A YOUNG MAN’S SONG
My girl is true, my girl is sweet,
When in the town we chance to meet
It almost seems to me as though
A rose were growing in the street.
And if I see her in the lane,
Though winter’s freezing might and main,
I half suspect, in spite of all,
That Spring’s upon us once again.
When luck is out and things look blue
And folks are up against me too,
There’s naught in that to cast me down
Because she trusts me through and through.
And at the altar-railings when
My faith and truth I swear, oh then
I’ll pray, “God strike me if I fail—
So help me! World without end. Amen!”
THE SHADOWS
Boughs of the pine and stars between,
In woods where shadows fill the air,
Oh, who may rest that once has been
A shadow there?
Sounds of the night and tears between,
The grey owl hooting, dimly heard;
Can footsteps reach those lands unseen,
Or wings of bird?
Days of the years and worlds between,
Still through the boughs the stars may burn,
The heart may break for lands unseen,
For woods wherein its life has been,
But not return.
A WINTER PHANTASY
The day was all delight,
Chorus and golden tune;
Rides the steep night
The white ship of the moon.
Now that the night is come
And silence wakes to power,
All that was dumb
Has its triumphal hour.
My soul, behold a sail
The seas of Heaven upon,
Rise up and hail
That roving galleon.
High above winter frost
Speed on uncharted ways,
Enraptured, lost,
Past thrall of nights and days.
Burnt fervent-white with rime,
The blurred earth hangs beneath,
Frost-light sublime,
Frost-tapers lit for death.
Look down the mists and see
The orchards mazed with snow;
Grey, tangled tree,
Lichen and mistletoe.
But, ere the dim world falls
Engulfed, upon your track,
Even at Heaven’s walls,
Turn back, turn back!
And as the miles decrease,
By all that foils regret,
By all that is your peace,
My soul, forget.
MARSEY TOWN
As I came over the Hill of Clayne
Or ever the leaf was brown,
The wind blew light in the pods of broom,
For the gay, gold flower had lost its bloom,
And “O the jewel,” I sang again,
“That’s waiting in Marsey Town!”
The shadows raced on the sun-swept hill,
And dappled its ancient crown,
The kestrel hovered on wings outspread,
The rabbit slipped through the bracken-bed
And the world beat time as I sang my fill
And travelled to Marsey Town.
O foolish singer and foolish song!
The lure of a pinchbeck clown
Had thieved my jewel, my heart’s own core,
My goal was gained, but I sang no more,
And I turned me home as the shades grew long
From the steeples of Marsey Town.
A lad came over the Hill of Clayne
A-singing as he stepped down—
Aye me! forget what a fool has said,
For I called him “I” but he’s long, long dead—
Dumb—gone like the sound of his own refrain
And buried in Marsey Town!
THE SEASONS
“Mother, I know Spring bears her gifts
Of young buds scarce unfurled,
For through bare apple-boughs I see
The blue hills of the world;
And the pale daffodils are set
Sharp, in the April light——”
“The gift that Spring has brought to me
Is fight, my son, fight.”
“And, Mother, on the heels of Spring
The seasons follow hard,
When Summer glorifies the field
And Autumn stacks the yard;
Time was, I watched their gifts unroll,
And scarce could choose the best——”
“The gift that I would have of them
Is rest, my son, rest.”
“But, Mother, might they grant your boon
And were the conflict done,
O Mother, have you strength to stand——?”
“I would lie down, my son.”
“Where would you look to ease your eyes
When strife with tears had ceas’t?
And whither would your feet be turned——?”
“East, my son, east.”