Toward the mountains fare the Happy People,
And they seem
Waving me a promise bright and splendid,
Calling me to take the way they wended.
(But that way began—so has it ended
In my dream.)
FROM TREE CLOISTER
OUT of the city I came,
Heart aflame,
Thoughts oblique, confused, amazed;
My yester dreamings hurt and dazed
With the stifling buildings sweeping high
And the towers choking the dingy sky.
But I left it all to cross the dune,
Hand in hand with the crescent moon.
Out of the city I came,
Dreams of Fame
Dogged me up to my cottage walls,
Human passions and powers and thralls
Challenged the way I took
By the frozen meadow brook;
But the hill-top pasture bars
Chapelled the winter stars,
And their votive candles burned
At the gate wherein I turned.
Out of the city I came.
Father of endless name,
Who burn there burn on thy sacred pyre—
Burn with the flame of the heart’s desire
Toward flame of worthier things,
Toward lifting of broader wings;
And their purple gift and their scarlet boon
I hang on my altars of winter noon.
I speak to the brook in its icy shrine,
Confess to the tall dark palmer pine,
And soft on the country air,
I breathe the cities’ prayer.
FROM A WINDOW
THE ever-greens that line the road
Bow snowy heads upon the sight;
The netted horses draw the load
As it were light.
The living grief I would not see,
The hands in helpless quiet wrung;
But the white trappings say that she
Was fair and young.
The coaches blot the wintry scene
Passing where snow-blue shadows lurk....
Youth, Life, Love, Death—what do they mean?
Back to my work!