THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE POT OF GOLD AND OTHER POEMS By Amelie Shaw 1919 THE ZANA-FRANCES PRESS Los Angeles Copyright, igip, by AMELIE R. SHAW f* 5 5^0 804632 IBRARY To my Beloved Husband, JOHN AUSTIN SHAW, who by a lifetime of devotion has inspired My Work A. S. Pot of QoU 7 11 Hammocfc Reverie n 4 November Leaves J5 Pussy Willow 16 Song of Eventide 18 Brown Eyes of My Deary 19 Voices of the Leaves 20 We Two 21 L Amiiie 22 Claribel 25 Illumination 26 March 28 Ou r Qarden 30 Musings 33 Dawn in the City 35 Wee Witch Woman 37 Dark Hour 38 Where My Love Lies Low 39 Lament of the Maine 41 | Dying Moor 43 The Pot of Gold THE CHILD: HO buried the big pot of gold At the foot of the rain bow old? I shall search, I shall search till I find it, And into gold-dust I will grind it, To gild everything that I see And make it look lovely to me. I care not how long it may take This wonderful fortune to make. I have so many years all before me, And there are no clouds hang ing o er me; So today, and tomorrow, and the next I shall search, and I shall not be vex d If I find it not till long after; I ll beguile all the way with bright laughter, With sweet song, and sunshine, and play. I shall not grow weary all day; For the butterflies, flowers and bees, And the birds all atune in the trees, And the squirrels, so cunning and shy, That scamper so when you come nigh, Will all be my playmates and friends Till I come where the rainbow ends. And then there s the gay mead ow brook, That skips past many a nook, And stops in its onward course never, But sings and flows on forever. I can gather a few scattered chips Out of these I can fashion fine ships, And launch them upon the swift The Pot of stream; Gold Then the fish in its waters that Page Nine Will tempt me to linger and play. Thus the time will pass quickly away, And my heart be both happy and bold All the way to the big pot of gold! YOUTH: Today I am twenty years old, But as yet no pot of gold, Dazzling with its yellow sheen, Hath by my longing eyes been seen. That rainbow cheated me all the way It faded long before noonday, And left me staring at the sky, With no landmark to travel by. Many times it reappeared And my infant fancy cheered. Then quickly vanished from my view, Leaving me without a clue. But in the sunshine of the hours The i. Gold I had my gold in generous show ers; P* Ten And thus the rainbow pointed not To greater wealth than I had got. And all the way to the pot of gold Were pleasures that could not be bought or sold. Those joys are o er; they could not last, But vanished with my child hood s past. Though but a legend, it is true, I ve still the pot of gold in view, And the many-tinted bow of hope Still leads me on, with fate to cope. MIDDLE-AQE: __, OR many years with heart |H and mind, That pot of gold I ve strove to find. But it eludes me with a trick Of disappearing all too quick, Serenely showing up again At the far end of the bow of rain. Ah, then how bright my path way seems! How near the substance of my dreams! My heart grows light, my step more firm, And life seems one long happy term. Then sudden the bright scene is chang d, Nature herself seems all deranged; The heavenly tints fade one by one; Dark clouds arise and veil the sun. I ve toiled by the light of those fitful flashes To the bitter end, and found but ashes! The bow of morn and eve and noon Alike are false and hold no boon. Delusive hope, thou art for- sworn! Thy path is strewn with wrecks forlorn; The Pot of Gold Page Twelve You lure us on with promise fair While o er our heads, swung by a hair, The sword of fate is seen to pend, A warning of our destined end. I would paint you with a mask Fair as anyone could ask, But transparent as the mist By the morning sunshine kiss d! While underneath this guise so fair Your own false colors you should wear! THREE SCORE AND TEN: THE path has been stony and rough, And of joy there has ne er been enough; But abundance of hard ships and woes From the opening unto the close. But no longer I rail at fair Hope, Nor tug at stern Destiny s rope; But gather the flowers each day, That I chance to find in my way: And drink in the birds sweetest song, As slowly I struggle along. And my heart still is happy and bold, And I still seek the big pot of gold. But not on this side of the stream Am I looking to catch its bright gleam. As across the dark river I gaze, I can see through the mist and the haze The far end of the bow as it gleams With the light-from the heaven ly beams; And I know in that Garden, so old I shall find the long-sought Pot of Gold. The Pot of Gold Page Thir teen Reverie A HAMMOCK REVERIE. Page Four- ERE in my hammock, swinging light. As if afloat on some clear stream, Spellbound I lie, and idly dream, LulPd by soft breezes of the night. The proud trees toss their heads, and sweep A courtesy to the Queen of Night. I fain would be a fairy wight To slide adown the moonbeams steep. To swing upon the topmost limb, Far out into the shining air; I d follow thee, O Moon so fair, From brightest spheres to regions dim. Or I would be yon filmy cloud, That sails with thee so swittly by; So round the world we two could fly, Along with night the sombre-browed. Or let me be thine owlet, Love, That hiding darkly sings "Goo-hoo! I love but you! I love but you! Beam kindly on me from above." Thus, in my hammock, swinging light, November I dream beneath the magic rays, Till sleep her finger on me lays, Page Fifteen And shuts thine image from my sight. NOVEMBER LEAVES H dear dead leaves of a dear Odead past, When the joy of living was at its height! As, fluttering in the autumn blast; You seek Earth s bosom in shivering fright. I vaguely wonder if that dear past Held all of joy that was meant for me; If summers to come will speed as fast As that brief season of ecstacy? Will next year come as a glad full year, With its buds and blossoms, and golden sheaves? Or, coming with ghosts of mem ries dear, Bring but a garland of withered leaves? PUMV PUSSY WILLOW Willow Page Sixteen MAIDEN fair without a care Came tripping o er the hill-o. Her eye was bright, her heart was light As the foam upon the billow. A She trilled a song as she sped along, In young life s joyous morning, While in her heart, like a thing apart; Love s tender light was dawning. ^ The time was spring, and on the wing* Birds to their mates were calling; And white and round upon the ground The cherry blooms were falling. Thus, blithe and gay, she went her way, And came unto the mill-o, Where tender green with silver sheen, Wild grew the Pussy Willow. A gallant youth with eyes of truth Rode gaily o er the hill-o; teen And came to where the maiden fair Puss v Sat dreaming by the mill-o. Willow He left his horse to crop the gorse Page Seven - That grew along the hill-o, And found his way without delay To her side beneath the willow. He kissed her twice, he kissed her thrice, Two young hearts felt a thrill-o; While tender green with silver sheen Bright glowed the Pussy Willow. But with quick pride she drew aside; And smote him with a will-o. Rough flows the stream of love s young dream; Sad drooped the Pussy Willow. Then with air so grand he kissed her hand She could not say him nil-o; And so they both did plight their troth Beside the Pussy Willow. song of A SONQ OF EVENTIDE Eventide . . ROM their haunts among the mead- Pge Eighteen OWS, Hear the cricket s good night call! See the fireflies gem the shadows, Flash and hold high carnival! Little magic torches they To light the fairies on their way. Softly, softly creeps the twilight, Silently the shadows fall; See the round moon climb the hilltops, Trailing wierdly over all The sleeping earth a ghostly pall. Away up in the heavens so far, Shines one lonely little star. Fair head on my breast reclining, Nestle close the while I sing; Baby arms my neck entwining, Make for me a magic ring Round which sweetest fancies cling. Happy angels ling ring nigh, Chant for thee a lullaby! Moonbeams kiss thine eyelids down O er thy heavy eyes of brown. Brown Eyes THE BROWN EYES OF MY DEARY o( M * Dcar v T T i i r i Pa 8 e N"e- H the brown eyes of my deary tee n Shine across my pathway dreary With a glance so bright and cheery, Just like twin stars from above. Their warm depths are full of splendor And their glances are so tender That the fires in them engender Strange, sweet images of love. Oh, the brown eyes of my deary, I believe them without query, And I never, never weary Of their glances fond and true. They can flash with firm decision, Or can sparkle with derision; I can see them in my vision, And they thrill me through and through CHORUS: Oh the eyes of brown are the eyes of love, Steadfast and true as the stars above. Those are the eyes that were made to woo; None in the world so tender and true. Voices of THE VOICES OF THE LEAVES Page Twenty How I love to he and listen To the voices of the leaves, As they sway and dance and glisten, While the sunlight thro them weaves Now a thousand shifting patterns On the ground below the eaves. How delightedly they clatter From their perch upon the trees; And how lovingly they chatter Nodding, glancing winsomely; How their innocent abandon Helps to cheer and comfort me! Hear them whisper in the moonlight Of the great earth s mysteries! Secrets of the merry June night, How they fling them to the breeze! But so softly that no mortal Ever understands or sees. Save the soul, that nigh to falling From great heights to soundless deeps, Listens to them calling, calling: "God the Father never sleeps, But from out the starless spaces Watchful care above us keeps." We Two Happy leaves above me swaying, Shadows dancing at my feet! Page Twent Now I hear your voices saying: One "Life and love forever meet!" From the Mother arms that rock you Comes the murmur: "Life is sweet." WE TWO Howe er, where er we two may chance to roam, No matter if it be on solid land, Or on the great uncertain sea, Or should those strange ships of the air Become our bearers to some far-off strand, Still, heart to heart, and hand in hand, we two Will rove content the wide world thro and thro , Where er we chance to stray our home shall be; Nor ever shall our spirits feel unrest, Nor seek, in discontent, to find Another heart, or other home more blest; But in each other find our worldour home, Howe er, where er we two may chance to roam. O L AMITIE TRUEST friend of that day, long gone by: How tender-sweet those times when you and I Roamed the still wood, or sat neath spreading tree, When the days were full of golden hours For you and me. None knew that secret trysting-place of ours; None, save the bees, that droned amid the flowers; Or song birds twittering in the gnarled tree, Whose waving branch so oft did shelter You and me. Our young hearts knew no shadow in their dream; Our young lives flowed on like that quiet stream Which gently rippled past our trysting tree, While we sweet converse held, or laughed In girlish glee. Till love s young demon came upon the scene, With poison-tipped arrows, tinged with green, And changed it all for you and me; the tie That held us twain; asunder fell Oh day gone by! Our bluest sky then changed to dullest gray; Our brooklet no more trilled its joyous lay. The song birds chattered angrily; while brown And bare the sighing branches shivered. Bending down. I loved him first, but he n er thought of me, Till, weary of your love and loyalty, He sought distraction in another face, And saw in me his ideal of beauty And of grace. You thought me false, because for one brief spell, After your parting and your last farewell I basked me in the sunshine of his smile, Without the faintest thought of treach ry, Or of guile. L Amitie But when he spoke I saw how it must seem, Page Twenty- And why my sun must set, and that no Four beam From him could light me on my dreary way; That heav n had vanished; all was dark! Oh weary day! Then shame despair and anger in me burned His proffered love in hot disdain I spurned; And as he, white-faced, sprang unto his feet, I mocked him there with lying lips; Oh, bitter-sweet! Oh, day of horror, ne er to be effaced From mem ry s page! And life how drear a waste, Since that dread hour, when o er his mang led clay We stood! You, unrelenting, Turned away! And I! I could not speak, for shame and pride; For struggling with the love I fain would hide! So drifted we apart; our sev ral ways We went, and knew no more the love Of former days. Now, after all these saddened years, my Nell W7 1>(C11 > ... . . Page Twenty- We meet again; there s nothing more to tell. Here at our Martyr s grave let s pledge anew The girlish love so long estranged From me and you. CLARIBEL LARIBEL, my Claribel: Sweetest wild rose of the dell, Knowest thou I love thee well? Tender is thy heart, and true. Fresher than the morning dew Are thy lips of scarlet hue. Soft and dark as summer s night Are thine eyes, whose wondrous light Thrills me with a mad delight. With their sweet voluptuous glance, Making all my pulses dance, Holding me as in a trance. Dusky locks thy brow embrace; Sweeping lashes seek to grace The ivory paleness of thy face. Lilies in thy curved cheek dwell, Hiding what they dare not tell The soul s white flame, my Claribel. Illumination Page Twenty- ILLUMINATION Six WAS only yesterday I thought you false. r - ^ I counted you no better than | the rest; * Who came to woo my fortune and estate, Yet would have given up all that I possess d To know the truth - my good or evil fate! Today at noon I wandered forth Thro meadows where the soft-eyed cattle graze, Past thickets where the night birds sit and dream, And sat me down where willows wave and dip Their branches in the quiet cooling stream. The idle locusts dinned their drowsy song In measured cadence on the heated air; And birds skimmed noiselessly across the blue; A loud-voiced bee the modest clover wooed. A yellow dandelion here and there illumination Nodded his golden head in simple glee, And laughed at his old grandsire s hoary Page Twenty- locks, Seven Blown by the errant wind across the lea. LulPd by these many symphonies, I slept, And, dreaming, felt, unseen, your presence near; Beheld your eyes, aglow with deep desire, Now mirrored in the streamlet at my feet. Dumb creatures of the wood and meadow came, And all stood up before me without fear; A silent group, with steadfast; wistful eyes, That seemed at once to chide and to entreat. These vanished, and from overhead A song of whirring wings now smote the air. From empyrean heights a snow white dove Flew straight into my breast, and nestled there. A flood of peace enveloped all my soul, And so I knew that henceforth love was mine, And, looking up, beheld your eyes of blue, Through which the spirit in you glowed Twenty- Divine, Compelling, loyal, tender, true. Eight I woke. The sun in heaven was low. His slanted beams in shimmering splendor lay Athwart the trees, the meadow slope, the stream, And all the air proclaimed a golden day, And whispered soft: "How fair, how true a dream!" MARCH HO born in Lent is hated of all W flesh," So runs the adage, old as Lent it self. on) But this is not the reason why, Sir C? March, Poor shivering mortals dread your coming so, And long to see you "laid upon the shelf." Too young in years, my boy; too old in heart March To sympathize with flesh, you go your head long way Unmoved by censure, dubbed a crank by all, You neither mend your ways nor hasten to depart. But if we hate your roughness and the sting Your biting airs impart to our frail bones, We more admire the courage which you bring To carry out your mission, and the strength, The dauntless will, the high resolve to make The earth a fitting place for Spring s fair Queen To work in, and to coax with smiles _and tears The dormant soul of Nature to awake. The Warrior King you are of all the year; The bravest and the brawniest of the band. A minstrel, too, of no mean power, you come With sound of pipe, with twang of harp; with hand That tunes the mighty strings to wild, ex ultant strains, While wielding sceptre high o er all the waiting land. O Our Qarden THE Freshness of the gardens, In the cool air of the morning! As they offer up the incense From a thousand scented blos soms, To the Sun-God as he rises in the heavens. O, the beauty of the roses, Basking in the glorious sunshine Of a golden day in June! And the sweetness of the lilies, in the dus ky shades of evening, With their hearts of gold reflected in the glimpses of the moon! Children, listen to my story; once your fa ther had a garden, In the which he toiled and pottered. First he dug and then he planted; then most carefully he watered, Our Garden Till these children of his fancy grew and blossowed into beauty, Page Thi v- Like to flowers of Paradise. One Every morning, every evening, with a care that never slackened; With a zest that grew to passion, labored he among these beauties; Watched their growth with loving eyes. One there was that watched his labors, squatting flat among the spaces Made by stems of these sweet flow rets; Keeping close within their shadows; brown as the earth to which he cuddled; Noiseless as the creeping wormlet, boring in the earth beneath him; Silent as the air about him, motionless as bronz-ed sphinx, Save when his threadlike tongue, outdart ing, catches some unwary insect In its cryptic mazy kinks. Stared with eyes that scintillated with the fireflash and the sparkle Of the legendary jewel in his ancient, warty head; Our Garden Blinked as one who ponders sagely, winked as to himself and said: Page Thirty- Two "All this labor s for my comfort, And this bustling, busy fellow Why, I do not even know him, Am not e en on speaking .terms with Yet he builds for me this grotto, Wherein I may live forever, Within easy reach of food! Now I feel as if I ought to Something do for this fine fellow, And show forth my gratitude. I will call my friends together: Hop the Jumper, Bill the Shallower, Puff the Blower, and their kinsfolk. We will study up the weather, And on eve of rainy morrow We will thereupon assemble And parade along the pathway, So warning him of coming rain. Thus will he be saved much labor; This indeed will be a blessing." Thus did the Toad repay your father; and by this faithful loving service Lived undisturbed amid the spaces, made by the stems of these sweet flow rets; And through the golden days of summer, Dozed and dreamed the hours away. p age Thirty- \ i 7 Three Moral: The precious jewel in the eyes Reflecls where loving service lies, And brightens every load. No Toad should be without its Qarden, No Qarden be without its Toad. MUSINQS ERE in the dead of night, j j Or in the watchful morn, * *- Before God brings the light, Or ere the day is born, Will she, thinkst thou, come in to see If all is well with thee? "I must have wandered far Since I began to roam From that bright distant star Which was my native home; For I can neither feel nor hear Aught from that distant sphere." The babe just come to earth, Pa e Thi Did angel guards attend her? I think not; at her birth None of them did befriend her, For then she gave a cry of fright, Like one hurled from a height. "I must have wandered long, My face has grown so old. The years before me throng, Their memories I still hold, Of all their busy days of yore, So full of youthful lore." Yes, in the silent night, Or in the watchful morn; Before God sends the light, Before the day is born, Thy mother, Sweet, will come to see If all is well with thee. Dawn in the City HO is it that, with eyes of soft est gray, W Peers through the sable fringes of the night; And slowly pushing each dark strand away, Grows with each onward step more bright? Aurora, peerless daughter of the Sun, Why waste the glories of your pageantry On sightless buildings, piles of soulless stones; Dull monuments of Industry? Fresh as an infant, when his sleep is done, Thou comest, at the first faint call of morn. Ere mighty Sol begins his daily run, Thou dost the eastern sky adorn. "The child at prayer beside his mother s knee Becomes a seraph; lighted by my glow. The face of age, illumin-ed by me, No trace of sorrow seems to know. "The poet s fantasy, the artist s skill, Have sung and pictured me in every land. With soft veiled lightning-flash I flood and thrill The bosom of the ice-bound strand. "And yet I deem it sweeter far to rove Amid the garish monuments of men; To seek, with gentle ministry of love, In palaces, or in crowded den "The restless sufferer, tossing through the night, The aching heart of sorrow s sleepless child; And soothed to rest by my caressing light, And into dreamless slumber thus beguiled "The wight who toils from rise to set of sun, Dreams on, through all the solemn, silent dark, Till, gliding in, like some gray-hooded nun, I bring the music of the lark." Wee Witch Woman Page Thirty- THE WEE WITCH WOMAN HE is cunning and petite, With a waist so trim and neat, And the slimmest hands and feet! Hands that, beckon Forth, I reckon, Spirits fair From distant air. Feet that glide in "woven paces," To and fro, and leave no traces. Unknown words, like voice of birds, Conjuring up misty faces. Over there is the chair Into which I sit and stare At the Witch, so wierd and fair; Till my eyes Fall downwise; And my head Drops like lead On my breast, In blissful rest. And I sink, and sink down deep, Into dreamless sleep. While the Witch, From a niche, The Dark Hour Page Thirty- EiRht Takes a silken switch, With perfume rich, And soft ly waves it to and fro, While downy things, Like angels wings, Enfold me in their slumb rous rings; And all my senses steep In oblivion deep. THE DARK HOUR MISS thee most in that dark hour, I Ere yet the dawn creeps up the eastern sky, Or young birds, half awak ning from their sleep, Begin to chant old matins drowsily. That is the hour when Memory, unsealed, Shows me half-buried images and scenes; Lost loves that come and vanish, half re vealed, Like dreams that mock us with their fan tasies. These forms, like pictures on a screen un furled, Change oft, pursued by that dread phan tom, Fear, Till glorious Morn, sweet mother of the world, Steals in upon me, beaming tenderly. In that lone hour my soul grows weak, and longs To feel the warmth and comfort of thy love; And in that shelter, free from haunting throngs, Await with thee the dawning, peacefully. WHERE MY LOVE LIES LOW OH I know, yes I know Where my Love is lying low. And tis there I love to go When the shadows on the hill Creep and lengthen, as they will; Where my Love lies low. Wheer my Love is lying low, There the purple violets grow, Yellow dandelions glow, And as soon as day s begun Where My Lift happy faces to the sun, Where my Love lies low. Page Forty Oh, I know, yes I know How the brooklet sings below Where my Love is lying low. And how merrilly the trees Wave their long arms in the breeze, Where my Love lies low. Where my Love is lying low Drowsy insects come and go, Butterflies flit to and fro; Crickets, hiding in the grass, Chirrup gaily as I pass, Where my Love lies low. Oh, I know, yes I know Where my Love is lying low. There the night winds gently blow On the hillside; looking down On the hushed and sleeping town, There my Love lies low. Lament of the Maine THE LAMENT OF THE MAINE On the raising of the U. S. S. Maine from the bottom of Havana Harbor, January, 1912 HY did ye leave us so long, WMe and my faithful band, O men of the loyal hearts and strong, With never a helping hand? Ye freed the living, why not the dead? Why did ye not then set them free? Why, oh why did ye make of me Naught but a charnel-house under the sea? I tried my brave ones to keep, As we sank to our muddy rest; And held them close as they fell asleep Upon my shattered breast. After the living come the dead, Why did ye not then set them free? Why, O Men, did ye make of me Naught but a charnel-house, under the sea? Lament of the Maine Long years did I watch them in awe, Page Pony- As they nodded and stared at me; TWO Bloated, rotten and shrunken, I saw Their flesh melt into the sea. Still I nursed the bones of that faith ful band, With arms tight-pinioned in the sand Ah, woe is me, that I should be Naught but a charnel-house, under the sea! And now ye would rob me of these, The bones I cherished so long, That once wore flesh and fought on the seas, With me, when my ribs were strong. Now that the tears have all been shed Render up to the mourners their dead; Bury me where there is none to weep: Six hundred fathoms in the deep! The Dying Moor TOLD my love beheath the tall date palm, _ That reaches upward to the watchful sky. | O er the still land fell night s soft brooding calm; The rising moon gleamed like a silver scythe In a broad field of azure set. Light zephyrs stirred the air with od rous balm. Each star set in the jewelled belt of heaven Did seem to twinkle with approving ray, Bidding godspeed to love and me. My Zelda, her soft eyes now lit with fire, Stole trom the sacred altars of the Gods, Now deeply dark with unsolved mysteries, Seemed dumb before my wondrous tale of love, While in each change her soul stood forth. : Dying Moor Her white veil shimmered like a silver mist Beneath the blue dome of the circling skies. ge Forty- Her fair hair by the mellow moonbeams Four kissed, Enhanced the dark ning splendor of her eyes All glowing with love s ecstacy. Ah, Hassan s steel a bitter flavor had! As, driven by his vengeance-seeking aim, It clove a bloody pathway thro my side, Leaving me of all sense bereft. But not for long I lay there like one dead, For did not Zelda s shriek ring in my ears And nerve me to shake off that rigid grasp That strove to drag my fainting soul away From a fair world of life and love! What if I stole her from him? She was mine By right of her sweet will and perfect love. My soul it will not rest in Paradise Till it doth look upon her face! Oh Allah, grant my prayer, and leave me free To seek mine enemy throughout the world! No matter in what form of bird or beast, Or e en of serpent, so that I may find My enemy, and my lost love! Then ho for Hassan s blood! And after that, In lowly shape to be content for aye In her sweet presence to exist! Designed and Executed by The ZANA-FRANCES PRESS November, igip THE LTBB UNIVERSE: V I.-* 1 CALIFORNIA ANGELES PS Shaw - i, L . ,?."i5 V WILITY 3537 The pot of S5302p gold and other poems. PS 3537 S5302p