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Eight Harvard Poets

<div style="height: 6em;"> </div> [i] <h1> EIGHT HARVARD POETS </h1> <big> E. ESTLIN CUMMINGS S. FOSTER DAMON J. R. DOS PASSOS ROBERT HILLYER R. S. MITCHELL WILLIAM A. NORRIS DUDLEY POORE CUTHBERT WRIGHT </big> <div style="height: 3em;"> </div> <div class="figure"> <ANTIMG src="images/logo.png" width-obs="50" height-obs="50" alt="(logo)" /></div> <div style="height: 3em;"> </div> NEW YORK LAURENCE J. GOMME 1917 [ii] Copyright, 1917, by LAURENCE J. GOMME <div style="height: 3em;"> </div> VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK [iii] <h2 style="text-align: center;"> CONTENTS </h2> <table border="0" align="center" summary="Table of Contents"> <tr><td></td><td width="10%">PAGE</td></tr> <tr><td colspan="2">E. ESTLIN CUMMINGS</td></tr> <tr><td> Thou in Whose Sword-Great Story Shine the Deeds</td><td align="right"> 3 </td></tr> <tr><td> A Chorus Girl </td><td align="right"> 4 </td></tr> <tr><td> This is the Garden </td><td align="right"> 5 </td></tr> <tr><td> It May not Always be so </td><td align="right"> 6 </td></tr> <tr><td> Crepuscule </td><td align="right"> 7 </td></tr> <tr><td> Finis </td><td align="right"> 8 </td></tr> <tr><td> The Lover Speaks </td><td align="right"> 9 </td></tr> <tr><td> Epitaph </td><td align="right"> 10 </td></tr> <tr><td colspan="2">S. FOSTER DAMON</td></tr> <tr><td> Incessu Patuit Deus </td><td align="right"> 13 </td></tr> <tr><td> You Thought I had Forgotten </td><td align="right"> 15 </td></tr> <tr><td> Venice </td><td align="right"> 16 </td></tr> <tr><td> The New Macaber </td><td align="right"> 18 </td></tr> <tr><td> To War </td><td align="right"> 20 </td></tr> <tr><td> Calm Day, with Rollers </td><td align="right"> 21 </td></tr> <tr><td> Phonograph--Tango </td><td align="right"> 22 </td></tr> <tr><td> Decoration </td><td align="right"> 24 </td></tr> <tr><td> Threnody </td><td align="right"> 25 </td></tr> <tr><td colspan="2">J. R. DOS PASSOS</td></tr> <tr><td> The Bridge </td><td align="right"> 29 </td></tr> <tr><td> Salvation Army </td><td align="right"> 30 </td></tr> <tr><td>[iv] Incarnation </td><td align="right"> 32 </td></tr> <tr><td> Memory </td><td align="right"> 34 </td></tr> <tr><td> Saturnalia </td><td align="right"> 37 </td></tr> <tr><td> "Whan that Aprille" </td><td align="right"> 39 </td></tr> <tr><td> Night Piece </td><td align="right"> 40 </td></tr> <tr><td colspan="2">ROBERT HILLYER</td></tr> <tr><td> Four Sonnets from a Sonnet-Sequence </td><td align="right"> 45 </td></tr> <tr><td> A Sea Gull </td><td align="right"> 49 </td></tr> <tr><td> Domesday </td><td align="right"> 50 </td></tr> <tr><td> To a Passepied by Scarlatti </td><td align="right"> 52 </td></tr> <tr><td> Elegy for Antinous </td><td align="right"> 53 </td></tr> <tr><td> Song </td><td align="right"> 54 </td></tr> <tr><td> "My Peace I Leave with You" </td><td align="right"> 55 </td></tr> <tr><td> The Recompense </td><td align="right"> 56 </td></tr> <tr><td colspan="2">R. S. MITCHELL</td></tr> <tr><td> Poppy Song </td><td align="right"> 59 </td></tr> <tr><td> Love Dream </td><td align="right"> 62 </td></tr> <tr><td> The Island of Death </td><td align="right"> 64 </td></tr> <tr><td> From the Arabian Nights </td><td align="right"> 66 </td></tr> <tr><td> Threnody </td><td align="right"> 68 </td></tr> <tr><td> Helen </td><td align="right"> 70 </td></tr> <tr><td> Largo </td><td align="right"> 72 </td></tr> <tr><td> Lazarus </td><td align="right"> 73 </td></tr> <tr><td> A Crucifix </td><td align="right"> 74 </td></tr> <tr><td> Neith </td><td align="right"> 75 </td></tr> <tr><td> A Farewell </td><td align="right"> 77 </td></tr> <tr><td colspan="2"> [v] WILLIAM A. NORRIS</td></tr> <tr><td> Of Too Much Song </td><td align="right"> 81 </td></tr> <tr><td> Wherever My Dreams Go </td><td align="right"> 82 </td></tr> <tr><td> Out of the Littleness </td><td align="right"> 83 </td></tr> <tr><td> Nahant </td><td align="right"> 84 </td></tr> <tr><td> Qui Sub Luna Errant </td><td align="right"> 85 </td></tr> <tr><td> Across the Taut Strings </td><td align="right"> 86 </td></tr> <tr><td> Escape </td><td align="right"> 87 </td></tr> <tr><td> On a Street Corner </td><td align="right"> 88 </td></tr> <tr><td> Sea-burial </td><td align="right"> 89 </td></tr> <tr><td colspan="2">DUDLEY POORE</td></tr> <tr><td> A Renaissance Picture </td><td align="right"> 93 </td></tr> <tr><td> The Philosopher's Garden </td><td align="right"> 95 </td></tr> <tr><td> The Tree of Stars </td><td align="right"> 96 </td></tr> <tr><td> After Rain </td><td align="right"> 97 </td></tr> <tr><td> Cor Cordium </td><td align="right"> 99 </td></tr> <tr><td> The Withered Leaf, the Faded Flower be Mine </td><td align="right"> 105 </td></tr> <tr><td colspan="2">CUTHBERT WRIGHT</td></tr> <tr><td> The End of It </td><td align="right"> 109 </td></tr> <tr><td> The New Platonist </td><td align="right"> 110 </td></tr> <tr><td> The Room Over the River </td><td align="right"> 112 </td></tr> <tr><td> The Fiddler </td><td align="right"> 114 </td></tr> <tr><td> Falstaff's Page </td><td align="right"> 116 </td></tr> <tr><td> A Dull Sunday </td><td align="right"> 117 </td></tr> </table> [vi] <div style="height: 3em;"> </div>  [1] <h2> E. ESTLIN CUMMINGS </h2> [2] <div style="height: 3em;"> </div>  [3] <h2 class="untitled"> [THOU IN WHOSE SWORD-GREAT STORY SHINE THE DEEDS] </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Thou in whose sword-great story shine the deeds Of history her heroes, sounds the tread Of those vast armies of the marching dead, With standards and the neighing of great steeds Moving to war across the smiling meads; Thou by whose page we break the precious bread Of dear communion with the past, and wed To valor, battle with heroic breeds; </div> <div class="stanza"> Thou, Froissart, for that thou didst love the pen While others wrote in steel, accept all praise Of after ages, and of hungering days For whom the old glories move, the old trumpets cry; Who gav'st as one of those immortal men His life that his fair city might not die. </div> </div> [4] <h2> A CHORUS GIRL </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> When thou hast taken thy last applause, and when The final curtain strikes the world away, Leaving to shadowy silence and dismay That stage which shall not know thy smile again, Lingering a little while I see thee then Ponder the tinsel part they let thee play; I see the red mouth tarnished, the face grey, And smileless silent eyes of Magdalen. </div> <div class="stanza"> The lights have laughed their last; without, the street Darkling, awaiteth her whose feet have trod The silly souls of men to golden dust. She pauses, on the lintel of defeat, Her heart breaks in a smile—and she is Lust ... Mine also, little painted poem of God. </div> <div class="stanza"> [5] This is the garden: colors come and go, Frail azures fluttering from night's outer wing, Strong silent greens serenely lingering, Absolute lights like baths of golden snow. This is the garden: pursed lips do blow Upon cool flutes within wide glooms, and sing, Of harps celestial to the quivering string, Invisible faces hauntingly and slow. </div> <div class="stanza"> This is the garden. Time shall surely reap, And on Death's blade lie many a flower curled, In other lands where other songs be sung; Yet stand They here enraptured, as among The slow deep trees perpetual of sleep Some silver-fingered fountain steals the world. </div> <div class="stanza"> [6] It may not always be so; and I say That if your lips, which I have loved, should touch Another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch His heart, as mine in time not far away; If on another's face your sweet hair lay In such a silence as I know, or such Great writhing words as, uttering overmuch, Stand helplessly before the spirit at bay; </div> <div class="stanza"> If this should be, I say if this should be— You of my heart, send me a little word; That I may go unto him, and take his hands, Saying, Accept all happiness from me. Then shall I turn my face, and hear one bird Sing terribly afar in the lost lands. </div> </div> [7] <h2> CREPUSCULE </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> I will wade out till my thighs are steeped in burn- ing flowers I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air Alive with closed eyes to dash against darkness in the sleeping curves of my body Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery with chasteness of sea-girls Will I complete the mystery of my flesh I will rise After a thousand years lipping flowers And set my teeth in the silver of the moon </div> </div> [8] <h2> FINIS </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Over silent waters day descending night ascending floods the gentle glory of the sunset In a golden greeting splendidly to westward as pale twilight trem- bles into Darkness comes the last light's gracious exhortation Lifting up to peace so when life shall falter standing on the shores of the eternal god May I behold my sunset Flooding over silent waters </div> </div> [9] <h2> THE LOVER SPEAKS </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Your little voice Over the wires came leaping and I felt suddenly dizzy With the jostling and shouting of merry flowers wee skipping high-heeled flames courtesied before my eyes or twinkling over to my side Looked up with impertinently exquisite faces floating hands were laid upon me I was whirled and tossed into delicious dancing up Up with the pale important stars and the Humorous moon dear girl How I was crazy how I cried when I heard over time and tide and death leaping Sweetly your voice </div> </div> [10] <h2> EPITAPH </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Tumbling-hair picker of buttercups violets dandelions And the big bullying daisies through the field wonderful with eyes a little sorry Another comes also picking flowers </div> </div> [11] <h2> S. FOSTER DAMON </h2> [12] <div style="height: 3em;"> </div>  [13] <h2> INCESSU PATUIT DEUS </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> The little clattering stones along the street Dance with each other round my swimming feet; The street itself, as in some crazy dream, Streaks past, a half-perceived material stream. </div> <div class="stanza"> Brighter than early dawn's most brilliant dye Are blown clear bands of color through the sky, That swirl and sweep and meet, to break and foam Like rainbow veils upon a bubble's dome. </div> <div class="stanza"> Yours are the songs that burst about my ears, Or blow away as many-colored spheres. </div> <div class="stanza"> You are the star that made the skies all bright, Yet tore itself away in flaming flight; You are the tree that suddenly awoke; You are the rose that came to life and spoke.... </div> <div class="stanza"> Guided by you, how we might stroll towards death, Our only music one another's breath, Through gardens intimate with hollyhocks, Where silent poppies burn between the rocks, By pools where birches bend to confidants Above green waters scummed with lily-plants. </div> <div class="stanza"> [14] There we might wander, you and I alone, Through gardens filled with marble seats moss-grown, And fountains—water-threads that winds disperse— While in the spray the birds sit and converse. </div> <div class="stanza"> And when the fireflies mix their circling glow Through the dark plants, then gently might I know Your lips, light as the wings of the dragon-flies.... </div> <div class="stanza"> —Merely dreams, fluttering in my eyes.... </div> </div> [15] <h2 class="untitled"> [YOU THOUGHT I HAD FORGOTTEN] </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> You thought I had forgotten. Well, I had! (Although I never guessed I could forget Those few great moments when we both went mad.) </div> <div class="stanza"> The other day at someone's tea we met, Smiling gayly, bowed, and went our several ways, Complacent with successful coldness.—Yet </div> <div class="stanza"> Suddenly I was back in the old days Before you felt we ought to drift apart. It was some trick—the way your eyebrows raise, </div> <div class="stanza"> Your hands—some vivid trifle. With a start Then I remembered how I lived alone, Writing bad poems and eating out my heart </div> <div class="stanza"> All for your beauty.—How the time has flown! </div> </div> [16] <h2> VENICE </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> In a sunset glowing of crimson and gold, She lies, the glory of the world, A beached king's galley, whose sails are furled, Who is hung with tapestries rich and old. </div> <div class="stanza"> Beautiful as a woman is she, A woman whose autumn of life is here, Proud and calm at the end of the year With the grace that now is majesty. </div> <div class="stanza"> The sleeping waters bathe her sides, The warm, blue streams of the Adrian Sea; She dreams and drowses languorously, Swayed in the swaying of the tides. </div> <div class="stanza"> She is a goddess left for us, Veiled with the softening veils of time; Her blue-veined breasts are now sublime, Her moulded torso glorious. </div> <div class="stanza"> The pity that we must come and go—! While the old gold and the marble stays, Forever gleaming its soft strong blaze, Calm in the early evening glow. </div> <div class="stanza"> [17] And still the sensitive silhouettes Of the gondolas pass and leave no track, Light on the tides as lilies, and black In the rippling waters of long sunsets. </div> </div> [18] <h2> THE NEW MACABER </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> The pleasant graveyard of my soul With sentimental cypress trees And flowers is filled, that I may stroll In meditation, at my ease. </div> <div class="stanza"> The little marble stones are lost In flowers surging from the dead; Nor is there any mournful ghost To wail until the night is sped. </div> <div class="stanza"> And while night rustles through the trees, Dragging the stars along, I know The moon is rising on the breeze, Quivering as in a river's flow. </div> <div class="stanza"> And ah! that moon of silver sheen! It is my heart hung in the sky; And no clouds ever float between The grave-flowers and my heart on high. </div> <div class="stanza"> I do not read upon each stone The name that once was carven there; I merely note new blossoms blown And breathe the perfume of the air. </div> <div class="stanza"> [19] Thus walk I through my wonderland While all the evening is atune, Beneath the cypress trees that stand Like candles to the barren moon. </div> </div> [20] <h2> TO WAR </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> The music beats, up the chasmed street, Then flares from around the curve; The cheers break out from the waving crowd: —Our soldiers march, superb! Over the track-lined city street The young men, the grinning men, pass. </div> <div class="stanza"> Last night they danced to that very tune; Today they march away; Tomorrow, perhaps no band at all, Or the band beside the grave. Above, in the long blue strip of sky, The whirling pigeons, the thoughtless pigeons, pass. </div> <div class="stanza"> Another band beats down the street; Contending rhythms clash; New melodies win place, then fade, And the flashing legs move past. Down the cheering, grey-paved street The fringed flags, the erect flags, pass. </div> </div> [21] <h2> CALM DAY, WITH ROLLERS </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Always the ships that move in mystery, on the dim horizon, Shadow-filled sails of dreams, sliding over the blue-grey ocean, Far from the rock-edged shore where willow-green waves are rushing, And white foam-people leap, to stand erect for the moment. </div> <div class="stanza"> Ho! ye sails that seem to wander in dream-filled meadows, Say, is the shore where I stand the only field of struggle, Or are ye hit and battered out there by waves and wind-gusts As ye tack over a clashing sea of watery echoes? </div> </div> [22] <h2> PHONOGRAPH—TANGO </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Old dances are simplified of their yearning, bleached by Time. Yet from one black disc we tasted again the bite of crude Spanish passion. </div> <div class="stanza"> ... He had got into her courtyard. She was alone that night. Through the black night-rain, he sang to her window bars: </div> <div class="stanza"> Love me, love—ah, love me! If you will not, I can follow Into the highest of mountains; And there, in the wooden cabin, I will strangle you for your lover. </div> <div class="stanza"> —That was but rustling of dripping plants in the dark. More tightly under his cloak, he clasped his guitar. </div> <div class="stanza"> Love, ah-h! love me, love me! If you will do this, I can buy A fringed silk scarf of yellow, A high comb carved of tortoise; Then we will dance in the Plaza. </div> <div class="stanza"> [23] She was alone that night. He had broken into her courtyard. Above the gurgling gutters he heard— surely— a door unchained? </div> <div class="stanza"> The passage was black; but he risked it— death in the darkness— or her hot arms—(love—love me ah-h-h!) </div> <div class="stanza"> "A good old tune," she murmured —and I found we were dancing. </div> </div> [24] <h2> DECORATION </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> A little pagan child-god plays Beyond the far horizon haze, And underneath the twilight trees He blows a bubble to the breeze, Which is borne upward in the night And makes the heavens shine with light. But soon it sinks to earth again, And, hitting hills, it bursts! And then With foam the skies are splashed and sprayed; And that's how all the stars are made. </div> </div> [25] <h2> THRENODY </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> She is lain with high things and with low. She lies With shut eyes, Rocked in the eternal flow Of silence evermore. </div> <div class="stanza"> Desperately immortal, she; She stands With wide hands Dim through the veil of eternity, Behind the supreme door. </div> </div> [26] <div style="height: 3em;"> </div>  [27] <h2> J. R. DOS PASSOS </h2> [28] <div style="height: 3em;"> </div>  [29] <h2> THE BRIDGE </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> The lonely bridge cuts dark across the marsh Whose long pools glow with the light Of a flaring summer sunset. At this end limp bushes overhang, Palely reflected in the amber-colored water; Among them a constant banjo-twanging of frogs, And shrilling of toads and of insects Rises and falls in chorus rhythmic and stirring. </div> <div class="stanza"> Dark, with crumbling railing and planks, The bridge leads into the sunset. Across it many lonely figures, Their eyes a-flare with the sunset, Their faces glowing with its colors, Tramp past me through the evening. </div> <div class="stanza"> I am tired of sitting quiet Among the bushes of the shore, While the dark bridge stretches onward, And the long pools gleam with light; I am tired of the shrilling of insects And the croaking of frogs in the rushes, For the wild rice in the marsh-pools Waves its beckoning streamers in the wind, And the red sky-glory fades. </div> </div> [30] <h2> SALVATION ARMY </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> A drum pounds out the hymn, Loud with gaudy angels, tinsel cherubim, To drown the fanfare of the street, And with exultant lilting beat, To mingle the endless rumble of carts, The scrape of feet, the noise of marts And dinning market stalls, where women shout Their wares, and meat hangs out— Grotesque, distorted by the gas flare's light— Into one sacred rhythm for the Devil's spite. </div> <div class="stanza"> A woman's thin, raucous voice Carries the tune, bids men rejoice, Bathe in God's mercy, Draw near and learn salvation, see With their own eyes the mystery. Cymbals, at the hands of a tired girl, Slim wisp amid the swirl Of crowded streets, take up the tune, Monotonously importune. Faces are wan in the arc-light's livid glare; A wind gust carries the band's flare Of song, in noisy eddies echoing, Round lonely black street-corners, </div> <div class="stanza"> [31] Till, with distance dimming, It fades away, Among the silent, dark array Of city houses where no soul stirs. </div> <div class="stanza"> The crowd thins, the players are alone; In their faith's raucous monotone, Loud with gaudy angels, tinsel cherubim, A drum pounds out the hymn. </div> </div> [32] <h2> INCARNATION </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Incessantly the long rain falls, Slanting on black walls, Which glisten gold where a street lamp shines. </div> <div class="stanza"> In a shop-window, spangled in long lines, By rain-drops all a-glow, An Italian woman's face Flames into my soul as I go Hastily by in the turbulent darkness;— An oval olive face, With the sweetly sullen grace Of the Virgin when first she sees, Amid her garden's silver lilies, The white-robed angel gleam, And softly, as by a sultry dream, Feels all her soul subdued unto the fire And radiance of her ecstasy. So in some picture, on which as on a lyre, An old Italian painter laboriously has played His soul away, his love, all his desire For fragrant things afar from earth, Shines the Madonna, as with a veil overlaid By incense-smoke and dust age-old, At whose feet, in time of dearth [33] Or need, a myriad men have laid Their sorrows and arisen bold. </div> <div class="stanza"> Incessantly the long rain falls, Slanting on black walls. But through the dark interminable streets, Along pavements where rain beats Its sharp tattoo, and gas-lamps shine, Greenish gold in the solitude, The vision flames through my mood Of that Italian woman's face, Through the dripping window-pane. </div> </div> [34] <h2> MEMORY </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Between rounded hills, White with patches of buckwheat, whose fragrance fills The little breeze that makes the birch-leaves quiver, Beside a rollicking swift river, Light green in the deeps,— Like your eyes in sunshine,— Winds the canal, Lazy and brown as a water-snake, Full of dazzle and sheen where the breeze sweeps The water with gossamer garments, that shake The reeds standing sentinel, And the marginal line Of birches and willows. </div> <div class="stanza"> Our little steamer pulls its way With jingle of bells and panting throb Of old engines. In stiff array The water-reeds wave, And solemnly sway To the wash and swell of our passing. Among the reeds the ripples sob, And die away, [35] 'Till the canal is still again, save For a kingfisher's flashing Across the noon shimmer. </div> <div class="stanza"> I stood beside you in the bow, Watched the sunlight lose itself among your hair, That the breeze tugged at. Bright as the shattered sun-rays, where the prow Cut the still water, The warm light caught and tangled there, Red gold amid your hair. </div> <div class="stanza"> You were very slim in your blue serge dress.... We talked of meaningless things, education, Agreed that unless, Something were changed disaster would come to the nation. You smiled when I pointed where A group of birches shivered in the green wood-shadow, Up to their knees in water, white and fair As dryads bathing. A row Of flat white houses and a wharf Glided in sight. The hoarse whistle shrieked for a landing; Bells jangled.... You were standing A slim blue figure amid the wharf's crowd; The little steamer creaked against the side, loud Screamed the whistle again.... </div> <div class="stanza"> [36] Monotonously the solemn reeds Waved to our passing; Ahead the canal shimmered, blotched green by the water-weeds. With a grinding swing And see-saw of sound, The steamer slunk down the canal. </div> <div class="stanza"> I never even knew your name.... </div> <div class="stanza"> That night from a dingy hotel room, I saw the moon, like a golden gong, Redly loom Across the lake; like a golden gong In a temple, which a priest ere long Will strike into throbbing song, To wake some silent twinkling city to prayer. The lake waves were flakes of red gold, Burnished to copper, Gold, red as the tangled gleam Of sunlight in your hair. </div> </div> [37] <h2> SATURNALIA </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> In earth's womb the old gods stir, Fierce chthonian dieties of old time. With cymbals and rattle of castanets, And shriek of slug-horns, the North Wind Bows the oak and the moaning fir, On russet hills and by roadsides stiff with rime. </div> <div class="stanza"> In nature, dead, the life gods stir, From Rhadamanthus and the Isles, Where Saturn rules the Age of Gold, Come old, old ghosts of bygone gods; While dim mists earth's outlines blur, And drip all night from lichen-greened roof-tiles. </div> <div class="stanza"> In men's hearts the mad gods rise And fill the streets with revelling, With torchlight that glances on frozen pools, With tapers starring the thick-fogged night, A-dance, like strayed fireflies, 'Mid dim mad throngs who Saturn's orisons sing. </div> <div class="stanza"> In driven clouds the old gods come, When fogs the face of Apollo have veiled; A fear of things, unhallowed, strange, [38] And a fierce free joy flares in the land. Men mutter runes in language dead, By night, with rumbling drum, In quaking groves where the woodland spirits are hailed. </div> <div class="stanza"> To earth's brood of souls of old, With covered heads and aspen wands, Mist-shrouded priests do ancient rites; The black ram's fleece is stained with blood, That steams, dull red on the frozen ground; And pale votaries shiver with the cold, That numbs the earth, and etches patterned mirrors on the ponds. </div> </div> [39] <h2> "WHAN THAT APRILLE ..." </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Is it the song of a meadow lark Off the brown, sere salt marshes, Or the eager patches in dooryards Of yellow and pale lilac crocuses; Or else the suburban street golden with sunlight, And the bare branches of elm trees Twined in the delicate sky? Or is it the merry piping Of a distant hurdy-gurdy?— That makes me so weary and faint with desire For strange lands and new scents; For the rough-rhythmed clank Of train couplings at night, And the stormy, gay-tinted sunrises That shade with purple the contours Of far-off, unfamiliar hills. </div> </div> [40] <h2> NIGHT PIECE </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> A silver web has the moon spun, A silver web upon all the sky, Where the frail stars quiver, every one Like tangled gnats that hum and die. </div> <div class="stanza"> The moon has tangled the dull night In her silver skein and set alight Each dew-damp branch with milky flame. And huge the moon broods on the night. </div> <div class="stanza"> My soul is caught in the web of the moon, Like a shrilling gnat in a spider's web. Importunate memories shrill in my ears Like the gnats that die in the spider web. </div> <div class="stanza"> Lovely as death, in the moon's shroud, Were town streets, grey houses, dim, Full of strange peace in the silent night. As we walked our footsteps clattered loud. We felt the night as a troubled song ... Oh, the triumphing sense of life a-throb. Behind those walls, in those dark streets, Like the sound of a river, swift, unseen, Flowing in darkness. Oh, the hoarse [41] Half-heard murmur swirling beneath The snowy beauty of moonlight.... </div> <div class="stanza"> And that other night, When the river rippled with faint spears Of street lights vaguely reflected. Grey The evening, like an opal; low, A grey moon shrouded in sea fog: Air pregnant with spring; rasp of my steps Beside the lapping water; within The dark. Down the worn out years a sob Of broken loves; old pain Of dead farewells; and one face Fading into grey.... </div> <div class="stanza"> A silver web has the moon spun, A silver web over all the sky. In her flooding glory, one by one, Like gnats in a web the stars die. </div> </div> [42] <div style="height: 3em;"> </div>  [43] <h2> ROBERT HILLYER </h2> [44] <div style="height: 3em;"> </div>  [45] <h2> FOUR SONNETS FROM A SONNET-SEQUENCE </h2> <h3> I </h3> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Quickly and pleasantly the seasons blow Over the meadows of eternity, As wave on wave the pulsings of the sea Merge and are lost, each in the other's flow. Time is no lover; it is only he That is the one unconquerable foe, He is the sudden tempest none can know, Winged with swift winds the none may hope to flee. </div> <div class="stanza"> Fair child of loveliness, these endless fears Are nought to us; let us be gods of stone, And set our images beyond the years On some high mount where we can be alone. And thou shalt ever be as now thou art, And I shall watch thee with untroubled heart. </div> </div> [46] <h3> II </h3> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Then judge me as thou wilt, I cannot flee, I cannot turn away from thee forever, For there are bonds that wisdom cannot sever And slaves with souls far freer than the free. Such strong desires the universal Giver With unknown plan has buried deep in me That the exquisite joy of watching thee Has dominated all my life's endeavor. </div> <div class="stanza"> Thou weariest of having me so near, I feel the scorn thou hast within thy heart, And yet thy face has never seemed so dear As now, when I am minded to depart. Though thou shouldst drive me hence, I love thee so That I would watch thee when thou dost not know. </div> </div> [47] <h3> III </h3> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Fly, joyous wind, through all the wakened earth Now when the portals of the dawn outpour A myriad wonders from the radiant store Of spring's deep passion and loud-ringing mirth. Cry to the world that I despair no more, Heart greets my heart and hope has proved its worth; Fly where the legions of the sun have birth, Chant everywhere and everywhere adore. </div> <div class="stanza"> Circle the basking hills in fragrant flight, Shout Rapture! Rapture! if sweet sorrow passes, And whisper low in intimate delight My love-song to the undulating grasses. Grief is no more, love rises with the spring, O fly, free wind, and Rapture! Rapture! sing. </div> </div> [48] <h3> IV </h3> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Long after both of us are scattered dust And some strange souls perchance shall read of thee, Finding the yearnings that have crushed from me These poor confessions of my love and trust, I know how misinterpreted will be These lines, for men will laugh, or more unjust, Thinking not once of love, but only lust, Will stain the vesture of our memory. </div> <div class="stanza"> And yet a few there may be who will feel My deep devotion and my true desires, And know that these unhappy words reveal Only new images in changeless fires; And they perchance will linger with a sigh To think that beauty such as thine must die. </div> </div> [49] <h2> A SEA GULL </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Grey wings, O grey wings against a cloud, Over the rough waves flashing, Whose was the scream, startling and loud, Keen through the skies,—was it thine, Over the moaning wind and the whine Of the wide seas dashing? Whose was the scream that I heard In the midst of the hurrying air? Was it thine, lost bird, Or the voice of an old despair Chanting from years long dead, Inexorable spirit flying On tempest wings that passed and fled Through the storm crying? </div> </div> [50] <h2> DOMESDAY </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> The garlands and the songs of May Shall welcome in the Judgment Day; About the basking country-side Blossom the souls of them that died. O Dead awake! Arise in bloom Upon the joyous dawn of doom. </div> <div class="stanza"> They rise up from the bleeding earth In gracious legions of re-birth, Each as a flower or a tree Of verdant immortality. And hosts of glad-voiced angels sing In the rippling groves of spring. </div> <div class="stanza"> From the grave of youth there grows A passionately-petaled rose, Where the virgin whitely lies A lily fair as Paradise. And in that old oak's leafy glee Some gouty sire makes sport of me. </div> <div class="stanza"> O Dead of yore and yesterday All hail the resurrecting May! [51] Beside you in the flowering grass The feet of youth and love shall pass, And we that greet you with a smile Shall join you in a little while. </div> </div> [52] <h2> TO A PASSEPIED BY SCARLATTI </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Strange little tune so thin and rare Like scents of roses of long ago, Quavering lightly upon the strings Of a violin, and dying there With a dancing flutter of delicate wings; Thy courtly joy and thy gentle woe, Thy gracious gladness and plaintive fears Are lost in the clamorous age we know, And pale like a moon in the lurid day; A phantom of music, strangely fled From the princely halls of the quiet dead, Down the long lanes of the vanished years Echoing frailly and far away. </div> </div> [53] <h2> ELEGY FOR ANTINOUS </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Come, let us hasten hence and weep no more, The sinking sea flows on its tranquil ways, Night looms serenely at the eastern door And trails the last cloud into lifeless haze. Antinous is dead, we kneel before The portals of our past in vain, nor raise The laughing phantoms of our yesterdays Upon this desolate and empty shore. </div> <div class="stanza"> Now deepening pools of shadow overflow Into the sea of dark; a far-off bell Sobs with a sweet vibration long and slow A last farewell, forevermore, farewell; And will He wake and hear? We cannot tell; And will He answer? Ah, we do not know. </div> </div> [54] <h2> SONG </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> O crimson rose, O crimson rose, Crushed lightly in two little hands; A child's soft kiss was in your heart, A child's warm breath was in your soul. </div> <div class="stanza"> The child is gone, O crimson rose, And stained and hardened are the hands, And who shall find your golden heart And who shall kiss your withered soul? </div> <div class="stanza"> Happy are you, O crimson rose, But I have stains upon my hands; You died with kisses in your heart, I live with sorrow in my soul. </div> </div> [55] <h2> "MY PEACE I LEAVE WITH YOU" </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> He pondered long, and watched the darkening space Close the red portals whence the hours had run, As like young wistful angels, one by one, The stars cast timid flowers about His face. "Yea, now another scarlet day is done!" He cried in anguish, and with sudden grace Stretched forth His arms, as though He would erase The few, dim embers of the scattered sun. </div> <div class="stanza"> "The scarlet day is done, and soon the light Will wake again my desecrated skies. Oh, that another dawn might never rise!— My foolish children!" Through the vast of night The young stars shivered in a silver horde Before the Infinite Sorrow of their Lord. </div> </div> [56] <h2> THE RECOMPENSE </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> When the last song is sung, and the last spark Of light dies out forever, and the dark, The voiceless dark eternal shrouds the earth; When the last cries of pain and shouts of mirth Sink in the desolate silences of space; Where then shall flower the beauty of your face, O Love the laughing, Youth the rose-in-hand, In what unknown and undiscovered land Shall flower then the beauty of your face? </div> <div class="stanza"> I know not but I know that all returns At last unchanged, and to the heart that yearns Shall be repaid all loneliness and loss. Sometime with shadowy sails shall fly across The shoreless ocean of infinity A ship from out the past, and the great sea Of life shall bear you from the strange worlds over The waves, and back again to the old lover. </div> <div class="stanza"> Yes, in some future far beyond surmise You will dream here with half-remembering eyes, And I shall write these words, content awhile In the slow round of time to see you smile. </div> </div> [57] <h2> R. S. MITCHELL </h2> [58] <div style="height: 3em;"> </div>  [59] <h2> POPPY SONG </h2> <h3> I </h3> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Footsteps soft as fall the rose's Petals on a dewy lawn, Shaken when the wind uncloses Golden gateways for the dawn; </div> <div class="stanza"> Laughter light as is the swallows' Chatter in the evening sky, Wafted upward from the hollows Where the limpid waters lie; </div> <div class="stanza"> Weeping faint as is the willow's By the margin of the lake, Trembling into tiny billows That the silent teardrops make; </div> <div class="stanza"> Phantoms fitful and uncertain As the pearly autumn rain, Sweeping on in cloudy curtain Down the wide way of the plain. </div> </div> [60] <h3> II </h3> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Oh, unhappy now to waken When the dream had scarce begun! Out of gentle twilight taken Into realms of burning sun: </div> <div class="stanza"> Oh, unhappy now to find me Lost 'neath heavens hot with noon; All that fairy land behind me; Poppy fields and rising moon! </div> <div class="stanza"> Drawbridge and portcullis screeching, Bugles braying soon and late; Who are they that come beseeching, Calling at my castle gate? </div> <div class="stanza"> Drive them hence, for they encumber Days and nights with waking pain; Tell them that I lie and slumber Under poppies, wet with rain. </div> <div class="stanza"> Who art thou that bendest praying Over me with clasped palms; Dim through surging darkness, saying Words of prayer and murmured psalms? </div> <div class="stanza"> [61] Who art thou that kneelest weeping By the border of my bed? Cease thou, for I was but sleeping— Dreaming, only, and not dead! </div> </div> <h3> III </h3> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Phantoms flitting and uncertain Sweeping round the endless plain; Autumn twilight's dusky curtain, Drowsy poppies, drenched with rain. </div> </div> [62] <h2> LOVE DREAM </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Strange that on warp and woof of dreams Fancy should weave the web of truth, And yet this fairy figment seems Part of a half-forgotten youth Stolen from days I thought were sped Out of the world beyond the dead. </div> <div class="stanza"> Smiled she not when at the edge Of evening we walked alone Plucking spring's blossoms from the hedge That she might wear them as her own, Or do I hold a hopeless tryst Here with a shadow, made of mist? </div> <div class="stanza"> Now as will crumpled rose leaves, pent By fingers we can never know, Rouse with the richness of their scent, Thoughts of a summer long ago, All the expanse of land and sea Speaks with a thousand tongues to me. </div> <div class="stanza"> 'Twas from coast we watched slow form, Out of the frosty ocean's breath, [63] The blue-gray ramparts of the storm Flashing with signal fires of death, Whilst with a murmur, far and wide, Swept in the low wind with the tide. </div> <div class="stanza"> Then, at last, when lips were dumb With fear of parting, did we wend Along the meadow lanes that come From nowhere, and in nothing end, And, smiling, kiss, though ill at ease, Under the rustling orchard trees. </div> <div class="stanza"> But will the promise given keep? Can the heart love still when 'tis dead? What if the spirit, waked from sleep, Never recall the words it said? Dwell in a dreamland, or else be Lost in life's eternity? </div> </div> [64] <h2> THE ISLAND OF DEATH </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> There is an island in a silent sea That rises—four, rough, rugged walls—on high Above the ocean in calm majesty. A mountain of despair against the sky! About its summit soaring seagulls fly, Or rest them in its lofty cypress trees, And greet the black barge bearing those who die Upon our earth to everlasting ease And pleasant lives that know not man's eternities. </div> <div class="stanza"> White halls and palaces their dwellings stand; These shadowy souls are all unknown to graves And live, faint phantoms in a fairy land Of dreams and idleness. They hear the waves Sing, and the winds come calling from the caves Of night beyond the ocean, and the cry Of screaming gulls; stare at each ship that braves This wilderness of waters, and glides by In awe-struck silence, ever fearing to draw nigh. </div> <div class="stanza"> The sun, descending, sows the sea with gold, And showers splendour through the fading skies, [65] Whilst from the murky waters they behold The moon, a shape of silver, slow arise. And every evening, as the daylight dies, There comes that bark of death, whose white sail seems An angel in the dark. A while it lies Below them in the harbour, then there gleams A new shape on the stairs up to that land of dreams. </div> </div> [66] <h2> FROM THE ARABIAN NIGHTS </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Then, as the whispering evening crossed the sea, Sweeping the waters with her veil of grey, Wave-worn and weary of the ocean, we Beheld the enchanted island far away— Half hidden in the twilight low it lay On the horizon like a lazy cloud, Its coasts encompassed with long lines of spray. We spread the sails and swiftly the ship plowed The purple path ahead until the surf sang loud. </div> <div class="stanza"> Between the cliffs, by the faint stars, we found A gloomy gate, and boldly sailing in, Watched the dark mountains slowly closing round, And heard faint echoes of the ocean's din Melting like spirits' voices, fleet and thin; When of a sudden, as we faltered nigh, Out of the hills where only night had been A mist of minarets and towers high, Rose like the yellow light of morning in the sky. </div> <div class="stanza"> Gazing we drifted toward that golden bloom Of palaces whose light glowed on our sail; There we floated wrapped in wild perfume; Then music burst upon us in a gale; [67] Grave, deep-toned trumpets and the lyre's long wail, And farther, the faint sound of singing men. We grasped our oars—but slowly, as will pale The morning star, the vision faded, then The empty dark swept in and all was night again! </div> </div> [68] <h2> THRENODY </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Have you forgotten me, O my beloved? Have you deserted me Now in the autumn? </div> <div class="stanza"> See where the swallows fly South o'er the ocean: Soon will the winter wind Sweep the Ægean. </div> <div class="stanza"> Up from the vineyard comes Music of laughter; Far through the valleys they Gather the harvest. </div> <div class="stanza"> Westward the evening star Sinks in the mountains; Pale 'neath the rising moon Lies Mytilene. </div> <div class="stanza"> Here where the headland looks Wide o'er the water, I have brought laurel leaves, Decking your barrow. </div> <div class="stanza"> [69] Why do I linger now Vainly lamenting? O it is lonely, love,— Lonely in Lesbos! </div> </div> [70] <h2> HELEN </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Again the voices of the hunting horns And the new moon, low lying on the hills, Tell that the summer night is on its way.— O languid heart, shalt thou much longer watch This pale procession of the silent hours Melt into shadows of unending years? Much longer feed on yearning and despair And all the anguish of departed time? Tomorrow is as yesterday; today No nearer than the morning when there stood In Leda's palace, asking for my hand, Tall Menelaus with his yellow hair; No nearer now than the first time these hands Dared linger in caress upon the curls Of him whose dark eyes laughed their love to mine. 'Tis only as if one short, restless sleep Lay over the wide chasm of the years Beyond which loom lost faith and ruined Troy. The night wind brings, as twenty summers since, The silver-breasted swallows from the Nile To quiet Sparta, nestled in her hills, Locked inland from the voices of the sea; And far across the porticos I hear The ivory shuttle singing in the loom [71] 'Midst maidens' chatter, as in olden days; And men still murmur as they pass me by: "Lo, look on her, the wonder of the world, Beauteous Helen, Lacedæmon's Queen!" I watch them gaze intently on my face As they would keep it in their memory Forever, and the very while they gaze I see the flame of Troy gleam in their eyes. </div> <div class="stanza"> I think sometimes I have already passed Into the kingdom of untroubled death, And wandering lonely amongst them I knew In Hellas or that land beyond the seas, Behold each shadow as it passes by Shrink half involuntarily, and turn, And veil its face and vanish in the gloom. Whilst out of that dim distance whence my steps Are moving and to which they shall return After an interval of endless years, There comes a voice that calls me from afar: "Art thou not Helen, dowered of the gods With all that man can covet? Wert thou not Created the most beautiful of earth, And is not beauty wisdom, wisdom power? What hast thou done with their almighty gift?" And then, ere I would answer, silence falls Around me, and the dark divides, and I See the blue twilight on the Spartan hills. </div> </div> [72] <h2> LARGO </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Thou only from this sorrow wert relief, Inviolate death, grave deity of rest, Wherein all things past somehow seem the best That ever could have come to be. Proud grief Her lustrous torch hath lighted in this brief Dim time before the dark, when the wide west Fades where illimitable skies suggest Days vanished in the beauty of belief. </div> <div class="stanza"> As one unto a battle come, that stands Aloof awhile, beholding friend and foe Clashing in conflict, till his soul commands He, too, prest on whither the bugles blow, Lifting his eyes sees over wasted lands Life's dust and shadow drifting to and fro. </div> </div> [73] <h2> LAZARUS </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> At morn we passed a hall where song And dance had been and wine flowed free, And where, 'mid wrecks of revelry, Had lain the feasters all night long. </div> <div class="stanza"> They saw us through the mist of dawn, And, turning, called us to their feast— The sound of lutes and cymbals ceased— But one He fixed His gaze upon. </div> <div class="stanza"> In whose wide eyes there seemed to be— Behind the laughing, wine-flushed face And tilted ivy-crown's gay grace— Faint glimpses of Eternity. </div> <div class="stanza"> Then sad, the Master bowed His head, And, through the rosy twilight, dim, Walked up and softly spake to him: "Art thou not he that late was dead?" </div> <div class="stanza"> The drinker raised his cup on high, And murmured: "Priest of Nazareth, I am he thou didst raise from death— Lo, thus I wait again to die!" </div> </div> [74] <h2> A CRUCIFIX </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> This was the cross of God on which men's eyes Dwelt with the love of dead divinity, As they who by the desolate orient sea In battle made their sainted sacrifice, Dreaming their boundless striving should devise A symbol whereby men might know that he Who wins his way on earth to victory, Thus in his consummated sorrow dies. </div> <div class="stanza"> All things are sacred to that tender sight: Time's ancient altars whence strange incense curled Innocent to the unknown gods; the light Of love is thine; faith's banner is unfurled, Even where the farthest watchmen, through the night, Call on the cloud-wrapped ramparts of the world. </div> </div> [75] <h2> NEITH </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Somehow the spirit of that day— Rain-clouded streets and brooding air— Determined me to live and dare, Living, to laugh the world away. </div> <div class="stanza"> As in a crystal dreamers see Out of unwinding mists arise The splendors of some paradise Woven of gold and ivory; </div> <div class="stanza"> Deep in the globe of thought I saw Dawn from tempestuous dust that form Toward which the endless ages storm Uproarious—to break with awe. </div> <div class="stanza"> Of all things ignorant, yet wise, Sitting enthroned at life's last goal, Dividing body from the soul, Looking at each with flameless eyes. </div> <div class="stanza"> Immutable, unknown, unsung, Through triumph and delight unearned, Through sorrow undeserved, I learned Salvation from thy wordless tongue. </div> <div class="stanza"> [76] Then flying the embracing gloom Of burnt-out days and parched desire, I built my soul an altar fire Of laughter in the face of doom. </div> </div> [77] <h2> A FAREWELL </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Nay: by this desolate sea our troubled ways Shall separate forever; swift hath sped The hour of youth, and yet to hang the head, Lamenting lost things of departed days, Were only from that shadowland to raise A wraith, that whispering of the quiet dead, Would mimic the strange life of love; instead, Let us relent and hail the past with praise. </div> <div class="stanza"> Go, then; and should inevitable fate Lead us at last beyond the world of men Where laurel and applause content no more, Whither the soul takes silence for its mate, There might we meet, and, smiling, once again Clasp hands and part upon some windy shore. </div> </div> [78] <div style="height: 3em;"> </div>  [79] <h2> WILLIAM A. NORRIS </h2> [80] <div style="height: 3em;"> </div>  [81] <h2> OF TOO MUCH SONG </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Sedges, have you sung too much, Sedges gray along the shore? Can this autumn tempest touch Answering chords in you no more? Is the summer all forgot?— Now the ice is dark and strong That has bound you to the spot— Did you die of too much song? </div> <div class="stanza"> Something in me is a harp Played by every wanton breeze. Moaning soft and piping sharp Are its wondrous melodies. Is the playing over-fast Though the answer now is strong? Like the sedges at the last Will it die of too much song? </div> </div> [82] <h2 class="untitled"> [WHEREVER MY DREAMS GO] </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Wherever my dreams go, you are always there, And you and I have gone to many a land, Seeing high hills at dawn and desert sand, Temples and mosques and people bowed in prayer. We too have prayed in many places where Beauty has come as I have clasped your hand, And through long silence learned to understand The dumb sweet language of your eyes and hair. </div> <div class="stanza"> We have been lovers in all fair romances Beyond the rising or the sunken sun. There have been foes to meet, and I have done Great deeds beneath the splendor of your glances.... And yet I dreamed alone; you could not guess What joy you brought into my loneliness. </div> </div> [83] <h2 class="untitled"> [OUT OF THE LITTLENESS] </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Out of the littleness that wraps my days, The oppressive mist of gray and common things, Sometimes my dream on its audacious wings, Dripping with golden fire, above the haze, Flashes and veers against the sudden blaze Of sunlight. There no other wings may gleam But only yours, companioning my dream In its strange flight up new and radiant ways. </div> <div class="stanza"> And once, I thought, in a far solitude, The black waves moaned and broke unutterably On a stern cliff where hand in hand we stood. There were none near us when the dark had gone,— Only the clean wind of a sailless sea, And you and I alone in the great dawn. </div> </div> [84] <h2> NAHANT </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Last night the sea was an enchanted moan And a pale pathway that the moonlight made. All night it sorrowed in the dark alone, Groping with ghostly fingers, half afraid, Up the great rocks and sobbing back again, Weary of search, yet still unsatisfied. It seemed to have the voice of all dead men And all fair women who had ever died. </div> <div class="stanza"> But now the sun has risen, and the spray Leaps into sudden light along the shore. Each little wave has caught a golden ray— As if the dawn had never come before. Beyond the cliffs brown fishing boats go by Under the reach of the wide laughing sky. </div> </div> [85] <h2> QUI SUB LUNA ERRANT </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> In a strange land they dwell, too far away From sunlight and the common mirth of men Ever to come within our casual ken. We see them not, but if by chance we stray Down cypress aisles when the wan summer day Draws to a thin and sickly close, we hear Murmur of mad speech by some watery weir Or languid laughter and faint sound of play. </div> <div class="stanza"> They never see the dawn; like the pale moths That haunt lugubrious shadows of dim trees They celebrate their lunar mysteries At woodland shrines, where with green thyrsus rods And weak limbs wrapped in silken sensuous cloths They chant the names of their dead pagan gods. </div> </div> [86] <h2 class="untitled"> [ACROSS THE TAUT STRINGS] </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Across the taut strings of my yearning soul Pass fingers of all fleet and beautiful things: Comings of dawn and moonlight glimmerings, Mid-summer hush and Sabbath bells that toll Over broad fields, a sound of thrushes' wings Near sunset hour, a girl with lips apart, Wonder and laughter,—these have touched my heart And left their music lingering on its strings. </div> <div class="stanza"> At twilight of some gray, eventual year, A few late friends will turn, with trembling breath, From the raw mound of earth that hides my face.... Yet I shall still find beauty, even in death, And some lone traveller of the night will hear An echo of music in that quiet place. </div> </div> [87] <h2> ESCAPE </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> They danced beneath the stars, a crazy rout With antic steps that had some little grace; And one leapt high with song and frenzied shout, And one ran silent with a gleaming face. </div> <div class="stanza"> They danced until the shy moon looking down Deemed herself lost above some Grecian glade; A mile away the trim New England town Echoed the Bacchanalian din they made. </div> <div class="stanza"> And still they danced, until the moon sank low, Blushing a little, and night's diadem Of stars grew pale before the eastern glow.... And with the dawn their keepers came for them. </div> </div> [88] <h2> ON A STREET CORNER </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> But all the time you spoke I did not hear The words you said. I only heard a far Faint sound of summer waters and a clear Calling of music from some lonely star. I thought I heard the lisp of falling dew In a dark meadow where no breezes stirred.... Then all at once the noisy street, and you Smiling at me because I had not heard! </div> </div> [89] <h2> SEA-BURIAL </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Over the sands the swollen tide came creeping, Over the sands beneath the gleaming moon; At first it seemed a child's uncertain croon, And then a sound of many mourners weeping. Then all at once a crested wave was sweeping Around the still form in the moonlight there, Twining its silver fingers in her hair.... And yet it could not rouse her from her sleeping. </div> <div class="stanza"> With dawn the tide went seaward, bearing her In its strong arms that clung so tenderly, And laid her in a strange place far away Where the tall seaweeds rise and never stir.... And there she sleeps, while pass alternately The brooding night and the green luminous day. </div> </div> [90] <div style="height: 3em;"> </div>  [91] <h2> DUDLEY POORE </h2> [92] <div style="height: 3em;"> </div>  [93] <h2> A RENAISSANCE PICTURE </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Calm little figure, ivy-crowned, How long beneath the barren tree Where this pale, martyred god has found Surcease from his long agony, You watch with an untroubled gaze Life move on its accustomed ways! </div> <div class="stanza"> Within your childish heart there dwells No sorrow that uprising dims Your eye, whence not a teardrop wells For pity of those writhen limbs, Or for the travail of a race Consummate in one lifeless face. </div> <div class="stanza"> Though tinkling caravans go by Forever over twilight sands, With myrrh and cassia laden high For other shrines in other lands, No weight of grief thereat you know, But softly on your pan-pipes blow. </div> <div class="stanza"> From what dim mountain have you strayed, Where, ringed by the Hellenic seas, You dwelt in an untrodden glade [94] Sacred to woodland deities, Along whose faint paths went at dawn Endymion or a dancing faun? </div> <div class="stanza"> From groves where sacrificing throngs Called you by some fair Grecian name, With ritual meet and choric songs, Strange, that to this dark hill you came To seek, unmindful of their loss, A refuge underneath the cross. </div> <div class="stanza"> There is some deeper secret lies Hidden out of human sight In keeping of those tranquil eyes That shine with such immortal light, And in their shadows gleam and glow While still upon your pipes you blow. </div> <div class="stanza"> All but inscrutable, your gaze Declares your place is even here, Sharing this martyr's cup of praise, And year by sadly westering year, Till the last altar lights grow dim, Dividing sovereignty with him. </div> </div> [95] <h2> THE PHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Some strange and exquisite desire Has thrilled this flowering almond tree Whose branches shake so wistfully, Else wherefore does it bloom in fire? Why scatter pollen on the air, Marry its pale buds each to each, The year's unkindly tempests bear, Or to the calm clear sunlight reach? </div> <div class="stanza"> Yet I can give that hope no name, Nor that divine emotion share, For, though I see it flowering there, Because our speech is not the same The passionate secret must lie hid Burdened with unexpressed delight, Where none of all man's race can bid It forth, or voice its beauty right. </div> <div class="stanza"> There's nought in earth or heaven knows That hope for which our being longs, The stars are busied with their songs, The universal springtime flows From sun to sun in scorn of man, Careless if he be quick or dead, Or if this earth, as it began, Be voiceless and untenanted. </div> </div> [96] <h2> THE TREE OF STARS </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> There stands a tree where no man knows, And like an earthly tree it grows, Save that upon its branches wide The earth and all the stars beside, The chilly moon and the great sun, The little planets, one by one, Are hung like fruit to redden there And ripen in the heavenly air. </div> <div class="stanza"> And when the seeds are round and full The watchful gods will come and pull The ripened fruit from off the tree; And then that heavenly company Will bear the shining planets in And garner them in a deep bin And sort them out, and save the seed To plant new trees in time of need. </div> </div> [97] <h2> AFTER RAIN </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> All day the heavy skies have lowered, Long beaten by autumnal rain; The lilac's withered leaves lie showered Where little rain-pools star the plain; All things that for a season flowered Sink back to earth again. </div> <div class="stanza"> Strange, then, that with the year's decrease And out of gathering dusk you rise Seeking love's ultimate surcease, Phantom, whose memory-haunted eyes Know that there never can be peace Hoped-for, till memory dies. </div> <div class="stanza"> In vain where these dead leaves lie strown Where all things, bending earthward, fail, Like a young spirit newly flown, Flower-fragile, blossom-like and pale, You search; and must fly back, a blown Rose leaf on the cold gale. </div> <div class="stanza"> You might have rested but for this: That love's intense flame burning through The shuddering body with a kiss [98] Woke in the prisoned spirit, too, So keen an ecstasy of bliss As could, for all they made amiss, Nor life nor death undo. </div> </div> [99] <h2> COR CORDIUM </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Deep in a heart, beneath o'er-hanging boughs, Love built himself a house, And whoso entered in, Love bade him stay, Nor ever from that feast to come away Dissatisfied or weary of the fare Love set him there. </div> <div class="stanza"> Forever through the groves and glades Kind thoughts went softly to and fro, And memories like white-footed maids With gentle tread would come and go Among the ever-garrulous trees. And through the branches overhead I know not what sweet spirits strayed, Or what commandant spirit led Their mazy dances, but one played So deftly on a psaltery That they for joy must needs keep singing; All the chambers of Love's house With that sweet minstrelsy were ringing. Faces to the windows came, Tears to happy eyelids started, Feeling, as by sudden flame, Their cares and their sad hearts disparted, Each old clinging sorrow dead. </div> <div class="stanza"> [100] All who ever guested there To each other, murmuring, said: "In this heart breathes purer air, The thoughts that move across this sky Have had a more mysterious birth, Are lovelier, float more statelily Than clouds across the sky of earth." All guests within that heart's deep wood, All friends together in that house, High converse held with an ærial brood, With spirit-folk kept delicate carouse; None ever turned ungreeted from that door. (Sorrow himself was guest a weary while,) But yesterday when I passed by once more, Met me no welcoming smile, Nor any breath the unwavering branch to stir, Silent each glad ærial chorister; Three drowsy poppies brooded by the wall, Lonely and tall. </div> <div class="stanza"> Then, as I leaned above their crimson bloom, The flower of day grew old and witheréd, Night with a sigh sat down beside her loom Winding her shuttle with a silver thread. Suddenly from the starlit plains of air Ethereal tumult, airy tempest blew, Immortal music showering everywhere, Flashed to the earth in an harmonious dew, Leaped jubilant from cloud to craggy cloud, [101] Binding the moon in a melodious chain, Storming the troubled stars, a luminous crowd, Dropping in fiery streaks to earth again. From out the windows of God's house Faint as a far-echoing wave, The angels, bending their calm brows, Song for song in answer gave; And faster than a falcon flies, Thronging spirits in a cluster Passed before my dazzled eyes, Shedding an ærial lustre, Burning with translucent fire, Shaking from their dewy wings Wild, ineffable desire Of starry and immortal things, Torturing with delicious pain Past telling sweet, the bewildered heart, Piercing the poor mortal brain With beauty, a keen fiery dart. Ah! Even as an oracle Whose soul a god has breathed upon, The beauteousness unbearable Possessed me so all strength was gone. Smitten by a barbéd joy, My sense with rapturous pain grew dim, Joy pierced me as it would destroy. Still higher rose the celestial hymn. And then of all that starry throng That streamed toward the upper sky, [102] One spirit darted down again, And stood upon a bough near by. "Even I unsealed thy sight," he said. Alas, that shape I did not know, For he was so transfigured, So circled by the unearthly glow Of his pulsating aureole; I who so well the flesh had known I did not know the soul. With troubled eyes he bended down, And all about me where I stood Every blossom, every tree, All the branches of that wood Were trembling in their ecstasy. They knew ere I had half divined. But at his voice old dreams awoke In dusty chambers of the mind, And when again he softly spoke With sudden tears mine eyes were wet. And lowlier still he bent his head: "Dost thou, dear friend, not know me yet?" "Yes, for I know thy voice," I said. "Dear Phantom, this immortal guise, This disembodied self of thine, Hath dazed mine unacquainted eyes. Thou dweller on the steps divine, Thou image of a god's desire, Thou spark of the celestial flame Art fashioned out of wind and fire [103] And elements without a name; What sacred fingers mingled them And trembled with a god's delight? Thy body is a burning gem, Thy limbs are chrysolite. A glory hangs about thy head For thou in thine immortal lot In heaven's own light art garmented. I know thee, yet I know thee not." Then he, with shining eyes half shut, Radiantly standing there: "I did but change my leafy hut For a mansion in the air, The eerie wood, the enchanted ground, The dim, bird-haunted glades we trod, Grew all untuneful when I found A dwelling in the heart of God. I latched the gate at dawn of day, I planted poppies by the door, To His retreats I came away And I shall wander thence no more. The windy heights are all my love, The spheral lights, the spheral chimes, The trailing fires, the hosts that move In concourse through sidereal climes; I troop with the celestial choirs; We have not any wish to be Sad pilgrims, torn by sad desires, Wayfarers of mortality. [104] The husk of flesh we have put by; The dark seeds planted in the earth Have blossomed in the upper sky, In airy gardens have new birth." </div> <div class="stanza"> There did he make an end, for O Those spirits, singing, darted by again, And at the showering sound he trembled so I saw his earthly dalliance gave him pain, And cried in sorrow, "O my friend, farewell! Now from the luminous, paradisal bands, Gabriel, Israfel, Ithuriel, Beckon to you with their exulting hands." </div> </div> [105] <h2> THE WITHERED LEAF, THE FADED FLOWER BE MINE </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> The withered leaf, the faded flower be mine, The broken shrine, All things that knowing beauty for a day Have passed away To dwell in the illimitable wood Of quietude, Undying, radiant, young, Passed years among. </div> <div class="stanza"> No blighting wind upon their beauty blows, The altar glows With flames unquenchable and bright By day, by night; Secure from envious time's deflowering breath They know no death, But silently, imperishably fair, Grow lovelier there. </div> <div class="stanza"> He who adores too much the impending hour, The budding flower, Who knows not with what dyes an hour that's dead Is garmented, [106] Who walks with glimmering shapes companionless, He cannot guess With how great love and thankfulness I praise The yesterdays. </div> </div> [107] <h2> CUTHBERT WRIGHT </h2> [108] <div style="height: 3em;"> </div>  [109] <h2> THE END OF IT </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> We met, and on the decorous drive touched hands, "Good-bye; a pleasant trip to you," I said. The sunlight slept upon the still uplands, Your figure fading in the dusty red I watched awhile, then turned with casual face To where a torrent glimmered down a glade, No human voice troubled the lovely place, Only the fall a cruel music made. </div> <div class="stanza"> A time I lay and marked with curious stare The keen sun-lances quiver on the lawn, And thought on shrines all voiceless now and bare, The holy genius of their boughs withdrawn, Till with hoarse cry the train that you were on Stabbed the indifference of the empty air ... </div> <div class="stanza"> Then I awoke and knew that you were gone. </div> </div> [110] <h2> THE NEW PLATONIST </h2> <h3> Circa 1640 </h3> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Our loves as flowers fall to dust; The noblest singing hath an end; No man to his own soul may trust, Nor to the kind arms of his friend; Yet have I glimpsed by lonely tree, Bright baths of immortality. </div> <div class="stanza"> My faultless teachers bid me fare The cypress path of blood and tears, Treading the thorny wold to where The painful Cross of Christ appears; 'Twas on another, sunnier hill I met you first, my miracle. </div> <div class="stanza"> The painted windows burn and flame Up through the music-haunted air; These were my gods—and then you came With flowers crowned and sun-kissed hair, Making this northern river seem Some laughter-girdled Grecian stream. </div> <div class="stanza"> [111] When the fierce foeman of our race Marshals his lords of lust and pride, You spring within a moment's space, Full-armed and smiling to my side; O golden heart! The love you gave me Alone has saved and yet will save me. </div> <div class="stanza"> Perchance we have no perfect city Beyond the wrack of these our wars, Till Death alone in sacred pity Wash with long sleep our wounds and scars; So much the more I praise in measure The generous gods for you, my treasure. </div> </div> [112] <h2> THE ROOM OVER THE RIVER </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Good-night, my love, good-night; The wan moon holds her lantern high, And softly threads with nodding light The violet posterns of the sky, Below, the tides run swift and bright Into the sea. </div> <div class="stanza"> Odours and sounds come in to us, Faint with the passion of this night, One little dream hangs luminous Above you in the scented light; Roses and mist, stars and bright dew Draw down to you. </div> <div class="stanza"> How often in the dewy brake, I've heard above the sighing weirs, The night-bird singing for your sake His lonely song of love and tears; He too, sad heart, hath turned to rest, And sleep is best. </div> <div class="stanza"> Flower of my soul! Let us be true To youth and love and all delight, Clean and refreshed and one with you [113] I would be ever as to-night, And heed not what the day will bring, Nor anything. </div> <div class="stanza"> And now the moon is safe away, Far off her carriage lampions flare, Lost in the sunken roads of day, They vanish in the icy air. Good-night, my love, good-night, Good-night. </div> </div> [114] <h2> THE FIDDLER </h2> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> Once more I thought I heard him plain, That unseen fiddler in the lane, Under the timid twilight moon, Playing his visionary strain. </div> <div class="stanza"> No other soul was in the place As up the hill I came apace; Though once I heard him every day, I never once have seen his face. </div> <div class="stanza"> It was my immemorial year, When rhymes came fast and blood beat clear; He too, perchance, was then alive, Now separate ghosts, we wander here. </div> <div class="stanza"> Sometimes his ghostly rondelay Broke on my dream at dawn of day, And through my open window stole The perfumed marvel of the May. </div> <div class="stanza"> Sometimes in midnight lanes I heard The twitter of a darkling bird, As hidden from the ashen moon, The pathos of his music stirred. </div> <div class="stanza"> [115] O happy time! How goodly seemed The dauntless timeless dream I dreamed, Those dear imaginary sins, The joys that in one torrent streamed. </div> <div class="stanza"> When moon and stars go out for aye, And I am dead and castaway, This autumn city I have loved Will know me not, but he will stay. </div> <div class="stanza"> In faded suburbs he will play. Some other boy's brief morn away, Till sapphire windows palely burn Amid the undefeated gray. </div> <div class="stanza"> And yet—sometimes I seem to know I shall not 'scape his phantom bow; More paramount than death or pain, This ghost will follow where I go. </div> <div class="stanza"> In some well-kept untroubled hell Where frustrate souls like mine may dwell, I shall look up and hear his note Coming across the asphodel. </div> <div class="stanza"> No shades will gather at his tune To dance their ghostly rigadoon, Only that lonely voice will cleave The everlasting afternoon. </div> </div> [116] <h2> FALSTAFF'S PAGE </h2> <h3> To Reginald Sheffield </h3> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> In blaze of curls and cowslip-colored coat He pranks a way before the wheezing Knight. Tall Windsor shows no blossom like this wight By park or sedgy pool or bearded moat; A skylark burbles in that milk-white throat, And I have heard him down a singing stream, Ere the brute morn shattered my happy dream Upon the sill, and weeping I awoke. </div> <div class="stanza"> We had a music once; a poesie Sweet as a maiden, lissome as this lad, Full of rich merriment and gentle joy; </div> <div class="stanza"> That other England lives and laughs in thee, A peal of morris-music, blithe and glad, Thou spray of bloom! Thou flower of a boy! </div> </div> [117] <h2> A DULL SUNDAY </h2> <h3> (After Debussy) </h3> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> It has been a long day, A long, long day; And now in floods of twilight, In long green waves of sunset softly flowing, Evening. It is evening over the great towns, It is evening in our hearts. </div> <div class="stanza"> And though the last frail tendrils And flowers of incense Have long ago uncurled themselves around The cynical Cathedral, I hear the thin white voices of children, Little girls and little boys, Calling the name of Jesus And His most Sacred Heart, Singing about a kind of parish heaven, A little walled city, all golden and lilac, Like the one seen by François Villon's mother In an old, bituminous, smoke-bitten painting Of the Middle Ages. </div> <div class="stanza"> And in this faith she wished to live and die. </div> </div> <div style="height: 6em;"> </div> <hr class="full" /> [Transcriber's Note: Untitled poems whose titles are omitted in the body of the text as originally published have had their conventional "first line" titles (as seen in the table of contents) added to the body of this transcription. They are enclosed in square brackets and are in gray text as an indication to the reader.] <hr class="full" /> <div style="height: 6em;"> </div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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