All along the broad highway the little dreams were
growing,
White as hope, and red as life, and bluer than the
sea—
All along the broad highway I felt their petals
blowing,
Like a storm of fragrant snow across the lips of
me!
So I danced with joyous heart, and bent above them
singing.
So I skipped along the road and smiled into the
skies;
ALL ALONG THE BROAD HIGHWAY THE LITTLE DREAMS WERE
SPRINGING,
FRAGRANT AS THE DEW OF STARS AND GLAD AS BUTTERFLIES!
All along the broad highway I danced and sang unheeding,
Till One came with haughty step and traveled by
my side;
Traveled first beside my path then, suddenly, was
leading—
One who drew me after him and murmured, "I AM
PRIDE!"
All along the broad highway I hurried, ever faster,
Faster through the purple dust that blinded like
a mist,
Blinded me until I felt that only Pride was master,
(And I saw the little dreams through clouds of
amethyst!)
All along the broad highway I toiled, no longer
glancing
Anywhere but straight ahead... I had no
heart to sing—
All along the broad highway, my feet no longer
dancing;
Followed I the steps of Pride, and felt the thick
dust sting
In the tired eyes of me... the eyes too sad for
weeping!
Still I struggled—struggled on until quite
suddenly—
All the strength that kept me up seemed drowsy,
almost sleeping—
And I paused with drooping head and lo, Pride
went from me!
All along the broad highway the silent dusk was
stealing,
Quite alone I stood and stared about me in the
gloom;
And the voice of me was still, and my heart was
kneeling
Like a weary pilgrim soul in an attic room.
And I stretched my empty hands to where the ghostly
lighting,
Showed a crumpled mist of blue, a heap of white
and red—
There along the broad highway like armies after
fighting,
All the gallant little dreams were lying gaunt and
dead!
MY MOTHER
My mother's kinder chubby—she's fat, th' fellers
say—
My mother's kinder chubby, but I like her that a-way!
'Cause she's awful sorter jolly, an' she makes th'
bestest pies,
An' she laughs when I'm a-jokin' 'till th' tears are in
her eyes.
An' she pats me on th' shoulder when I'm feelin'
sad an' blue,
An' whispers, "Little feller, yer mother's proud o'
you!"
She don't wear silks 'at rustle, like Tommie's mother
does,
But I like her gingham better 'cause it's—well, just
'cause it's hers!
An' she don't look young an' girl-like, an' her hands
are sorter red,
But, my, they're awful gentle when she tucks you
inter bed....
She hasn't got a di'mond like th' lady crost th' street,
But she's got two great big dimples, an' her smile is
mighty sweet!
My mother's sorter chubby—but say, her step is
light—
She's never cross 'r tired—not even when it's night!
An' her shoulders JUST as comfy when yer heart is
feelin' sore,
When you wish you was a baby—an' not a boy no
more—
Oh, her arms are cushion tender at th' twilight time
o' day,
Yes—my mother's sorter chubby—But I like her that
a-way!
HEREDITY
You told me, last night,
In a strange and sudden burst of confidence;
That a New England ancestor of yours,
Had burned witches—
And at last I knew....
Why your eyes are always so grim,
And why your mouth is cut,
In a straight line,
And why you can never see beauty and mirth
In the sweep of wind over a wheat field,
Or in the sunlight on a baby's hair.
At last I knew
Why you can never see romance
In the long gypsie trail,
Or magic,
In the still purple woods.
I knew why life,
To you,
Was something to be struggled with,
Not a glorious adventure;
And why death was the end of things,
And not the beginning.
And I knew at last,
Why you could never understand,
That tears may cover laughter,
And that laughter may be a veil
For tears.
You told me, last night,
That an ancestor of yours,
Had burned witches,
And, oh, as I sat in the candlelight,
Watching you,
I couldn't help wishing,
That somewhere behind you, in the shadows,
There was another ancestor—
A gay cavalier ancestor—
Who rode hard,
And fought with his sword,
And wore his hat, rakishly,
On the back of his head,
And knew—love.
APRIL
I had not meant to love again—all that was lost to
me,
For I had felt love's fear and pain, as well as ecstasy;
I closed my heart, and locked the door, and tossed
away the key.
All through the winter-time I sat before my flaming
fire,
And listened to the sleigh-bells chime, and watched
the flames leap higher,
To grasp at shadows, sombre-hued, with fiendish, red
desire.
And then mad April came again—I felt the breezes
blowing,
And I forgot the fear, the pain.... I only knew
that, glowing,
In shady nook and garden spot, pale hyacinths were
growing.
And when across the perfumed lea (for nothing could
defeat him! )
My vagrant love crept back to me... I did not
mean to greet him;
But April opened up my heart, and, oh, I ran to
meet him!