghostly white 
 ^ In the soft washes of the cloud-swept moon, 
 And all the grass is gray with silver light 
 For Spring to say her last farewell to June. 
 
 Roses will riot now where all is gray, 
 
 And in the grasses boom the summer bees . . . 
 But I shall only see the lilacs sway 
 
 And seek their fragrance 'neath my empty trees. 
 
 26 
 
THE WAYS OF SPRING 
 
 IV 
 
 f^HESE paths are sweet with thought of April's green, 
 * For time may never sweep life's drift away : 
 Each rain-blown leaf holds much of yesterday, 
 Each tree a testament to Spring unseen. 
 
 Lanes still the same in April-tide or now, 
 
 White with soft bloom or golden or stript bare, 
 Spring ever came to make their branches fair 
 
 Nor marked the shadow of an empty bough. 
 
 27 
 
EBB-TIDE 
 
 f^HE far soft reaches of the purple hills, 
 -*- The flame of gold and red, the haze swept sky, 
 The hush of simple hours the silence fills, 
 These sad and lovely things as shore-drift lie. 
 
 Sweet wreckage of a swiftly ebbing year, 
 
 Hidden in flood-depths and undreamed before, 
 
 Yet now left lying and unladen here, 
 
 Sea-drift and star-drift on a wind-washed shore. 
 
 28 
 
STILL-WATERS 
 VI 
 
 X T 7HILE peace withholds the sands of waning day, 
 
 And ere the sunlight into dusk has grown, 
 Here may I too forget and steal away 
 
 By paths untrodden and on shores unknown. 
 
 And mid the shadows, in some wood of dream, 
 Drink from that cup untouched by joy or tears, 
 
 Cool with the waters of a twilit stream 
 
 Whose well-springs are the calm of all the years. 
 
 29 
 
THE MOORS 
 
 A LL day the rain, 
 * ^ Gray on the misted hills 
 And on the poplar leaves, a silver veil 
 Torn in the wind ; always the rustling sigh 
 Of leaves and wind that fills 
 The silence with a strain 
 Of lonely music ; while the hours go by 
 Unheeded, and the light grows pale. 
 
 Strange quietness, 
 
 Mayhap the symbol of a greater peace. 
 
 How little now the stress 
 
 Of yesterday ; 
 
 Even the wished-for things, how far away ! 
 
 Rest and undreamed release. 
 
 30 
 
THE ROAD 
 
 THE long, long lane, 
 The straight and narrow road, 
 And these gray walls that never end. 
 And yet a bird may sing and branches bend 
 In the soft hush of rain. 
 
 Gray walls and low-blown dust, 
 
 Yet overhead each Spring white boughs in bloom. 
 
 Heart, heart we must 
 
 Look skyward for the end is not in vain ; 
 
 Now empty gloom, 
 
 But then, mayhap, wide pastures after rain. 
 
 And even now 
 
 Along this lonely road 
 
 A bird calls bravely from a wind-swept bough. 
 
 31 
 
CANDLE-LIGHT 
 
 A S in old days of mellow candle-light, 
 
 * ^ A little flame of gold beside the pane 
 Where icy branches blowing in the rain 
 
 Seem spectre fingers of a ghostly night; 
 
 Yet on the hearth the fire is warm and bright, 
 The homely kettle steams a soft refrain, 
 And to one's mind old things rush back again, 
 
 Sweet tender things still young in death's despite. 
 
 So, when the winter blasts across life's sea 
 Do beat about my door and shake the walls 
 Until the house must sink upon the sand, 
 Then on some magic wind of memory, 
 
 Borne swiftly to my heart a whisper falls, 
 And on my arm the pressure of your hand ! 
 
 32 
 
FORGOTTEN 
 
 A LL day the branches are so softly stirred, 
 -* ^ And ever comes a song the wind has made, 
 
 The sunlight mingles with the drowsy shade, 
 Deep in the wood a lonely thrush is heard. 
 
 Quiet and peace across the sleeping vale 
 
 That was forgot so many years ago; 
 
 Now through the pathways tall rank grasses grow, 
 Tossing unhindered in the gentle gale. 
 
 For they who used to walk these lovely ways 
 Long since departed nor will come again 
 Never a footstep in the scented lane 
 
 That once had known such happy yesterdays. 
 
 And where the path was then so red with bloom 
 Only the creeping brier its tangle shows ; 
 Save in the last still watches, one lone rose 
 
 Sends through the ghostly dusk a faint perfume. 
 
 And they who rest and long have found surcease 
 Upon the little hill girt round with trees, 
 Are silent through the seasons' mysteries, 
 
 Deep in the slumber of their simple peace. 
 
 33 
 
Dear lonely place, you mean so much to me 
 For I have known as you the joy of Spring, 
 And somehow in your sweet remembering 
 
 You touch the very soul of memory. 
 
 34 
 
WIDE PASTURES 
 
 TS there no way to reach beyond that wall, 
 
 -* No voice to stir you from such slumbers deep ? 
 
 Must always silence answer to a call 
 
 That now would wake you out of endless sleep ? 
 
 Here lie wide pastures swept by wind and rain 
 Where ever you may walk unbound and free, 
 
 Here loveliness knows neither age nor stain, 
 And words are sweet in their virginity. 
 
 Youth is so short, and only now the way 
 
 Lies wide before you through the sunlit land, 
 
 There is no path that leads to yesterday 
 And if to-morrow you should understand. 
 
 Is there no way to reach beyond that wall, 
 Nor any voice to waken you from sleep ? 
 
 35 
 
AT THE ROAD'S END 
 
 "^HERE comes no fear of that dim silent night 
 When I shall sleep beyond the call of day, 
 When all shall cease and softly slip away 
 With the dark curtain drawn across my sight ; 
 For in the instant I shall know aright 
 And that which was and is at last survey, 
 Clear as a crystal of the wide sea spray 
 And swept of clouds in one vast burning light. 
 
 No fear, and yet my heart was wont to care 
 For Spring and Summer and the maze of Fall, 
 
 And every wind that waveringly blew ; 
 And though no doubt will come when I shall fare, 
 'T were hard to leave so much that held me thrall, - 
 And oh, the loneliness apart from you ! 
 
SAPPHICS 
 
TO 
 CLINTON SCOLLARD 
 
OT 
 
 HOI 
 
OING the song of youth in its golden season, 
 
 k -' Youth, glad youth, more dear than the ages' treasure ! 
 
 Still as then across the far fields of twilight 
 
 Your voice is singing. 
 
 Hushed with wonder e'en as the low sky's flaming, 
 Hushed in longing, fraught as the winds of twilight : 
 Youth, dear youth, so ever your sweet voice singing, 
 One with the wind's song. 
 
 What are years that go as a moment's fleeting, 
 Tears forgot and lost in the dust of silence ; 
 Still as then across the far fields of Lesbos 
 Your voice at even ! 
 

TO A GREEK STATUE 
 
 H ROUGH the years you stand always gravely 
 
 smiling, 
 
 Warmth of earth yet snow of a drif tless beauty : 
 Youth and joy forever as one brief moment, 
 Waiting in silence. 
 
 And for us, the moment you stopped to listen, 
 Rapt before a Voice that should tell you all things ; 
 So for us, an image of life unbroken, 
 Youth made immortal ! 
 
 43 
 
ONLY 
 
 PRING will come and go in a maze of wonder, 
 
 Skies unfurled again to the lilac weather, 
 Burdened branches and always a light wind blowing 
 Just as it used to. 
 
 Only you, the secret to me of Springtime, 
 All its sweetness, all of its poignant beauty . . . 
 Only you may never come back, and only 
 I shall remember. 
 
 44 
 
AT THE WINDS' CALL 
 
 F^HERE are winds that surge as the wash of waters, 
 -* Strong and full and deep as a storm at flood-time, 
 Winds that call until in my soul's far reaches 
 Wakens an answer : 
 
 Wild as winds or ever the waste sea's longing, 
 Wild and lonely, stirred from the depths of hunger. 
 Lonely winds, more vast are the empty spaces 
 Deep in my being. 
 
 When, at last, shall come the long-wearied silence 
 Peace, gray peace, or merely the end of dreaming; 
 Yet the winds have called, and my heart's old longing 
 Cries through the darkness ! 
 
 45 
 
TO A HILL-TOWN 
 
 f^HIS to you across the swift years that gather, 
 -* This to give for ways that were filled with gladness, 
 Ways hill-girt and under the Spring's first sunrise 
 Paths that were golden. 
 
 Here they lie in memory's early keeping, 
 Wind-swept hills dim-misted with purple vapor 
 One lone hill and three lonely pine-trees tossing 
 Black on the sky-line. 
 
 For these most yet dusk on the lake's still edges, 
 Dusk and moonlight sweeping a wash of silver, 
 Chime of bells and softly an organ's throbbing . . . 
 Music and moonlight. 
 
 And for them, long gone from the hills of morning, 
 Song and laughter, voices that faintly echo . . . 
 All to you, who made as a dream of beauty 
 Youth's little Springtime ! 
 
 46 
 
ELEGY 
 
 HERE shall rest unmoved through the waning seasons 
 One who knew and dreamed, and forgot in dreaming ; 
 Now alone the trees, who remembered always, 
 Are his companions. 
 
 They to whom he came for their silent healing, 
 They who ever gave of their ancient patience ; 
 Now alone with them and the night-wind's crooning 
 Leave him forgotten. 
 
 47 
 
THE GIFTS OF PEACE 
 
 A LL day long the wind in the bending branches 
 * ^ Softly croons a chant for the silent sleepers, 
 Through the hours the birds in unceasing rapture 
 Echo the wind-song. 
 
 Tossing branches caught by the spars of sun-glow, 
 Framing bits of blue with their leafy meshes, 
 And upon the winds from the pine-tree's censer 
 Attars unloosened. 
 
 Far away the valley lies in a day-dream, 
 
 Warm and golden, swept by the clouds' swift shadows, 
 
 While the grasses like distant ocean billows 
 
 Drift in the sunshine. 
 
 Here is peace and loveliness ever mingled : 
 Organ music of winds and birds and branches, 
 And a brooding Presence that makes each moment 
 A benediction. 
 
 48 
 
r 
 
 F at the end you still should stand in Spring 
 
 With perfect youth above the surging years, 
 Still in your eyes unfaded wondering, 
 
 Still in your heart the essence of all tears ; 
 
 Then might it seem that life had stripped away 
 From its hid semblance the last fleeting veil, 
 
 And I should know the dream of youth's decay 
 As one who looks upon the Holy Grail. 
 
TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE 
 COPIES OF THIS BOOK PRINTED ON 
 VAN GELDER HAND-MADE PAPER AND 
 THE TYPE DISTRIBUTED IN THE 
 MONTH OF APRIL MDCCCCXV 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST 
 
 --- 
 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 AN INITIAL F^ToF 
 
 DATE 
 
 *H 
 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 OCT20 1933 
 
 DAY 
 
YB 76828 
 
 312544 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY