I saw three black pigs riding
In a blue and yellow cart--
Three black pigs riding to the fair
Behind the old grey dappled mare--
But it wasn't black pigs riding
In a gay and gaudy cart
That sent me into hiding
With a flutter in my heart.
I heard the cart returning,
The jolting jingling cart--
Returning empty from the fair
Behind the old jog-trotting mare--
But it wasn't the returning
Of a clattering, empty cart
That sent the hot blood burning
And throbbing through my heart
THE ICE CART
Perched on my city office-stool,
I watched with envy, while a cool
And lucky carter handled ice...
And I was wandering in a trice,
Far from the grey and grimy heat
Of that intolerable street,
O'er sapphire berg and emerald floe,
Beneath the still, cold ruby glow
Of everlasting Polar night,
Bewildered by the queer half-light,
Until I stumbled, unawares,
Upon a creek where big white bears
Plunged headlong down with flourished heels,
And floundered after shining seals
Through shivering seas of blinding blue.
And as I watched them, ere I knew,
I'd stripped, and I was swimming, too,
Among the seal-pack, young and hale,
And thrusting on with threshing tail,
With twist and twirl and sudden leap
Through crackling ice and salty deep--
Diving and doubling with my kind,
Until, at last, we left behind
Those big, white, blundering bulks of death,
And lay, at length, with panting breath
Upon a far untravelled floe,
Beneath a gentle drift of snow--
Snow drifting gently, fine and white,
Out of the endless Polar night,
Falling and falling evermore
Upon that far untravelled shore,
Till I was buried fathoms deep
Beneath that cold white drifting sleep--
Sleep drifting deep,
Deep drifting sleep...
The carter cracked a sudden whip:
I clutched my stool with startled grip,
Awakening to the grimy heat
Of that intolerable street.
TO E. M.
(IN MEMORY OF R. B.)
The night we saw the stacks of timber blaze
To terrible golden fury, young and strong
He watched between us with dream-dazzled gaze
Aflame, and burning like a god of song,
As we together stood against the throng
Drawn from the midnight of the city ways.
To-night the world about us is ablaze
And he is dead, is dead ... Yet, young and strong
He watches with us still with deathless gaze
Aflame, and burning like a god of song,
As we together stand against the throng
Drawn from the bottomless midnight of hell's ways.
10th June, 1915.
MARRIAGE
Going my way of old,
Contented more or less,
I dreamt not life could hold
Such happiness.
I dreamt not that love's way
Could keep the golden height
Day after happy day,
Night after night.
ROSES
Red roses floating in a crystal bowl
You bring, O love; and in your eyes I see,
Blossom on blossom, your warm love of me
Burning within the crystal of your soul--
Red roses floating in a crystal bowl.