SONGS
I
On the White Road
There’s a white, white road lies under the swinging moon,
Stretched from the black of the deep to the black of the deep,
And midway the graveyard lies, with its leaves a-croon,
The only sound of the world, like a dream in sleep.
There’s a white, white grave lies under the graveyard trees,
Hung on the road as a single pearl on a thread,
And silence waits, beast crouched, on the rim of the breeze,
That moans where the only man in the world lies dead.
II
The Wanderer
Have I finished my life, am I done?
Is my heart-blood thin and cold,
That I gnaw the bones of the town?
Am I empty and old?
My flags are the chimneys’ grime,
Tossed on a languid breeze.
Have I dreamed of the roaring rhyme,
A storm through the trees?
The snow in the streets is black,
Profaned with the city’s sin;
I know of a star-lit track
Where God’s hand has been.
Have I finished with snow and sun,
With the wind on the open plain,
That I starve in the barren town—
Is my life in vain?
III
False
The black sky stretches to the pallid sea,
As a false love and a dismantled heart.
Empty of faith and eager to depart.
He takes her yet once more, submissively,
Against his lips, then, laughing, drifts away
Swiftly within the dawning of the day.
Blindly she tosses up her foam-white hands,
Crying for mercy, and the wind—her hair—
Lashes the wide-sailed ships and leaves them bare.
Blindly she hurls her rage against the sands.
There, in the cold sky where her love had lain
Scornful, aloof, the sun reviews her pain.
IV
A Song of the Oregon Trail
How long the trail! How far the goal!
Last year the moons might come and go
Like dancing shadows on the snow.
My heart was light, my heart was strong;
I cared not though the way be long;
But now—the end is you—my soul!—
I fear the dark, I fear the dread
White frost that hovers round my heart,
The cold, high sun, and, wide apart,
The frozen, pitiless stars above.
So far, so far from my true love,
And, oh! I fear, I fear the dead!
I fear their fingers, grasping and pale.
I did not fear the dead last year—
But now, the kisses of my dear!
The breast of her, so kind and warm,
Ah, heart! I must not come to harm—
How far the goal! How long the trail!
V
The Apple-Tree
The apple-tree is white with snow,
My heart is empty as the day;
The white hours indolently go
Graveward, because my love’s away.
Months lag, then spring and love’s return—
Yet once again I seem to see,
Flushed with delight, as kisses burn,
White snow upon the apple-tree.
VI
Silver and Rose
Pale as a petulant star,
She held up her face to his love;
Her spirit from his dwelt afar
As the sky from the sea is above.
Yet he gazed till her whiteness was rose,
Dawn bright with the morning above—
As the sea from the sky wakes and glows,
So his image was mirrored in love.
VII
To-Morrow
To-morrow and to-morrow—shall there be
Perchance a morrow when I may not see
Your face beside me any more? Ah, no!
My love, my love, I cannot let you go.
Like sun in Egypt, ever kind and fair,
My heart must wake at dawn and know you there—
No dread of day which holds a weeping rain,
No dread of chilly love and bitter pain,
But ever present, ever wise and true,
To-morrow and to-morrow holding you.
VIII
The Greater Joy
Not that young Joy who looked with laughing eyes,
That jocund sprite with open, idle fingers
Stretched to the dawn, the dawn whose gold light lingers
Across the far blue hills of Paradise.
Not that young Joy, but one courageous, calm,
Who—passed beyond the quiet morning meadows
Beyond the dawn of life’s delicious shadows—
Holds the great sun and moon in either palm.
In her wise heart she takes that little Joy,
Kisses to sleep tired eyes with laughter over,
Pointing to greater joys in heights above her—
This shall be ours whom fate would fain destroy.
IX
The Rose-Colored Camelia-Tree
Stained by the ardent silver of the stars,
Glitter the leaves, a challenge to the day—
The bright, fierce flame of naked scimitars
Holds still the argent night, folded away.
Challenging day, yet, lovelier than light,
Blushing with dawn the flick’ring leaves between,
Burn the rose blossoms, traitors to the night—
Color of joy upon the tranquil green.
Brave to the amorous sun, who, fearing, grieves,
At last the tree’s whole heart with love is crowned—
The rose-red flowers warm against the leaves,
The rose-red petals sweet against the ground.
X
Good-Bye Sorrow
Day that began with a tear,
Will you end with a sigh?
Stay! See the blossoming year,
Laugh up to the sky.
Nay, here’s a hope for your fear,
Sweet sorrow—good-bye!
XI
In Harbor
My little boat is in a bay,
It swings with gentle motion,
And there I lie and watch all day
The far-off, noisy ocean.
The ships go up, the ships go down,
And never see me spying.
They are the pride and fear of town—
Sails wide and colors flying.
They are so strong, they are so tall,
They fear no storm, no sorrow;
With brave eyes to the sun, they all
Set sail for some to-morrow.
Sometimes I long to range and roam,
My harbor life bewailing,
But little boats must bide at home,
To gayly speed the sailing.
XII
Rosa Mundi
O life that flowered at the very top of the tree,
Redder than all the roses out of the South,
This was the blossom colored and wrought for me,
Sweeter than scarlet bloom of a maiden’s mouth.
Fain would I climb, and fain would I reach the flower.
Ah, but the tree was tall as the flower was fair!
Weary I grew and slept through the noonday hour;
Winds caught my fate and strewed it over the air.
XIII
The Ribbon
Ah, dearest, dearest, not alone
I face the day’s white monotone.
The fair, bright ribbon of the hours—
A mountain brook bestead through flowers—
Runs, a dear line, from you to you.
There is no smallest deed I do
Through which the ribbon does not run,
A silver string to pearls of sun.
So glad I watch the moments fly
Across the high-hung summer sky,
Till in a radiant flame they burn,
To mark the hour of your return.
XIV
The Aster
The little vagrant gypsy flower
Has blossomed forth again—
Your face against the autumn sky,
Your face against the rain.
The fevered youth of summer days
Has passed away in tears.
The aged winter totters down
The pathway of the years.
Yet, nodding, luring, laughing o’er
The tired world’s pain and scars,
Joyous I find between my hands
Your face—in aster stars.
XV
Heart and Hand
Singing, he smote his heart—
The woman smiled,
And Love leaped, flaming,
Into being—wild.
Singing, he smote his hands—
The woman sighed,
And Love grew weary,
Turned his face, and died.
XVI
The Golden Fruit
I lacked not Love, I lacked not lovely Love,
But, ah, the apples of Hesperides!
The golden apples and the emerald trees,
The flower-sweet maidens, dancing in the breeze—
Holds Love a blossom with such fruits as these?
I gave up Love, I gave up lovely Love,
And sought the island of enchanted skies,
With little rainbow rifts of seraphs’ eyes,
Round which the flaming sword forever plies
Against the darkened world of rue and sighs.
Alas for Love! alas for lovely Love!
In dreams I heard the beating of his wing;
His soft voice, beautiful as sea in spring,
Mourned through the empty songs the seraphs sing;
Life seemed in sleep more dear than everything.
Take me back, Love; take me back, lovely Love.
Dark winds may drive me o’er thy tyrannous seas—
Life is a world that breaks the thing it frees.
I would be bound in all thy masteries—
Yet, ah, the apples of Hesperides!
XVII
To a Moth
Spirit of evil, heavily flying, turning,
Dropping to earth,
Caught to the light, with brown wings torn and burning,
Whence was your birth?
Was there a cause that, ceaselessly turning, flying,
Drew you from night?
All that we know is this—the aimless dying,
Killed by the light.
Evil the star that led you, spirit of evil,
Out of your dark,
Breeding desire that conquers us, man and devil—
Passion’s red spark.
XVIII
Winter Song
Oh, it’s winter, winter, when you’re here,
And summer when you’re gone.
What need of birds when hearts sing clear,
From dusk of day to dawn?
The noble wind, the silver snow,
High stars, and, best of all,
The red-rose hearth—a golden glow
When twilight curtains fall.
Who’d cry the heat of summer skies,
The bare, despairing sun,
The languid flowers, with closing eyes,
The earth’s fair wooing done?
The possibilities of spring,
The reticence of bliss,
Love with the winter’s argent wing,
We’ll scorn the sun for this.
XIX
Youth
Youth and its pensive agonies! How soon
The restless heart forgets to crave the moon!
Age is too weary for the butterflies—
Spring’s rainbow radiance fluttering through sweet skies,
Hope merrily deferred. We see the morn,
We who are old, in shattered fragments. Scorn
For laughter and for singing clouds our breast.
Youth, take your fill of pleasure, for the rest
Of Age is endless. Sing, nor grudge the song—
Youth is so short, and Age, quiet Age, so long!
XX
Persephone
Persephone, Persephone—her sweet face wanders up to me,
Through this bewildering maze of spring.
At length she daunts the tyrannous year,
Her little laugh usurps the tear,
Her little song she dares to fling
Against the black stars, merrily.
Persephone, Persephone—her hands lean through the spring to me.
Sweet, could I show you in what wise
Your song has blossomed—how the air
Is mad with gold because your hair,
Tossed golden ’neath your sea-blue eyes,
And earth goes laughing with your glee?
Persephone, Persephone, this hour sends out your heart to me.
Child of the Dark, with soul sun-bright,
Ah, give me largesse, give me May,
So shall I charm the saddest day,
And life—one amber dawn’s delight—
Shall bear your song eternally.
XXI
Étoiles d’Enfer
The four wide winds of evening have their stars,
Fashioned in fire, in purity of snow,
Tossed to their height by endless avatars—
These all the righteous know.
What of the stars of Hades? On the gloom
The outcast see them shine like angels’ eyes,
And in the living night that is their tomb
They dream of Paradise.
They know the stars of Hades. They are deeds,
Wickedly born, which came to good at last—
Fair blossoms spring from villany of weeds,
Rest—and redeem the past.
XXII
Enough of Singing
Enough of singing; since your heart is tired,
We’ll leave the lute, so long, so long desired,
And in the silence speak one quiet word,
Simple as earth, forgetting song and bird.
No more of singing; mating-time has sped,
In the broad fields the poppy-lips are red.
Crush them, Beloved, drink the lethe deep;
Song being dead, what else is left but sleep?
XXIII
Truth
Up from the soul, as a blade of grass from the sod,
Springs the intent of the prayer as a cry to God.
Blossoms may veil it or visions with ways uncouth,
He sees the ultimate grass-blade, the heart of Truth.
XXIV
The Philosopher
The grim immensities are mine,
The sunlight on the brook is theirs;
I drink the lees of bitter wine,
Fate grants a gift to all their prayers.
I stammer, all afire to tell
The thoughts that urge for life like pain;
For them words brim the shallow well
Like easy drops of summer rain.
And which, ah, Heaven, which is best—
The little lute for every mood,
Or, shrinking coldly from life’s test,
The heights and depths of solitude?
XXV
Prayers
Prayers that were birds winging wide,
Daring the flame of the sun,
How have you faltered and died,
Now the day’s done!
Prayers must be brave for the dark,
Strong for the chill of the star,
Fearing no fate to embark
Over the bar.
Prayers of the sun and the moon,
Prayers for the sky and the nest,
All must reach haven so soon—
Which shall reach rest?
XXVI
A South-Sea Lover Scorned
When the red coral of your lip is pale
As the bleached sea-sand, ah, wearily, wearily,
Will you behold your face, your fingers frail,
Gnarled like a wind-blown tree; your star-bright eyes
Blind as a cloudy midnight without moon.
No more fair necklaces nor scarlet dyes
Can make you cruel to men, for soon, so soon,
Your heart will bear the years—ah, wearily, wearily.
Then I, your scorn, shall still be man and chief;
Turning to free your hands so carelessly, carelessly,
You will be dead to love past all belief.
Still round the slender columns of the palm
The moon shall lie in shivering, silver pools,
Still shall the trades lash through the summer calm
While twilight with her smile the island cools
And Time forgets your presence, carelessly, carelessly.
XXVII
In May
Blithe Nature leaned to kiss her favorite child,
Her sunshine hair about her bosom swirled;
Gay Baby Spring held out his hands, he smiled,
And Apple-Blossoms dimpled on the world.
XXVIII
For Your Sake
Bid me for your sake,
Not for self or right—
You alone can wake
Power to gain the fight.
In your name I’d dare
Aught in earth’s great bounds;
Forth my sins should fare,
Leashed like cringing hounds.
When you touch my hand,
Through your holy eyes
I can see the land
Where is Paradise.
Yet I may not go,
Leaving cold and night,
Till your soul of snow
Sees that mine is white.
Let my heart not break
Till I kill my sin;
Bid me for your sake
Fight the world—and win!
XXIX
Lyric Love
The world deserves its wisdom. You and I,
Serene within the shadow, crowned with hours,
Cinctured with solitude, the bended sky
Folds us in hues of tulip twilight flowers.
Knowledge is chill; your hair is warm with gold,
A lock lies heavily across your cheek.
I somewhere heard of darkness, pain, and cold—
Keep your own, world. Ah, Love, stir not nor speak.
XXX
Be Still
Be still, be still, vex not the night with sound,
The moon has laid her finger on the lake,
And in the shadows of the wood profound
There lies a peace we would profane to break.
Upon the lonely avenue of trees,
As pearls upon an airy silver string,
Are caught the threaded echoes of the breeze
That sets the ruffled leaves a-murmuring.
Be still, dear heart, as though ’twere death to speak.
Love waits you, lily-like, with leaves unfurled,
While on the breast of day night lays her cheek,
The silence speaks the secret of the world.
XXXI
Butterfly Words
Butterfly words from the sun in my brain,
Flitting and darting and flitting again,
Gleaming of golden and violet and rose,
What is the rainbow you spring from, and where?
Butterflies daintily poise and disclose,
Whence is this secret of color you bear?
Sun that is ruddy and fragrant with flowers,
Garnered and hid from these desolate hours,
Misty with beauty, the silver of spring—
Ah, for the ways that are lost to my feet!
Only the dip of the butterfly wing,
Poised for a moment, revives me the sweet.
XXXII
Music
Music has opened her hands,
Through fingers her jewels are falling,
Fingers so delicate slender,
Pale as the ghost of a flower.
Jewels of crimson, the life
Ebbing from hearts that are broken,
Roses and wine and red sunsets,
Flames of undying desire.
Jewels of azure, the sea
Dreaming of stars, and the morning
Dancing with life, then the silence
Blue of mysterious caves.
Jewels of green, and the grass
Lifts up its hands to the summer,
Hiding insidious serpents,
Fair as the sweets that are sin.
Jewels more bright than the sun
Music lets fall from her fingers.
We who have stood in the shadow—
How may we die for her sake?
XXXIII
The Ghost
You came and you went, and I swept you aside, not a trace
Does my wisdom endure of your words and your beautiful face
And the curls of your hair;
Yet your presence, a song, murmurs ever in hopeless refrain,
And I wake in the night with my empty hands yearning in vain
For the touch of your hair.
You went, and I triumphed—I crushed out my heart with a kiss
On the lips that are ashen, forgetting spring’s wonderful bliss
And your tremulous lips;
Yet the kisses were ghostly with jasmine, dear jasmine of May—
The new has the soul of the old, is aflame with the way
And the touch of your lips.
You came and you went, and the world wearies on with its game.
My heart never falters or fears at the sound of your name
Or the sight of your face;
Yet the ghost of our passion stands white in the midst of my heart,
With your hands and your hair, and I know it will never depart
Passion’s ghost with your face!
XXXIV
Fight!
Fight, though the bulwarks of your faith may fall,
Life become gray and full of weariness,
Love prove a lie and wisdom bitterness—
Fight, for the strife alone avails for all.
Fight and fight on, exulting in the light,
Standing alert and upright gleefully,
Seizing life’s joys and woes courageously,
Man to the end, and master—laugh and fight.
XXXV
In Tonga
The windy rain beats, beats about my door—
Alas for love when love goes wandering!
The dawn mist rises on the forest floor—
Alas for life when love goes wandering!
With wet, green leaves the palm-trees lash the night,
The pitiless trades drive wild gods in their flight.
And, ah, my lover! Moons have come and gone,
The fighting ended, still he lingers on.
Sleepless I hear the demon wind above—
Alas for love when love goes wandering!
And I must wed with one I do not love—
Alas for life when love goes wandering!
XXXVI
This was the Song
We have forgotten. This the rowers knew,
Straining within the galleys’ reeling night.
Life bent to breaking, while their great souls grew
Strong in the ancient purposes of Time.
This was the song whereby they made their fight,
Laughed as they swung. Gods! how the cord bit through!
This was the song the pagan lovers heard,
Wakened by flowers in a rose-red dawn.
Through the bright dew they fled, like ocean stirred
With morning. Bare and beautiful they ran,
Holding each other’s hand. Through leaves they’re gone,
Cleaving the silver pool with flash of bird.
Carven in stone, Abydos holds it fast—
The little Eastern dancer with her lute,
Wild Erin’s faeries crying for the past.
They keep the deathless secret of the word
Hid behind Nature’s lips, who, grave, remote,
Guard this from profanation till the last.
Not unto us who bide the ebb and flow,
The senseless order of the tide of law.
We have forgotten to be free; we know
Only the iteration of the day.
The priceless moon, white pearl without a flaw,
Drowns in the muddy stream of worldly woe.
We take the petty part and leave the whole.
Lost to our ken the song of Nature’s youth—
The great barbaric winds that sweep the soul
And leave it emptied of all else but truth.
XXXVII
To E. D.
She wrought her songs in secret ways,
Yet cared not where they fell;
Her soul distilled itself like dews
In rue and asphodel.
They fell in countless happy hearts,
Made wise by sun and showers,
Like pollen blown about the earth,
Conceiving royal flowers.
XXXVIII
The Dance
Like little, eager children
The tiptoe tulips stand,
Row upon row of dancing heads
In joyous saraband.
With lithe, long emerald petticoats,
And happy hands tossed up,
The sunshine is the laughter
That brims their golden cup.
XXXIX
Vanquished
Heart, here are roses burning with the South—
(“Fairer was her false mouth”)—
Close your tired eyes, the twilight gives you rest—
(“Cool was her snowy breast”).
Take of the sunshine, nor remember rain—
(“Love is a cruel pain”)—
Hush! you shall sleep forgetting love’s alarms—
(“Sleep died in her false arms”).
XL
Tranquillity
Do you respect the heavy-lidded flowers
That nod so drowsily upon their bed?
Can you endure the slow-stepped, dreamy hours
That fall, indifferent, to gold and red?
Have you the key that opens to green arches
Where trees repeat their prayers in monotone?
Then take my hand down life’s mysterious marches,
And let us walk in silence and alone.
