Wild Geese 
 
 THEODORE H. BANKS, JR. 
 
 NEW HAVEN YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 
 LONDON HUMPHREY MILFORD OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 
 MDCCCCXXI 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY 
 YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. 
 
 GRATEFUL acknowledgments are made to Everybody s 
 Magazine for permission to reprint poems included in 
 this volume. 
 
 445005 
 
TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 THINE is the beauty of the summer stars 
 Gathered within a fern-fringed pool, 
 When not a ripple mars 
 Its surface cool. 
 
 Thou art as fragrant as the peach-tree s bloom, 
 Bending beneath so rich a store 
 That there is hardly room 
 For one bud more. 
 
 Thy grace is as the grace of ripening wheat 
 That to the wind s soft wooing yields, 
 Sending the shadows fleet 
 Across the fields. 
 
 The glint of sunny waters is thy smile. 
 Thy laughter brings as dear delight 
 As birds clear singing while 
 The dawn grows bright. 
 
 Thou couldst not but be fair, for thy pure soul 
 Transfigures thee with an excess 
 Of light, an aureole 
 Of holiness. 
 
 Yet thou art not a pale and pensive saint 
 Dreaming thy cloistered life away, 
 Despising the restraint 
 Of this dull clay. 
 
 7 
 
Nay,, -rather dost iWu glory in thy flesh, 
 Wearing it proudly as a queen, 
 far- ;tj s a. g-artiient fresh 
 And bright and clean. 
 
 Nor dost thou like a bee suck only sweet, 
 Or dwell in selfishness apart, 
 Not knowing weary feet 
 Or aching heart. 
 
 Thou seekest sorrow with grave, tender eyes 
 And gentle touch that soothes and heals. 
 All human miseries 
 Thy spirit feels. 
 
 As radiant as a star, yet not remote, 
 Clothed with its splendor, not its snow, 
 When it gleams keen-rayed, afloat 
 In the sunset glow, 
 
 Thou hast no setting; for when thou dost pass 
 Beyond our mortal vision, dead, 
 Thou wilt make bright the grass 
 Where angels tread. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. LYRICS. 
 
 Wild Geese 13 
 
 The Return 14 
 
 The Tokens 15 
 
 The Awakening . . . . . . . 16 
 
 The Mogi Road 17 
 
 "As I Sat Dreaming" .... 18 
 
 Prayer ........ 19 
 
 November ....... 2O 
 
 "A Sea-Change" 21 
 
 Tempest ........ 22 
 
 PART II. SONNETS. 
 
 In Memoriam. W. H. Branham: 
 
 1 25 
 
 II 2 5 
 
 III 26 
 
 IV. ... 26 
 
 To Buckner Pearson Sholl ..... 27 
 
 Beyond ........ 28 
 
 The Heritage ....... 29 
 
 Victory ........ 30 
 
 Autumn . . .. . . . . .31 
 
 To Death : 
 
 1 32 
 
 II 32 
 
 HI- 33 
 
 PART III. THE VIGIL ...... 37 
 
 PART IV. THE FOUR WINDS. 
 
 Summer ........ 47 
 
 Autumn . . . . . . . .48 
 
 Winter ........ 50 
 
 Spring 52 
 
 PART V. THE ALTAR CANDLE ..... 56 
 
PART I. 
 LYRICS. 
 
WILD GEESE. 
 
 WILD geese are flying, crying, flying, 
 Sweeping over rice fields, swift across the sun, 
 Black against the west where the day is dying, 
 Winging to the northward till the day is done. 
 
 Wild geese are calling, falling, calling, 
 Swirling down clamorous among the tasselled reeds, 
 Settling in the rushes where the yellow river s crawling, 
 Sinking into silence as the night succeeds. 
 
 Wild geese are springing, winging, springing, 
 Rising from the rushes, for the dawn is nigh, 
 Flying to the northward their wild cry ringing, 
 Mounting like a matin-song beneath the flushing sky. 
 
THE RETURN. 
 
 WHEN I return, let us be very still ; 
 One searching, passionate, soul-sufficing glance, 
 And a deep silence. Mirth would become us ill, 
 Because of the unnumbered graves of France, 
 Where love lies buried on each trampled hill. 
 
THE TOKENS. 
 
 I KNOW by these that she cannot have died : 
 The woodland quiet, the sparkle of the sea, 
 The flutter of leaves, the flooding of the tide, 
 Earth s lure and loveliness and mystery; 
 For all these things she loved, and these abide. 
 
 Nor is her spirit, clad in gentleness, 
 Courage and courtliness and ancient grace, 
 Less than the beauty of the stars, or less 
 Than fading light that touched her tender face, 
 The twilight calm, or the low wind s caress. 
 
 The dark pine woods, secluded and secure 
 Against the world, the majesty that moved 
 On the tempestuous ocean, and the pure, 
 Pale light of dawning: all these that she loved 
 Were transient, earthly things ; and these endure. 
 
THE AWAKENING. 
 
 WHEN I shall wake from life, and in surprise 
 Behold the brilliance of more spacious skies 
 Whose splendor is yet terrible and strange, 
 Then will you come with welcome in your eyes. 
 
 Then will you fold me close in tender arms, 
 
 And with your cherishing touch that heals and charms 
 
 Lull me as in the golden days of earth, 
 
 Shield me from fear of unknown, heavenly harms. 
 
 Then will the music of your speaking fill 
 The solitude to comfort me, and thrill 
 My soul with sense of old companionship, 
 Waking loved echoes that have long been still. 
 
 Then will your yearning bosom bend to mine, 
 Your heart beat to my heart, your clear eyes shine 
 With light will make the heaven seem friendly earth, 
 The loving light that once made earth divine. 
 
 Then will your soul, dauntless and undismayed, 
 Lead me among the wonders, wide displayed, 
 Till paradise will seem almost as sweet 
 As that wild, woodland path where once we strayed. 
 
 16 
 
THE MOGI ROAD. 
 
 AGLOW of lanterns on the tall bamboo, 
 Slender, tapering, smooth and green, 
 The branches like a feathery screen 
 Against uncertain stars that glimmer through; 
 
 The fields seen dimly in the lantern glow ; 
 And through the darkness redolent 
 Low, haunting flute notes that lament 
 The love and the romance of long ago. 
 
"AS I SAT DREAMING." 
 
 A I sat dreaming in my room 
 The shadows gathered and the gloom; 
 There was no sound except the rain 
 That tapped against the window-pane, 
 Like to a phantom lonely there 
 In rising wind and darkening air. 
 I did not heed the night, nor hear 
 The tapping of those hands of fear ; 
 My spirit walked in splendor, far 
 Beyond the bound of sun or star, 
 Treading where every poet trod 
 Since the first song rose up to God ; 
 Saw for a golden moment s space 
 Eternal beauty s matchless face ; 
 Heard for an instant, clear and strong, 
 The marvel of immortal song. 
 And so I did not know the rain 
 Was beating on the window-pane. 
 
 18 
 
PRAYER. 
 
 RCHLY the tapers glimmer, and their gold 
 Floods all the chapel : sculptured altar screen, 
 The high, oak pews with carven ornament, 
 The deep-resounding organ, in whose pipes 
 Glitter a thousand candles, and the altar, 
 Pure and unveined marble. There the blaze 
 Is brightest, and the golden crucifix 
 Burns like a flame ; and there you stand, white-robed, 
 While at your feet the choir chants, silver-tongued, 
 And the great organ throbs in ecstasy. 
 And when the last amen has died away 
 Among the shadows of the vaulted roof, 
 Humbly you kneel and offer up your prayer. 
 
 But I in silence walk beneath the stars. 
 
NOVEMBER. 
 
 THE long, bare beach and the ebbing tide, 
 The creeping fog on the face of the sea ; 
 And all my dreams that the world denied 
 Rising to mock my misery. 
 
 The water winding across the sand, 
 The low waves lapping upon the shore ; 
 And fires that have left but a blackened brand, 
 And hopes that my heart shall hold no more. 
 
 The dull clouds driving across the sky, 
 Heavy with threat of the hissing rain ; 
 And the lilt of laughter, long gone by, 
 Of lips that shall never smile again. 
 
 The sea wind sweeping, wet and cold, 
 A flurry of sea birds fleeting past; 
 And desire for the day that pain is old 
 And rest is come at last. 
 
 20 
 
"A SEA-CHANGE." 
 
 THE snow falls silently, and brings 
 New loveliness to common things, 
 And gives to every ugly place 
 Still forms of beauty and of grace, 
 Making the busy, bustling street 
 A solitude where phantoms meet 
 And dimly pass on muffled feet. 
 
 And could I to like beauty turn 
 
 The passions that within us burn, 
 
 The grief, the weariness, the strife, 
 
 The tumult of our daily life, 
 
 Then in a hushed world you would see 
 
 How strangely altered we should be, 
 
 How clothed in lasting mystery. 
 
 21 
 
TEMPEST. 
 
 SAVAGE the sea leaped high ; on the rocks plunged ponder 
 ous breakers, 
 Hoary with streaking of spray ; and the surges with foam swift 
 
 flying 
 Moaned by the bases of sheer cliffs, smitten and shaken with 
 
 tumult, 
 
 Furious sprang at the land, and rebounded in wildest confusion, 
 Twisted and tossed in their clutches the sinuous ribbons of 
 
 sea-weed 
 Torn from the still, dark bed of the sea by the might of the 
 
 tempest. 
 There in the deeps and the hollows of white crests curling and 
 
 combing 
 
 Darted on* flickering pinions a petrel, intrepidly flying. 
 Hurled from the heart of the east, huge thunder-clouds swept 
 
 o er the ocean, 
 Trailing their fringes of rain with its low hiss lost in the 
 
 clamor. 
 Loud was the voice of the wind; and the sunlight in fugitive 
 
 flashes 
 Glorious shot through the clouds with their clefts and their 
 
 terrible caverns, 
 Gleamed for a time and was gone, as the clouds came sullen 
 
 together. 
 
 Trees in the stream-filled gorges dividing precipitous headlands 
 Bent with their boughs that were wrenched by the wind as it 
 
 swooped through the valleys, 
 Bent to the banks of the brooks as they rushed in their mad 
 
 haste seaward. 
 Full in the sting of the rain and the fury of wind I was 
 
 standing ; 
 
 There by the ruinous waste of the ocean I stood in amazement ; 
 Wondered and worshipped in sight of the grandeur of God the 
 
 All-mighty. 
 
 22 
 
PART II. 
 SONNETS. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 WILLIAM H. BRANHAM, 
 MASTER AT ST. PAUL S SCHOOL. 
 
 I. 
 
 I COULD not write to you when you were dying, 
 Even to cheer you, of the trivial things 
 That summer to an idle schoolboy brings; 
 I could not speak so when I knew you lying 
 Within death s shadow, bravely death defying; 
 Nor had I skill to touch more solemn strings. 
 So was I speechless with the grief that wrings 
 A spirit impotent, the end descrying. 
 Boyish I wrote at last, impulsively, 
 And spoke my sorrow from a loaded heart, 
 Hoping to lighten you of some small part 
 Of the dark burden of your misery. 
 And then you tore my very soul apart 
 For you, the dying, wrote to comfort me. 
 
 II. 
 
 I could not speak then for I had no skill, 
 
 Nor knew the courageous spirit I had lost ; 
 
 Now I guess darkly what the struggle cost, 
 
 When with your splendid strength and dauntless will 
 
 You met death face to face and fought until 
 
 The body broke. So in autumnal frost 
 
 I have seen oaks, their naked branches tossed 
 
 Against the heavens on a windy hill. 
 
 I cannot think the everlasting rest 
 
 And quiet of heaven is a just reward 
 
 For your keen spirit tempered like a sword ; 
 
 Still would you seek to win a distant goal, 
 
 Still journey onward in a noble quest. 
 
 Strife is the guerdon for so strong a soul. 
 
 25 
 
 
III. 
 
 Often the iron of the winding stair 
 
 Clattered, as hastily with lusty shout 
 
 I mounted to your door, and paused without, 
 
 Till to your welcoming cry I entered there, 
 
 To ask for comfort in a schoolboy care, 
 
 To seek solution of a weighty doubt, 
 
 Or joyously to say the buds were out 
 
 And spring was coming with the quickened air. 
 
 Youth pays no heed to death, nor understands 
 
 That the clay s happiness will ever change, 
 
 Or love and friendship fail ; and I, a boy, 
 
 Held those dear moments in unfeeling hands, 
 
 Scattered and squandered them in thoughtless joy. 
 
 How precious are they now, how sad, how strange. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Your room was a sure refuge where I fled 
 To lose my grief in the unfailing cheer 
 Your kindness gave to me, past speaking dear ; 
 For there I talked as friend to friend, instead 
 Of boy to man ; or when the day was dead 
 In quiet contentment watched the stars appear, 
 You in your armchair, reading from Lanier, 
 Blue clouds of eddying smoke above your head. 
 I never thought those days would vanish soon, 
 Those joyous days of friendship, and of life 
 Wherein the past and future had no part. 
 Now after many years, a certain tune 
 Of your beloved Spain cuts like a knife, 
 And fragrance of tobacco twists my heart. 
 
 26 
 
TO BUCKNER PEARSON SHOLL. 
 
 UPRIGHT he stands and clean and straight and strong, 
 Like a high springing tree, hill crowning, where 
 Only the sunlight and the clear, cool air 
 Surround him ever. Far above the throng, 
 Among the gathered glories that belong 
 To the wide heaven, splendid he towers there ; 
 And in his face his soul is featured fair, 
 The soul of Galahad who did no wrong. 
 Through the far fields of France he went his way, 
 Dwelling with ghastliness and girt with death, 
 Silent and steady-eyed; and homeward brought 
 Cleanness of heart like dawn of summer day, 
 Freshness of spirit like the north wind s breath, 
 And beauty like a sword blade finely wrought. 
 
BEYOND. 
 
 IMMEASURABLY below, the planets swing, 
 And all the spirits sit without a sound ; 
 The peace of countless ages wraps them round ; 
 The old stars fade, and others blazing bring 
 Tidings of new worlds of God s fashioning. 
 So bide they in tranquillity profound, 
 Deep in the heart of heaven without a bound, 
 Distant beyond the mind s imagining. 
 Yet not so distant that there cannot come, 
 Faint for a moment like a pulse of air, 
 Troubling the quietude eternal, some 
 Old, half-forgotten human grief or joy : 
 A young girl smiling as she combed her hair ; 
 Or a child weeping by a broken toy. 
 
 28 
 
THE HERITAGE. 
 
 YE who have looked at death with laughing glance, 
 Dreamed and beheld your dreams resplendent rise, 
 And known transforming love that never dies, 
 Have wrought what will endure beyond mischance 
 With lives where death was but a circumstance; 
 For where each of the splendid fallen lies 
 Honor and hope and fearlessness arise 
 Like a rich incense from the fields of France. 
 For me a nobler earth, a vaster heaven 
 Ye fashioned with the glory of your days, 
 And gave immortal men and deeds to sing; 
 Save that I cannot give as ye have given, 
 And idle seems the shaping of sweet lays, 
 And making rhymes a poor and futile thing. 
 
 29 
 
VICTORY. 
 
 NOT like the beast, O God, not like the beast! 
 Let me not fling away the conscience gleams 
 
 Lighting the dark, my spirit-stirring dreams 
 
 And star-fixed vision for a gross flesh-feast. 
 
 I stand at the flushed gateway of the east; 
 
 Round me the light of youth s fresh morning streams ; 
 
 The richest gifts of life are mine, it seems, 
 
 And with the best I would not change for least. 
 
 Earth claims her sensuous due of life and death ; 
 
 Yet, if I yield not wholly to her lure, 
 
 I at the last triumphant shall arise ; 
 
 And though I vanish like a frosty breath, 
 
 I shall outstrip the sun, outsoar the skies, 
 
 And when the stars are dead I shall endure. 
 
AUTUMN. 
 
 THE oak that towers where the rock ridge ends 
 In rich autumnal pomp of red and gold, 
 Single and stately like a king of old, 
 Before the first, keen wind of winter bends ; 
 And its great, rugged arms upflinging sends 
 Showering the leaves in eddies manifold, 
 As one who struggles from a cloak s thick fold 
 And unencumbered with the foe contends. 
 So may my soul, fronting eternity, 
 Steadfast and silent, face to face with God, 
 There in its being s frigid autumn fling 
 Its clinging cerements to the stiffened sod ; 
 Stand naked and unashamed, and like the tree 
 Be clothed with ampler foliage in the spring. 
 
TO DEATH. 
 
 O DEATH, whose dark wing overshadows all, 
 Whose steady, passionless, inscrutable eyes 
 Look coldly down on life s divine surprise, 
 On the heaped riches of life s festival, 
 How mighty art thou! at whose whispered call 
 We leave our dearest treasures, and arise, 
 And journey forth to that far land which lies 
 Wrapped in the dark that overshadows all. 
 
 Death, before whose feet all life is bowed 
 How weak and witless art thou ! for we see 
 Behind the gloom of thy close-gathered shroud 
 The blazing brilliance of the life to be 
 
 That glows unquenchable, as from a cloud 
 The raying sun shines out triumphantly. 
 
 II. 
 
 1 listened when men spoke of Death, and heard 
 Of his transcendent might and majesty, 
 
 His mercy and his magnanimity 
 
 To those in pain ; of sluggish spirits stirred 
 
 To action by his peremptory word ; 
 
 Of lasting glory none could give save he; 
 
 Of knighthood and enduring dignity 
 
 That but one royal touch of his conferred. 
 
 Yet when I saw Death sitting in her place, 
 
 A shrunken figure crouched beside the fire, 
 
 Unmoved by passion, cold to all desire, 
 
 Shrouding with sable hood his fleshless face, 
 
 I saw no state or splendor of a king 
 
 In that ungainly, sightless, shrivelled thing. 
 
III. 
 
 Silent along a summer-shadowed road 
 I walked with Death at my right hand. I knew 
 That he could still the wind that wandered through 
 The quiet lanes, could stay the stream that flowed 
 Beneath the trees, could blast their mellowing load 
 That at his touch would shrivel as the dew 
 Melts in the light of morning, and I knew 
 He could revoke all things that life bestowed. 
 All this I knew, yet fearlessly I turned 
 And full in his unswerving pathway stood, 
 That even for a moment I might peer 
 Beneath the shrouding darkness of his hood ; 
 And deep within his angry eyes there burned 
 A sullen shame and an undying fear. 
 
 33 
 
PART III. 
 THE VIGIL. 
 
 "And set her by to watch, and set her by to weepe" 
 
 Faerie Queene. 
 
THE VIGIL. 
 
 THROUGH the great window opening on the west 
 Came the deep crimson of departing day, 
 Flushing the cold hands crossed upon his breast, 
 Where with closed eyes the Queen s young lover lay, 
 Flooding the chamber for its little stay 
 With beauty fitter for a marriage bed, 
 Quickening with warmth the cold cheeks, ashen gray, 
 Staining the covering and the couch one red, 
 And making pale the tapers ranged about his head. 
 
 Beside him a black-mantled, silent nun 
 Knelt motionless ; a pulse of evening air 
 Fluttered the candles ; slowly, one by one, 
 The shadows gathered and grew long, save where 
 The last light of the sun, surpassing fair, 
 Touched his still figure and his face serene. 
 Then through the silence that was sovereign there 
 Sounded a hurrying of feet unseen, 
 
 An ever-growing murmur and a cry, "The Queen !" 
 
 Suddenly were the doors flung wide apart ; 
 A burst of tumult and they shut again. 
 There was the Queen alone ; against her heart 
 As though against unutterable pain 
 Seeking to quiet its throbbing all in vain, 
 Her hands were pressed. Right regal from her head 
 To the last jewel of her jeweled train 
 She stood, stone still, and gazed upon the bed ; 
 
 Only her white lips, anguished, stiffly whispered, "dead." 
 
 In the broad shaft of slowly fading light, 
 Amid the darkness and the gathering gloom 
 And the deep shade of close-enfolding night, 
 Creeping about her like a stealthy doom, 
 Flamelike she stood ; and like the broadening bloom, 
 The kindling dawn-flush of triumphant day 
 Fired with her fervor the still, sombre room, 
 Scattered the shadows that about her lay 
 
 With her resplendent beauty s overmastering sway. 
 
 37 
 
Then to the kneeling nun, who in surprise 
 Paused in the telling of her rosary 
 And from the dead raised her untroubled eyes, 
 The Queen spake as befitted royalty 
 (Only her pale lips trembled), "Leave us. We 
 Keep here to-night our vigil in your place." 
 Whereat the other rose up wonderingly 
 And making obeisance, left her ; for a space 
 
 She moved not, while the light grew less upon her face. 
 
 And then the mighty Queen who moonlike shone 
 In sovereign splendor great and glorified, 
 Moving august, majestic and alone, 
 Among the lesser stars half deified, 
 Vanished and left a woman ; all her pride, 
 Disdain and dignity and scorn were swept 
 Before the full flood of her passion s tide. 
 There at her dead love s feet she fell, and crept 
 
 Against his breast, and clasped his hands, and sadly wept, 
 
 Long hours she lay there till her tears were dry, 
 Stroking his forehead, whispering his name, 
 Sobbing her grief out; while the evening sky 
 Faded to utter darkness and became 
 Glorious with starlight, while the taper-flame 
 Deepened and ripened into glowing gold, 
 While from the dark, tree-shaded garden came 
 The chirp of crickets, smell of the fresh mould, 
 
 And the full fragrance of the blossoms manifold. 
 
 At length she rose, and with white, trembling hands 
 Stripped off the jewels of her rich attire, 
 Heavy with princely spoil of ravaged lands : 
 Diamonds that flamed with a great city s fire, 
 Pearls shimmering with murdered men s desire, 
 Rubies that glistened with an emperor s blood, 
 The ancient treasure of a funeral pyre ; 
 Loosened the fastenings of her hair and stood 
 
 With tresses flowing free, the sign of maidenhood. 
 
 38 
 
"So I have done with sovereignty," she said, 
 "And with the royalty that came between 
 My love and me ; now that my love is dead 
 I have enough of pride of place, I ween ; 
 The mighty magic of the name of Queen 
 Has lost the virtue that it had of late ; 
 Queenhood is hateful to me, for I have seen 
 The bitterness of majesty and state, 
 
 And know how sad it is and lonely to be great. 
 
 "I am become a woman once again, 
 
 A queen no longer, yet will never be 
 
 Free from my bitter penitence and pain, 
 
 Free from my torturing regret or free 
 
 From my intolerable memory." 
 
 Soft as the night wind her voice died away, 
 
 And in the silence she gazed dreamily 
 
 At the deep-shadowed garden as it lay 
 Before her in the young-lived loveliness of May. 
 
 Slowly she sank down and sat heedless there 
 In the still, starry night that like a shroud 
 Clung close about her ; with her loosened hair 
 Gleaming like some bright, sun-enkindled cloud, 
 Her white hands listless, and her fair head bowed 
 That bent not with the weight of destinies, 
 And her pale face, imperious and proud, 
 Saddened and softened by her mourning eyes 
 
 Haunted with shapes of dreams and ghosts of memories. 
 
 Visions of new-green meadow and clear sun 
 
 And a young soul that looked with wakening eyes 
 On the world s wonder, pure heart scarce begun 
 To feel the fires of deepening passion rise 
 Like springing sunbeams to the morning skies, 
 Bright with the beauty of the day to be. 
 Love filled her spirit with a dim surmise : 
 The tempest s first light touch upon the tree, 
 
 The gathering wind on the ungovernable sea. 
 
 
Then in her brooding, verdant summer brought 
 The peaceful days that like deep waters flow 
 Silently by, and in her heart she thought, 
 "Before the rose has faded I will show 
 Some little sign that he mayhap will know 
 I love him." Smiling for pure joy she went 
 Along the vivid garden, stooping low 
 To raise some stem with weight of blossoms bent 
 
 With gentle touch that gave new life and hue and scent. 
 
 And on a day all fresh from recent rain, 
 
 Sweet with the smell of earth and leaves washed clean, 
 Sunlike she moved among the flowers again, 
 Softly as southern wind she went between 
 Them thinking, "Here where the tall lilies lean 
 Together 1 will yield me." Thither came 
 Her lover where she lingered half unseen, 
 Upon his lips the longing of her name, 
 
 And in his questing eyes the light of leaping flame 
 
 (Eyes closed forever in the candle light, 
 And lips once eloquent with passion, cold 
 As the white moon slow-rising through the night). 
 Then mid the shadows of her memories old 
 Came flash of jewels and swift gleam of gold, 
 And courtiers bowing ceremoniously, 
 Bringing her splendor, stateliness untold, 
 Dominion mighty as the sweeping sea, 
 
 Sceptre and diadem of throned majesty. 
 
 Before her rose with royal circumstance 
 Kingdoms and realms and ancient emperies 
 Golden with legend and with old romance, 
 Magnificent with song of centuries, 
 Bastioned with dreams and walled with memories 
 Of long-gone glory and of dead desire : 
 All-ruling Rome, Persian Persepolis, 
 Babylon and Nineveh, far-sailing Tyre, 
 
 And long-beleaguered Ilium, red crowned with fire. 
 
 40 
 
And the fair, fabled Queens, whose very names 
 Make music, rose before her, shining clear 
 Through the deep darkness of old time like flames: 
 Helen of Troy, Iseult and Guinevere, 
 And Cleopatra, marvelous with sheer 
 And splendid beauty; and a glowing throng 
 Thick as the shadows when the night is near, 
 Great kings and lords and princes who belong 
 
 To immemorial story and to age-old song. 
 
 As thus she mused, the moon high risen shone 
 Upon her like a benediction, where 
 With heart full sorrowing she sat alone, 
 And made a saintly silver round her hair ; 
 On her dark, downcast eyes and bosom bare 
 Its tranquil, cold caressing softly fell, 
 As she sat deeply dreaming, unaware, 
 Still wrapped in brooding, folded in the spell 
 
 Of joy close treasured and old hope remembered well. 
 
 Once more the summer blossomed at her feet, 
 While through her soul like a resistless tide 
 Swept high ambition and desire most meet 
 For a great queen ; before her new-born pride 
 Her love, young, timid, half-reluctant died 
 Like a pale star before the rush of day. 
 Then from the garden, flushed and eager-eyed, 
 Vestured in beauty like the rich array 
 
 Of dawning sun, she moved majestic on her way. 
 
 And in the morningtide of her delight, 
 Her virgin dignity and honors new, 
 Her unaccustomed majesty and might 
 Made fair her ways before her like the hue 
 Of newly budded blossoms fresh with dew ; 
 For in her heart bloomed happiness full-blown, 
 And like a flower, content within her grew, 
 And round her like a halo joyance shone 
 
 As in her maiden state she moved apart, alone. 
 
 4 1 
 
Yet as the freshness of the morning dies 
 
 When the swift splendor of the dawn is spent, 
 
 So died her perfect peace ; for vague surmise, 
 
 Disquietude and nameless discontent, 
 
 Strange restlessness and longing eloquent 
 
 Disturbed the deep of her tranquillity ; 
 
 As in a spot, secluded, redolent 
 
 Of long, warm, golden noon sounds distantly 
 
 The sweep and surge and tumult of the troubled sea. 
 
 Then suddenly she learned that he had died 
 And her dim love leaped fervid into flame ; 
 Careless of queenhood, crowned and sanctified, 
 Careless of honor and imperial fame, 
 Broken beneath her sorrow and her shame 
 That swept her spirit like a mighty wave, 
 Straightway to her dead lover s side she came, 
 That, love consummate lost, she yet might save 
 
 One moment of pure passion from the loveless grave. 
 
 At length the sad Queen sighed and raised her eyes, 
 Heavy with grieving. The long night was past; 
 The stars were pallid in the wan, white skies ; 
 A little wind stirred in the trees that cast 
 Faint, trembling shadows on the flowers, massed 
 In ghostly beauty, that beneath them lay ; 
 In the swift dawning seemed the heaven vast, 
 Vacant and comfortless and cold and gray, 
 
 Stripped of the splendor of the night, unclothed with day. 
 
 Weary she rose, and with the day her loss, 
 
 Passion and pain and grief seemed ages old. 
 
 Against the flushing dawn a chapel cross 
 
 Flashed on a sudden into flaming gold ; 
 
 Slowly and heavily the great bell tolled ; 
 
 Faintly the singing of the nuns arose, 
 
 Distant, ethereal and clear and cold, 
 
 Fraught with the stillness of eternal snows, 
 With rest, long ease, content, comfort and sweet repose, 
 
 42 
 
Bringing her heart a hope of refuge dim 
 Beneath the shadow of a convent wall, 
 With but the throb of some majestic hymn 
 Or burst of organ melody to fall 
 Across the silence. Tremulous and tall 
 As a wind-shaken lily stood the Queen, 
 Fronting the dawn, while solemnly o er all 
 The stir of morning rose the chant serene 
 
 Of those who came to bear him to his last demesne. 
 
 Yet as the black-robed nuns were drawing near, 
 And the slow rhythm of their swelling song- 
 Rang out across the meadow, full and clear, 
 Her old pride rose, imperiously strong 
 From the vain sorrow of her vigil long. 
 Love lay behind her, for the night was done 
 That nor regret nor grieving could prolong, 
 And a new strength and courage she had won 
 
 To meet the years of queenhood rising with the sun. 
 
 Swiftly and passionately at length she turned 
 And with white fingers braided up her hair, 
 Gathered the jewels that like embers burned 
 And o er her lover bending, tall and fair, 
 Kissed him with lips that trembled with despair, 
 With faith unspoken and with love untold. 
 Then as the singing sounded on the stair 
 And through the room the stately measure rolled, 
 
 The pale Queen rose and stood, imperially cold. 
 
 43 
 
PART IV. 
 THE FOUR WINDS. 
 
 "Of the Four Seasons each has its own mood" 
 
 Po Chu-i, 
 
SUMMER. 
 
 UPON the tranquil bosom of the slumberous noon 
 Lie the unmoving shadows of wide, spreading trees ; 
 Luxuriant meadows, opulent with summer, swoon 
 Beneath the breathless spell of indolence and ease ; 
 The hush of the full heat of noon is on the hill ; 
 Blue dragon-flies hang shimmering above the stream ; 
 The blossoms and the grasses droop ; the birds are still ; 
 Innumerable insects hum as in a dream ; 
 In the faint, failing wind a leaf stirs languidly ; 
 The notes of shrill cicadas into silence fall ; 
 The purple clover bends beneath a clinging bee ; 
 A butterfly dances on blazing wings ; and over all 
 The smiting splendor of the noon sun flings a golden pall, 
 
 High in the heaven hangs a single cloud, 
 The glowing sunlight gathered to its breast. 
 There neath the spell of mighty magic bowed 
 The spirit fares on some transcendent quest 
 Through phantom shades to an untrodden town, 
 Where by strange headlands an old ocean sweeps, 
 And from huge heights dim, perilous paths lead down 
 To dire and unimaginable deeps. 
 
 Now is the time of earth s full flowering, 
 
 Summer s profusion, prodigally spent 
 
 In rich perfume and color, dowering 
 
 The teeming fields with languorous content. 
 
 Above their long leagues, warm and redolent, 
 
 Broods a sweet sense of being, scarce begun, 
 
 Of life eternal and omnipotent ; 
 
 While through the leaves the wind s light ripples run, 
 
 And fruit in heavy clusters mellows in the sun. 
 
 47 
 
AUTUMN. 
 
 BOISTEROUS waves that laugh and leap 
 On the glistening rocks and the gleaming sand, 
 And swift blue shadows of clouds that sweep 
 Over the flaming autumnal land, 
 Set in a circle of flashing sea 
 Shaken with wild wind s ecstasy. 
 
 A glorious song the wind is singing, 
 
 Resounding music of sea and sky, 
 
 Of clamorous sea-gulls circling, swinging, 
 
 Of the hiss of waters washing high, 
 
 Of fugitive sails and the ocean flinging 
 
 A sun-lit splendor of flying foam 
 
 Where the crests of the surges curl and comb. 
 
 The clarion voice of the wind is calling 
 Over the heads of the listening hills 
 A burden of beauty beyond recalling, 
 Of hopes that fall as the leaves are falling, 
 Of sure foreknowledge of future ills. 
 
 The trumpet voice of the wind is thrilling 
 Through valleys vestured in golden grain, 
 Through orchards heavy with harvest, filling 
 The air with tumultuous summons, stilling 
 Futile regret and repining vain. 
 
 The passionate pulses of life are beating 
 Through meadows blazing with burnished gold 
 Faster and fiercer, and beauty, fleeting, 
 Brings deeper joy than it brought of old 
 When it rose at the summer s lightest greeting, 
 Ere its store was spent and its treasure told. 
 
 Yet as the music fails and falters, 
 And the wild wind dies with the dying sun, 
 And the fire sinks low on forsaken altars 
 Where life burned brightest, and one by one, 
 
The leaves spin downward, there comes a grieving 
 For pure ambitions past achieving, 
 For visions vanished and deeds undone. 
 
 49 
 
WINTER. 
 
 HARSH is the north wind s breath, 
 And harsh is death. 
 Huddled together in the searching air 
 The oaks stand gaunt and naked to the cold ; 
 All things are bowed beneath a dark despair, 
 Are helpless, hopeless, tired and very old ; 
 For the north wind s bitter breath 
 Is death. 
 
 The haggard trees are black against the west 
 Where a dull sunset smoulders sullenly, 
 While like a spent soul vainly seeking rest, 
 Foredoomed and fated to a fruitless quest, 
 Yet seeking endlessly 
 The wind goes by. 
 From bank to frozen bank 
 The long lake s face is blank; 
 And overhead 
 The sky is dead. 
 
 Now from the north comes the storm like a fierce wild thing 
 
 that is lost, 
 Ruthlessly wrenching the boughs of the oaks in their agony 
 
 tossed 
 
 Heavenward, writhing, imploring a respite, beseeching a rest 
 From the shuddering wildness of wind and the terror of tempest 
 
 pressed 
 
 All but resistless against them. As bitter as death the blast 
 Mercilessly scourges the meadows, until like a dream that is 
 
 passed, 
 The earth and the heavens have vanished, dead leaves in 
 
 tumultuous flight, 
 
 And nothing remains but a wind that wails in a chaos of cold 
 and night. 
 
 And now in utter silence, utter dark 
 The world lies stiffened, naked, stark ; 
 No light, no sound beneath a barren sky, 
 Save for the black ice cracking suddenly. 
 
 50 
 
All things shall come to this : 
 
 All wonder and all bliss, 
 
 All the swift passion of the hearts that beat 
 
 With sense of life unutterably sweet, 
 
 All song and laughter, all friendship and all love, 
 
 Delight in deed and dreaming, and above 
 
 The rest the rapture of creation, all 
 
 Shall through the ages fail and fade and fall ; 
 
 Until the earth, without one glowing spark 
 
 In all its livid leagues of frozen ground, 
 
 Shall whirl beneath the sky without a sound 
 
 Save for the black ice cracking in the dark. 
 
SPRING. 
 
 SOMETHING is stirring within the earth ; 
 Some spirit moves upon the air, 
 Prelude of melody and mirth, 
 Presage of spring s green, glorious birth 
 In the bosom of meadows brown and bare 
 And moist with the melting of snow. 
 
 The alders, crimson flushed, bend low 
 Beside the bank of the brimming stream, 
 Rippling its smooth and silent flow, 
 As roused from its long, dark, winter dream 
 With glint and glimmer and quiver and gleam 
 It hastens with swift and sweeping grace, 
 As though to a mystic meeting place. 
 
 The trees with pointed leaf buds swelling 
 Await in still expectancy 
 The wonder of the wind s foretelling, 
 The miracle of mirth to be. 
 
 For at the wind s light touch the world is rife 
 
 With swift, keen sense of newly wakened life, 
 
 Sweeter than full fruition of the spring. 
 
 And through the meadows like a flickering fire 
 
 Runs a fierce flaming of renewed desire 
 
 For the delight of beauty s blazoning, 
 
 For softening shadows and the brightening skies, 
 
 Odor of earth and tender growing things, 
 
 The flash and flutter of the robins wings ; 
 
 The splendor of the spring that never dies. 
 
 The touch of the caressing wind that brings 
 A misty beauty to the budding spray 
 After the passage of a thousand springs 
 Shall give the glory that it gives to-day. 
 
A time shall come when it shall not avail 
 
 To wake the world to burgeoning anew, 
 
 Yet shall the scent of blossoms never fail 
 
 Nor young leaves lose the freshness of their hue. 
 
 For when with us delight no longer dwells, 
 Then it shall pass to those great gulfs that lie 
 Beyond the stars that stand like sentinels 
 Around the little limits of our sky. 
 
 And other worlds shall rise beyond our ken 
 When we are given to darkness and to cold, 
 And there rejoicingly shall other men 
 Cherish the loves and dream the dreams of old. 
 
 After the dawning, they shall know the noon 
 And the sad splendor of the evening light, 
 And sink at last to silence like a tune 
 That throbbing dies to nothing in the night. 
 
 For countless stars beneath the great wind s breath 
 Shall leap to life and wax and wane and die ; 
 Infinite life shall turn again to death, 
 And dark shall pass to dark eternally. 
 
 Yet though unnumbered suns, no longer glowing, 
 Silent beneath a silent heaven swing, 
 In the far depth of space the wind is blowing, 
 And on the verge of chaos it is spring. 
 
 53 
 
PART V. 
 
 THE ALTAR CANDLE. 
 A PLAY IN ONE ACT. 
 

 DRAMATIS PERSONS: 
 
 LADY BEATRICE. 
 
 LORD GEOFFREY. 
 
 ANNE, the maid of Lady Beatrice. 
 
 A Jester. 
 
 A Nubian Mute. 
 
 Servants. 
 
 PLACE : A Baronial Castle. 
 TIME: Thirteenth Century. 
 
ACT I. 
 
 SCENE: A private apartment of Lady Beatrice. Back center, a 
 prie-dieu of carved oak over which hangs a crucifix. Back 
 left, a small door covered with a curtain. Back right, a 
 larger door, the curtains of which are drawn, disclosing a 
 passage. Right front, a door, beside which stands a table of 
 black oak. On the table is a bronze gong. A large casement 
 window (Left) which is open to the twilight. Before this a 
 broad seat. Before the seat a footstool. On the walls, which 
 are of stone, pieces of tapestry. 
 
 [Before the curtain rises the Jester is heard off stage, 
 singing.} 
 
 "The moon I swear 
 
 Is not so fair 
 My lady love as you ;" 
 
 So do men say 
 
 And vow that they 
 Will be forever true. 
 
 And for a while 
 
 The moon doth smile 
 And they are very true ; 
 
 Yet love is blind 
 
 And soon they find 
 Another star will do. 
 
 [The curtain rises, discovering Anne, and servants who 
 are arranging the room, bringing candles, etc.} 
 
 ANNE. 
 
 Make haste ! make haste ! Has not the merry spring 
 Set your old bones to dancing ? What, so slow ! 
 There s none of you in love, or else your feet 
 Would move in livelier measure. 
 
 [Enter first servant with a dish of fruit.} 
 FIRST SERVANT. 
 
 Here is fruit. 
 57 
 
ANNE. 
 The table yonder. 
 
 [To second servant who is setting down a candle.} 
 
 Marry ! Have you wits ? 
 Set it not there. 
 
 [To third servant.} 
 
 Fetch you more candles. 
 
 [To second servant who is setting down the candle i 
 another place.] 
 
 So. 
 [She goes to the casement and blows a kiss to the moon, 
 
 You are enough for lovers ; we can kiss 
 Without a better light. 
 
 FOURTH SERVANT. 
 
 Here is the wine, 
 
 A right good vintage. I could play the lord, 
 And do it well too, warmed with such a drink. 
 
 ANNE. 
 
 [Laughing and shutting the casement.} 
 Peace! put it down. 
 
 [She crosses to the table and rearranges the fruit an 
 wine; she takes an apple from the dish and hole 
 it up as though to admire its bright color.} 
 
 [Enter the Jester.} 
 
 [He comes up stealthily behind Anne and kisses he 
 Dropping the apple she turns and administers 
 sounding box on the ear. The Jester retreats has til 
 pursued by Anne.} 
 
 [Exit Jester.] 
 
 [Anne stands vigorously rubbing off his kiss.] 
 
 [A servant replaces the apple beside the dish.} 
 
 58 
 
[Anne looks through the door (R) then she turns to the 
 servants.] 
 
 Enough, enough! Tis well; 
 The room will do now ; get you gone. 
 
 [Exeunt servants (Back).] 
 [Enter Geoffrey (R).] 
 
 ANNE. 
 [With deep curtsey.] 
 
 My Lord. 
 
 [While he advances, looking about the room, Anne draws 
 the curtains at the back.] 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 I sought her Ladyship. 
 
 
 ANNE. 
 [Coming forward.] 
 
 None else, my Lord*? 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 Now, by my faith, I did not seek you, Anne ! 
 Shall but a kiss or two bind me forever? 
 
 [The Jester s face appears between the curtains.] 
 
 ANNE. 
 
 I would not bind you, for I know you true ; 
 Yet for a token that mayhap will keep 
 The memory of me bright within your heart, 
 When you are gone to-morrow to the wars, 
 I cut this lock off; guard it well, my Lord. 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 [Laughing.] 
 
 Nay, keep your tresses, they become you better ! 
 
 59 
 
ANNE. 
 
 Tis but a little token of the love, 
 The lasting love we feel. 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 I feel it not. 
 
 What could have been between us but a love 
 Brief as the swallow s mating in the spring. ? 
 
 ANNE. 
 My Lord, you promised 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 What are promises 
 
 When spring is in the air ? They are but part 
 Of the ephemeral love that gives them birth, 
 And die when love dies. 
 
 ANNE. 
 Are yours dead, my Lord? 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 Dead. 
 
 ANNE. 
 [Falling on her knees and grasping Geoffrey by the cloak. 
 
 Oh, my Lord ! Then give them life again ! 
 I am not what you think me, quickly won, 
 Yielding my heart to every passing smile. 
 My Lord ! my Lord ! My love is not for spring 
 But for eternity. 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 [Drawing away.} 
 
 Be silent, girl. 
 Are you a child that reaches for the moon ? 
 
 60 
 
ANNE. 
 Geoffrey ! 
 
 [The Jester s face disappears.] 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 [Moving toward the door.} 
 
 Be but content to know the moon 
 Is far above your reach, and you may find 
 Some comfort in its beams. 
 
 ANNE. 
 Geoffrey ! 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 Farewell. 
 
 [Exit Geoffrey (Back).] 
 
 [Anne remains on her knees weeping. She raises her head 
 
 and listens; then she rises hastily and exit (Back).] 
 [Enter Beatrice (R).] 
 [She sees the curtain moving, and watches it for a 
 
 moment; then she crosses to the casement and throws 
 
 it open. The moonlight streams in.] 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 The moon is on the meadows like a spell, 
 Deep as desire and magical as love. 
 
 [She gazes out for a moment, smiling. Then she strikes 
 once on the gong and sinks back into the casement 
 seat.] 
 
 [Enter the Jester who approaches inquiringly. She motions 
 him to the footstool.] 
 
 [There is a short silence.] 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Sir Jester, have you ever been in love 1 ? 
 
 61 
 
JESTER. 
 
 Pray you, my Lady, for my poor head s sake 
 Ask^me some simple thing, as, "Are you well T 
 Or "Have you dined ?" or "Is your doublet warm?" 
 Some question that a downright "yes" or "no" 
 Will answer ; but in love truly love seems 
 As various as the many-colored bow 
 Hanging twixt sun and storm. For if by "love" 
 My Lady means delight in good hot soup, 
 Or fondness for a bed of clean dry straw, 
 Why then I am most thoroughly in love, 
 And may God keep me in that mind. Amen. 
 But if my Lady means a languishing 
 In some soft-cushioned moonlit casement seat, 
 With idly straying hands and dreaming eyes 
 Why then I know it not. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 [Laughing softly.] 
 
 What think you of it? 
 Is it a thing that you would choose to have *? 
 
 JESTER. 
 
 Indeed, tis pretty, and gives rise no doubt 
 To blushes, little catchings of the breath, 
 Sweet whispers, woeful sighs, and hands soft pressed, 
 And tuneful madrigals ; yet this same love 
 So greatly undermines the appetite, 
 That I ll have none of it. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 [Dreamily.] 
 
 Yet to the world 
 
 It gives a magic and a beauty greater 
 Than sun or moon or light of any star. 
 
 JESTER. 
 Truly there s magic in it. 
 
 62 
 
BEATRICE. 
 
 And content, 
 Comfort, and marvelously sweet repose, 
 Strong with the strength of faith. As when one moves 
 Through a thick forest, dark and overgrown, 
 And comes at length upon an open spot 
 Where the clear, smiting sunshine cleaves apart 
 The tangled trees, and makes a place of light 
 And warmth and freedom ; so I found my love, 
 And in it found content. 
 
 JESTER. 
 
 Yes, for a time. 
 
 But love is always setting like the sun. 
 Men are forever false for all their vows, 
 And only God can know their constancy. 
 Once, as the legend runs, there lived a maid 
 Fair as a summer day, fair even as you, 
 "The Lady of the Candles" she was called; 
 And in her heart love like rich music swelled 
 Harmoniously, and life was sweet; until 
 One whispered that her lover was untrue, 
 And told a tale of lust and treachery, 
 Troubling her utter purity of soul. 
 Yet in her meekness she but murmured, "God 
 Shall judge, not I"; and bade her lover come 
 And in the chapel by the altar steps, 
 Where the blessed candles burned beside the cross, 
 By ordeal prove his love. "Choose one," she said ; 
 "God will direct your choice, and I shall know 
 Your faith or your inconstancy." He chose. 
 Then with soft laughter from her lightened heart 
 She said, "I never doubted you." And yet 
 Methinks the tale was not entirely false. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 You jest well, fool ; and knowing naught of love, 
 Perchance there lies the measure of your folly ; 
 
 63 
 
For I have found a lover without flaw 
 To mar his honor. 
 
 JESTER. 
 
 Then your Ladyship 
 Has better eyes than I or not so good. 
 I have seen sights, for none regarded me, 
 The fool ; and truly it hath made me wonder 
 Who best becomes the motley ; all the maids 
 So simple, trusting, and so lily pure; 
 And all the men, the perfect knights-at-arms, 
 
 Speckless and spotless swift and passionate love 
 
 Then a new face, a pair of redder lips 
 
 [He breaks off with a shrug. Beatrice makes a gesture o\ 
 disgust.] 
 
 Nay, there is no one pure in all the court, 
 Saving my Lady Beatrice. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 [Softly.] 
 
 And my Geoffrey. 
 
 JESTER. 
 
 [Tuning his guitar and not heeding Beatrices remark.] 
 For even Anne, my Lady s maid, hath proved 
 No wiser than the others, and hath found 
 That there s no trusting lovers promises, 
 However great a lord the lover is ; 
 For I had come to seek your Ladyship 
 To this same room, but a brief hour agone, 
 And found Anne pleading and his Lordship cold ; 
 And when she fell before him, grasped his cloak, 
 And clung to him with desperate, clutching hands, 
 Hands he had fondled not so long ago, 
 He drew away impatiently, denied 
 His love for her and left her weeping there. 
 "Geoffrey!" she cried 
 
 64 
 
BEATRICE. 
 [Starting up with a cry.] 
 
 Geoffrey ! 
 
 JESTER. 
 [Laughing.] 
 
 I marvel not 
 
 My Lady finds it scarce believable, 
 A likely story for a fool to tell. 
 Yet on mine honor as a fool, the girl 
 Spoke eloquently of passion and of vows, 
 Talked of remembrance and eternal love, 
 As though a lady ; cut a lock of hair 
 For him to cherish as a thing of worth. 
 Yet was his Lordship merry ; "Loose me, girl. 
 Put up your tresses, they become you better. 
 Are you a child that reaches for the moon ?" 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Sirrah, now by God s truth you smart for this ! 
 Torture will teach you to control your tongue ! 
 
 JESTER. 
 [Falling on his knees.] 
 
 Pardon, my Lady, pardon for God s sake ! 
 What said I to offend your Ladyship*? 
 Twas but a fool s tongue, talking foolishly. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Here! Down upon your knees before the altar. 
 Take you the Book, and as you hope for Heaven 
 Swear you to speak the truth ! What saw you here 
 Between my Lord and Anne ? 
 
 JESTER. 
 Now as I hope 
 That Christ will pardon me my many sins, 
 
 65 
 
I came by chance on Anne and my Lord Geoffrey. 
 Anne begged him to be true, fell at his feet 
 Better to plead her passion ; he drew back 
 Before her groping fingers, and denied 
 His love for her ; and then she cried his name ; 
 He laughed and left her ; as she cried again 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Enough. Tis well you tell your tale so pat, 
 Or else not all the oaths in earth or Heaven 
 Would have availed to save you ! Get you gone. 
 [Exit Jester (/?).] 
 
 [Beatrice stands motionless for a moment; then in a pas 
 sion of grief she throws herself on her knees before 
 the altar, and fi?ially falls prostrate.} 
 [Enter Anne (R).] 
 
 ANNE. 
 My Lady ! 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Give me your arm. 
 
 [Supported by Anne she rises and sinks into a chair.] 
 A little wine. 
 
 ANNE. 
 [Pouring the wine.} 
 
 What ails my Lady? Shall I fetch a leech? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Nay, nay, no leech ; tis but a dream that s broken ; 
 For some of us have dreams, dreams that we shape 
 Of heart s desire, and fashion tenderly 
 Of hope and high ambition and pure faith. 
 Yet dreams are full of sorrow, mark you that 
 And rest content with the dull, waking world. 
 
 [She rouses herself and looks attentively at Anne.] 
 66 
 
Tis well for you that you fixed not your heart 
 Upon some shining mark you found too high 
 For your attainment, or flung down your love 
 At some man s feet for him to trample on, 
 Heeded his words or thought his promises 
 Would bind him longer than his fancy pleased ; 
 So you are not heart-stricken, desolate 
 But 
 
 [Anne, whose emotion has been increasing throughout 
 Beatrice s speech, bursts into tears.] 
 
 Weeping Anne? Is no one without sorrow*? 
 Tell me ! Mayhap your ^grief may yet be cured. 
 What is it*? A trinket lost*? or a kiss stolen 
 In the passage by a bearded man-at-arms? 
 
 ANNE. 
 
 Nay, there s no man-at-arms nor page, my Lady ! 
 No groom nor porter, no, nor veriest scullion, 
 That would so meanly serve me as my Lord ! 
 Oh ! I have heard him eloquently talk 
 Of Launcelot and Tristram and the rest, 
 And say that all true knights should follow them 
 In "cleaving to one love" ; and so he came 
 Full of sweet vows of everlasting love 
 And I am fair enough for him to love 
 How should I know they were as false as Hell? 
 His promises, his knightly promises ! 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 [Starting up.] 
 
 Hark to me, Anne ! I have been bitter wronged, 
 As you have, too, poor girl, by one I loved, 
 Honored and trusted beyond all the world. 
 I thought once that I was above all grief, 
 Chosen and set apart for happiness, 
 Yet God perceived my vanity, and God 
 Doth make us suffer dearly for our sin. 
 Yet for the sin of others, that, methinks, 
 
 6? 
 
We need not suffer tamely nor endure; 
 And I will not endure it yet my love 
 Cries like a wild thing that will not be still. 
 And I have none to counsel me, save God 
 Distant beyond my reach. Yet I remember 
 Something the Jester told me of a trial, 
 Where God decreed forgiveness, mercy. Anne ! 
 Fetch me two candles from the chapel, two 
 That have been blessed, one white, the other red. 
 
 [Exit Anne (B).] 
 
 [Beatrice strikes twice on the gone/.] 
 
 [Enter a Nubian Mute (R).] 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Sirrah, have you a dagger ? Can you strike 
 Swiftly and certainly 4 ? 
 
 [ The Nubian strides to the table, points to the apple beside 
 the dish and drives his dagger through it with such 
 force that the dagger stands quivering in the table. 
 As Beatrice nods her approval he plucks it out.} 
 
 Then look you there. 
 Behind that curtain lies a passageway 
 That leads directly to the castle gate; 
 Stand at the foot of the dark, winding steps, 
 And watch until I summon you again. 
 If in your vigil someone comes who bears 
 A candle, mark the color ; if tis red, 
 Strike suddenly the bearer to the heart, 
 I care not whether it be man or maid, 
 Stranger or one you know ; but if one comes 
 Who carries a white candle, let him pass 
 And touch him not. Take heed you do not fail. 
 If a red candle brings not certain death 
 To one who carries it, then you shall feel 
 The thumbscrew and the rack. Go ; make no sound. 
 
 [Exit Nubian (L).] 
 [Enter Anne with the candles (B).] 
 68 
 

 BEATRICE. 
 
 Set them before the crucifix. Enough. 
 Tell my Lord Geoffrey I would see him here. 
 
 [Exit Anne ().] 
 
 [Beatrice stands for a moment looking at the candles; then 
 she changes their position so that the red one is nearest 
 the passage. She kneels and prays ; she rises and seems 
 on the point of changing them back again, when} 
 
 [Enter Geoffrey (R).] 
 
 You called me, Beatrice? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 [With dignity.] 
 
 My Lord, I did. 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 Pardon. Your Ladyship ! I did not know 
 That you were "sir-ing" me. What mood is this? 
 Truly methought you were not like the rest 
 Shifting and changing with each passing breath, 
 Now laughing, now in tears. Nay Beatrice, 
 Your heart has ever been a place of peace, 
 A refuge, a retreat, a sanctuary, 
 Where I might come to seek repose and strength, 
 Sure of a constant welcome. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Good my Lord, 
 
 A woman s heart has many hidden chambers ; 
 It may be that my Lord has never been 
 Beyond the ante-room. 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 Then I would go 
 
 Freely through every spacious gallery, 
 Learn the rich furnishings of every room, 
 
 6 9 
 
The treasures of each alcove, and at length 
 By silken, hushed and winding passages 
 Come to the inmost shrine, your heart of hearts, 
 And in that place of worship kneel and pray. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Why then, my Lord, it would not be amiss 
 To take some heed to come with a pure heart. 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 "Come with a pure heart !" Tis impossible ; 
 
 I am no marble image of perfection. 
 
 Think you a man goes spotless through the world? 
 
 No, I come stained with dirt of marketplace, 
 
 Mire of the highway, blood of battlefield 
 
 Where I have bled for you, my Beatrice. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 How may I then requite you for your wounds ? 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 You know full well, my Beatrice ; give to me 
 No counsel of perfection, but your love ; 
 That brings me absolution. Let your love 
 Wash me a perfect white, and keep me so. 
 I shall not falter, Beatrice, for a knight 
 Cleaves ever to one love 
 
 [ The Nubian in the passage accidentally drops the dagger; 
 
 a ringing clash of steel is heard.} 
 [Beatrice starts; her expression hardens.} 
 [Geoffrey, who is on one knee before her, springs up and 
 
 draws his sword A 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 What sound was that? 
 70 
 
BEATRICE. 
 [Laughing nervously.] 
 
 Some novice guardsman, careless of his pike, 
 Or courtier overcome with wassailing. 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 [Listening for a moment longer^ and then sheathing his 
 sword.] 
 
 I pray you, Beatrice, let your perfect love 
 
 Give me an arm like Arthur, and a sword 
 
 As mighty as" the great Excalibur ; 
 
 For with your favor on mine helm I d ride 
 
 Resistless to the Holy Sepulchre, 
 
 Though every Turk and every fiend of Hell 
 
 Should cross my path to stay me ! 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Good my Lord, 
 
 Press me no more. Truly I cannot say 
 Whether I love you ; God will show right soon. 
 A woman s heart may not be lightly won 
 
 [Aside.] 
 Or being won may not be lightly lost. 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 [Half angrily.] 
 
 I crave your pardon that I dared to think 
 That you might love. Have you no more to say 
 Before I bid your Ladyship farewell ? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 This. That to-morrow if you should go forth 
 To fight the Infidel and safe return, 
 You find a warmer welcome. Rest content 
 My Lord with that. 
 
 71 
 
GEOFFREY. 
 [Bowing and turning to leave.} 
 
 You shall command in all. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 [Stopping him with a gesture.} 
 Go not that way, my Lord, but privately 
 By mine own passage to the castle yard. 
 But it is dark and fearful ! Take you then 
 One of those candles on the altar there. 
 Take it not carelessly, for it is blessed, 
 And haply may be fraught with deeper meaning 
 1 han the mere lighting of a passageway. 
 Truly it might portend your life or death. 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 [Amused.} 
 
 Why since a candle is so great a thing 
 1 11 make my choice with due solemnity. 
 W hite ! for your soul as pure as yonder moon 
 1 hat makes all glorious the summer night ; 
 Red ! for the blood that pulses in your cheeks 
 And tells of a true heart; white for your hands 
 fashioned for naught but tender cherishing, 
 Red for the warmth of your unswerving love 
 Why then I ll take 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 [Greatly agitated.} 
 
 Geoffrey! My Lord! 
 [Her glance falls on the fruit on the table.] 
 
 T, Some fruit? 
 
 1 o-morrow you will have no dainty fare. 
 
 [In her excitement she offers him a half of the apple cleft 
 by the dagger.] 
 
 72 
 
GEOFFREY. 
 
 Grammercy, Beatrice ; but I have supped. 
 [He turns to the altar.} 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 [Almost hysterical.} 
 
 Stay but a moment ! See, the goblet ! Come, 
 Pledge me your love in a deep draught of wine ! 
 
 [She fills the goblet with shaking hands.} 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 [Holding it high.} 
 
 I pledge thee mine unwavering constancy ! 
 Thou art my morning and my evening star, 
 My lasting love and my most sure salvation ! 
 
 [He drinks; then he approaches the altar.} 
 And so I take this one, red, passion red ! 
 
 [Beatrice, suppressing a scream, stands motionless. Geof 
 frey bows, kisses her hand and turns to leave, bearing 
 the red candle; as he reaches the door she calls him.} 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 Geoffrey ! 
 
 [Geoffrey puts down the candle, runs to her and embraces 
 her passionately. For a time they stand silent in the 
 shaft of moonlight.} 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 How sweet these lips are, Beatrice ! 
 I have no words to tell my love, nor could 
 The eloquence of angels give the sum. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Silence is better, and a resting here. 
 
 73 
 
GEOFFREY. 
 
 I sought you, Beatrice, as the knights of old 
 Sought for the Grail, that perfect, holy thing 
 Worth a long life of peril and of pain, 
 That yet to those who found it could not give 
 Such healing or such happiness as these. 
 
 [Kissing her.] 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 How empty seems the past now, and how strange ! 
 How did I spend my days before I found 
 This love, the whole of life 1 ? 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 Your hands, beloved, 
 Bestow a blessing of far greater worth 
 Than holiest benediction of the saints, 
 Nor from the gates of Paradise itself, 
 Opening to choiring of the cherubim, 
 Shines such a splendor as from these dear eyes ; 
 Nor in the realm behind those glorious gates 
 Is comfort or delight as deep as this. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Deeper than Heaven. Have you loved me long? 
 For truly, I have loved since time began. 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 Since I first saw you in the garden there, 
 Crocus and daffodil about your feet, 
 Above you apple-blossoms and young leaves 
 Making soft shadows on your hair, and you 
 Fairer than all the spring. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 As a flower lies 
 Through the long winter in the dark and cold 
 
 74 
 
My heart lay stifled, until like the spring 
 You came and kindled it to life and love. 
 
 GEOFFREY. 
 
 If I have come, I shall not pass like spring ; 
 Nor will our passion live a summer s length 
 And die with dying foliage in the fall ; 
 No, t will outlive all seasons and all time, 
 As everlasting as the holy cross, 
 As steadfast as a candle ever burning 
 Before the image of a saint. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 [Starting from him.] 
 
 The candle ! 
 
 [She turns and gazes at the red candle on the table, as the 
 memory of her grief and shame comes back to her. 
 Then she turns to Geoffrey, takes a ring from her 
 finger and gives it to him.] 
 
 We part now for a little ; take this ring 
 Cherish and guard it like my love forever. 
 
 [She takes the red candle and walks to the door of the 
 passageway; then she turns.] 
 
 And if perchance in some far future time 
 You think but for a moment of this hour, 
 Remember me as one who gave her heart 
 Completely to a perfect love and faith. 
 
 [Exit Beatrice.] 
 
 [Geoffrey stands looking at the ring. A terrible sound, 
 half shriek, half groan, is heard in the passage. 
 Geoffrey draws his sword, rushes to the door and 
 pulls apart the curtain; he stands for an instant as 
 though paralyzed. Anne appears in the door (B) and 
 the Jester (R). Then Geoffrey disappears down the 
 passage] 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 75 
 
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 SEP 14 1932 
 
 FEB 25 1977 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY