Indian Summer

LYRIC night of the lingering Indian Summer,

Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,

Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,

Ceaseless, insistent.

The grasshopper's horn, and far off, high in the maples

The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence,

Under a moon waning and worn and broken,

Tired with summer.

Let me remember you, voices of little insects,

Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,

Let me remember you, soon will the winter be on us,

Snow-hushed and heartless.

Over my soul murmur your mute benediction

While I gaze, oh fields that rest after harvest,

As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,

Lest they forget them.

The Sea Wind

I AM a pool in a peaceful place,

I greet the great sky face to face,

I know the stars and the stately moon

And the wind that runs with rippling shoon--

But why does it always bring to me

The far-off, beautiful sound of the sea?

The marsh-grass weaves me a wall of green,

But the wind comes whispering in between,

In the dead of night when the sky is deep

The wind comes waking me out of sleep--

Why does it always bring to me

The far-off, terrible call of the sea?

The Cloud

I AM a cloud in the heaven's height,

The stars are lit for my delight,

Tireless and changeful, swift and free,

I cast my shadow on hill and sea--

But why do the pines on the mountain's crest

Call to me always, "Rest, rest"?

I throw my mantle over the moon

And I blind the sun on his throne at noon,

Nothing can tame me, nothing can bind,

I am a child of the heartless wind--

But oh the pines on the mountain's crest

Whispering always, "Rest, rest."

The Poor House

HOPE went by and Peace went by

And would not enter in;

Youth went by and Health wnt by

And Love that is their kin.

Those within the house shed tears

On their bitter bread;

Some were old and some were mad,

And some were sick a-bed.

Gray Death saw the wretched house

And even he passed by--

"They have never lived," he said,

"They can wait to die."

New year's Dawn--Broadway

WHEN the horns wear thin

And the noise, like a garment outworn,

Falls from the night,

The tattered and shivering night,

That thinks she is gay;

When the patient silence comes back,

And retires,

And returns,

Rebuffed by a ribald song,

Wounded by vehement cries,

Fleeing again to the stars--

Ashamed of her sister the night;

Oh, then they steal home,

The blinded, the pitiful ones

With their gew-gaws still in their hands,

Reeling with odorous breath

And thick, coarse words on their tongues.

They get them to bed, somehow,

And sleep the forgiving,

Comes thru the scattering tumult

And closes their eyes.

The stars sink down ashamed

And the dawn awakes,

Like a youth who steals from a brothel,

Dizzy and sick.

The Star

A WHITE star born in the evening glow

Looked to the round green world below,

And saw a pool in a wooded place

That held like a jewel her mirrored face.

She said to the pool: "Oh, wondrous deep,

I love you, I give you my light to keep.

Oh, more profound than the moving sea

That never has shown myself to me!

Oh, fathomless as the sky is far,

Hold forever your tremulous star!"

But out of the woods as night grew cool

A brown pig came to the little pool;

It grunted and splashed and waded in

And the deepest place but reached its chin.

The water gurgled with tender glee

And the mud churned up in it turbidly.

The star grew pale and hid her face

In a bit of floating cloud like lace.

Doctors

EVERY night I lie awake

And every day I lie abed

And hear the doctors, Pain and Death,

Conferring at my head.

They speak in scientific tones,

Professional and low--

One argues for a speedy cure,

The other, sure and slow.

To one so humble as myself

It should be matter for some pride

To have such noted fellows here,

Conferring at my side.

The Inn of Earth

I CAME to the crowded Inn of Earth,

And called for a cup of wine,

But the Host went by with averted eye

From a thirst as keen as mine.

Then I sat down with weariness

And asked a bit of bread,

But the Host went by with averted eye

And never a word he said.

While always from the outer night

The waiting souls came in

With stifled cries of sharp surprise

At all the light and din.

"Then give me a bed to sleep," I said,

"For midnight comes apace"--

But the Host went by with averted eye

And I never saw his face.

"Since there is neither food nor rest,

I go where I fared before"--

But the Host went by with averted eye

And barred the outer door.

In the Carpenter's Shop

MARY sat in the corner dreaming,

Dim was the room and low,

While in the dusk, the saw went screaming

    To and fro.

Jesus and Joseph toiled together,

Mary was watching them,

Thinking of kings in the wintry weather

    At Bethlehem.

Mary sat in the corner thinking,

Jesus had grown a man;

One by one her hopes were sinking

    As the years ran.

Jesus and Joseph toiled together,

Mary's thoughts were far--

Angels sang in the wintry weather

    Under a star.

Mary sat in the corner weeping,

Bitter and hot her tears--

Little faith were the angels keeping

    All the years.

The Carpenter's Son

THE summer dawn came over-soon,

The earth was like hot iron at noon

    In Nazareth;

There fell no rain to ease the heat,

And dusk drew on with tired feet

    And stifled breath.

The shop was low and hot and square,

And fresh-cut wood made sharp the air,

    While all day long

The saw went tearing thru the oak

That moaned as tho' the tree's heart broke

    Beneath its wrong.

The narrow street was full of cries,

Of bickering and snarling lies

    In many keys--

The tongues of Egypt and of Rome

And lands beyond the shifting foam

    Of windy seas.

Sometimes a ruler riding fast

Scattered the dark crowds as he passed,

    And drove them close

In doorways, drawing broken breath

Lest they be trampled to their death

    Where the dust rose.

There in the gathering night and noise

A group of Galilean boys

    Crowding to see

Gray Joseph toiling with his son,

Saw Jesus, when the task was done,

    Turn wearily.

He passed them by with hurried tread

Silently, nor raised his head,

    He who looked up

Drinking all beauty from his birth

Out of the heaven and the earth

    As from a cup.

And Mary, who was growing old,

Knew that the pottage would be cold

    When he returned;

He hungered only for the night,

And westward, bending sharp and bright,

    The thin moon burned.

He reached the open western gate

Where whining halt and leper wait,

    And came at last

To the blue desert, where the deep

Great seas of twilight lay asleep,

    Windless and vast.

With shining eyes the stars awoke,

The dew lay heavy on his cloak,

    The world was dim;

And in the stillness he could hear

His secret thoughts draw very near

    And call to him.

Faint voices lifted shrill with pain

And multitudinous as rain;

    From all the lands

And all the villages thereof

Men crying for the gift of love

    With outstretched hands.

Voices that called with ceaseless crying,

The broken and the blind, the dying,

    And those grown dumb

Beneath oppression, and he heard

Upon their lips a single word,

    "Come!"

Their cries engulfed him like the night,

The moon put out her placid light

    And black and low

Nearer the heavy thunder drew,

Hushing the voices . . . yet he knew

    That he would go.

A quick-spun thread of lightning burns,

And for a flash the day returns--

    He only hears

Joseph, an old man bent and white

Toiling alone from morn till night

    Thru all the years.

Swift clouds make all the heavens blind,

A storm is running on the wind--

    He only sees

How Mary will stretch out her hands

Sobbing, who never understands

    Voices like these.

The Mother of a Poet

SHE is too kind, I think, for mortal things,

Too gentle for the gusty ways of earth;

God gave to her a shy and silver mirth,

And made her soul as clear

And softly singing as an orchard spring's

In sheltered hollows all the sunny year--

A spring that thru the leaning grass looks up

And holds all heaven in its clarid cup,

Mirror to holy meadows high and blue

With stars like drops of dew.

I love to think that never tears at night

Have made her eyes less bright;

That all her girlhood thru

Never a cry of love made over-tense

Her voice's innocence;

That in her hands have lain,

Flowers beaten by the rain,

And little birds before they learned to sing

Drowned in the sudden ecstasy of spring.

I love to think that with a wistful wonder

She held her baby warm against her breast;

That never any fear awoke whereunder

She shuddered at her gift, or trembled lest

Thru the great doors of birth

Here to a windy earth

She lured from heaven a half-unwilling guest.

She caught and kept his first vague flickering smile,

The faint upleaping of his spirit's fire;

And for a long sweet while

In her was all he asked of earth or heaven--

But in the end how far,

Past every shaken star,

Should leap at last that arrow-like desire,

His full-grown manhood's keen

Ardor toward the unseen

Dark mystery beyond the Pleiads seven.

And in her heart she heard

His first dim-spoken word--

She only of them all could understand,

Flushing to feel at last

The silence over-past,

Thrilling as tho' her hand had touched God's hand.

But in the end how many words

Winged on a flight she could not follow,

Farther than skyward lark or swallow,

His lips should free to lands she never knew;

Braver than white sea-faring birds

With a fearless melody,

Flying over a shining sea,

A star-white song between the blue and blue.

Oh I have seen a lake as clear and fair

As it were molten air,

Lifting a lily upward to the sun.

How should the water know the glowing heart

That ever to the heaven lifts its fire,

A golden and unchangeable desire?

The water only knows

The faint and rosy glows

Of under-petals, opening apart.

Yet in the soul of earth,

Deep in the primal ground,

Its searching roots are wound,

And centuries have struggled toward its birth.

So, in the man who sings,

All of the voiceless horde

>From the cold dawn of things

Have their reward;

All in whose pulses ran

Blood that is his at last,

>From the first stooping man

Far in the winnowed past.

Out of the tumult of their love and mating

Each one created, seeing life was good--

Dumb, till at last the song that they were waiting

Breaks like brave April thru a wintry wood.

Rivers to the Sea

BUT what of her whose heart is troubled by it,

The mother who would soothe and set him free,

Fearing the song's storm-shaken ecstasy--

Oh, as the moon that has no power to quiet

The strong wind-driven sea.

In Memoriam F. O. S.

You go a long and lovely journey,

For all the stars, like burning dew,

Are luminous and luring footprints

Of souls adventurous as you.

Oh, if you lived on earth elated,

How is it now that you can run

Free of the weight of flesh and faring

Far past the birthplace of the sun?

Twilight

THE stately tragedy of dusk

Drew to its perfect close,

The virginal white evening star

Sank, and the red moon rose.

Swallow Flight

I LOVE my hour of wind and light,

I love men's faces and their eyes,

I love my spirit's veering flight

Like swallows under evening skies,

Thoughts

WHEN I can make my thoughts come forth

To walk like ladies up and down,

Each one puts on before the glass

Her most becoming hat and gown.

But oh, the shy and eager thoughts

That hide and will not get them dressed,

Why is it that they always seem

So much more lovely than the rest?

To Dick, on His Sixth Birthday

Tho' I am very old and wise,

And you are neither wise nor old,

When I look far into your eyes,

I know things I was never told:

I know how flame must strain and fret

Prisoned in a mortal net;

How joy with over-eager wings,

Bruises the small heart where he sings;

How too much life, like too much gold,

Is sometimes very hard to hold. . . .

All that is talking--I know

This much is true, six years ago

An angel living near the moon

Walked thru the sky and sang a tune

Plucking stars to make his crown--

And suddenly two stars fell down,

Two falling arrows made of light.

Six years ago this very night

I saw them fall and wondered why

The angel dropped them from the sky--

But when I saw your eyes I knew

The angel sent the stars to you.

To Rose

ROSE, when I remember you,

Little lady, scarcely two,

I am suddenly aware

Of the angels in the air.

All your softly gracious ways

Make an island in my days

Where my thoughts fly back to be

Sheltered from too strong a sea.

All your luminous delight

Shines before me in the night

When I grope for sleep and find

Only shadows in my mind.

Rose, when I remember you,

White and glowing, pink and new,

With so swift a sense of fun

Altho' life has just begun;

With so sure a pride of place

In your very infant face,

I should like to make a prayer

To the angels in the air:

"If an angel ever brings

Me a baby in her wings,

Please be certain that it grows

Very, very much like Rose."

The Fountain

ON in the deep blue night

The fountain sang alone;

It sang to the drowsy heart

Of the satyr carved in stone.

The fountain sang and sang

But the satyr never stirred--

Only the great white moon

In the empty heaven heard.

The fountain sang and sang

And on the marble rim

The milk-white peacocks slept,

Their dreams were strange and dim.

Bright dew was on the grass,

And on the ilex dew,

The dreamy milk-white birds

Were all a-glisten too.

The fountain sang and sang

The things one cannot tell,

The dreaming peacocks stirred

And the gleaming dew-drops fell.

The Rose

BENEATH my chamber window

Pierrot was singing, singing;

I heard his lute the whole night thru

    Until the east was red.

Alas, alas, Pierrot,

I had no rose for flinging

Save one that drank my tears for dew

    Before its leaves were dead.

I found it in the darkness,

I kissed it once and threw it,

The petals scattered over him,

    His song was turned to joy;

And he will never know--

Alas, the one who knew it!--

The rose was plucked when dusk was dim

    Beside a laughing boy.

Dreams

I GAVE my life to another lover,

I gave my love, and all, and all--

But over a dream the past will hover,

Out of a dream the past will call.

I tear myself from sleep with a shiver

But on my breast a kiss is hot,

And by my bed the ghostly giver

Is waiting tho' I see him not.

"I am not yours"

I AM not yours, not lost in you,

Not lost, altho' I long to be

Lost as a candle lit at noon,

Lost as a snow-flake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still

A spirit beautiful and bright,

Yet I am I, who long to be

Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love--put out

My senses, leave me deaf and blind,

Swept by the tempest of your love,

A taper in a rushing wind.

Pierrot's Song

(For a picture by Dugald Walker)

LADY, light in the east hangs low,

Draw your veils of dream apart,

Under the casement stands Pierrot

Making a song to ease his heart.

(Yet do not break the song too soon--

I love to sing in the paling moon.)

The petals are falling, heavy with dew,

The stars have fainted out of the sky,

Come to me, come, or else I too,

Faint with the weight of love will die.

(She comes--alas, I hoped to make

Another stanza for her sake!)

Night in Arizona

THE moon is a charring ember

Dying into the dark;

Off in the crouching mountains

    Coyotes bark.

The stars are heavy in heaven,

Too great for the sky to hold--

What if they fell and shattered

    The earth with gold?

No lights are over the mesa,

The wind is hard and wild,

I stand at the darkened window

    And cry like a child.

Dusk in War Time

A HALF-HOUR more and you will lean

To gather me close in the old sweet way--

But oh, to the woman over the sea

Who will come at the close of day?

A half-hour more and I will hear

The key in the latch and the strong quick tread--

But oh, the woman over the sea

Waiting at dusk for one who is dead!

Spring in War Time

I FEEL the Spring far off, far off,

The faint far scent of bud and leaf--

Oh how can Spring take heart to come

To a world in grief,

    Deep grief?

The sun turns north, the days grow long,

Later the evening star grows bright--

How can the daylight linger on

For men to fight,

    Still fight?

The grass is waking in the ground,

Soon it will rise and blow in waves--

How can it have the heart to sway

Over the graves,

    New graves?

Under the boughs where lovers walked

The apple-blooms will shed their breath--

But what of all the lovers now

Parted by death,

    Gray Death?

While I May

WIND and hail and veering rain,

Driven mist that veils the day,

Soul's distress and body's pain,

I would bear you while I may.

I would love you if I might,

For so soon my life will be

Buried in a lasting night,

Even pain denied to me.

Debt

WHAT do I owe to you

Who loved me deep and long?

You never gave my spirit wings

Or gave my heart a song.

But oh, to him I loved

Who loved me not at all,

I owe the little open gate

That led thru heaven's wall.

From the North

THE northern woods are delicately sweet,

The lake is folded softly by the shore,

But I am restless for the subway's roar,

The thunder and the hurrying of feet.

I try to sleep, but still my eyelids beat

Against the image of the tower that bore

Me high aloft, as if thru heaven's door

I watched the world from God's unshaken seat.

I would go back and breathe with quickened sense

The tunnel's strong hot breath of powdered steel;

But at the ferries I should leave the tense

    Dark air behind, and I should mount and be

One among many who are thrilled to feel

    The first keen sea-breath from the open sea.

The Lights of New York

THE lightning spun your garment for the night

Of silver filaments with fire shot thru,

A broidery of lamps that lit for you

The steadfast splendor of enduring light.

The moon drifts dimly in the heaven's height,

Watching with wonder how the earth she knew

That lay so long wrapped deep in dark and dew,

Should wear upon her breast a star so white.

The festivals of Babylon were dark

With flaring flambeaux that the wind blew down;

The Saturnalia were a wild boy's lark

With rain-quenched torches dripping thru the town--

But you have found a god and filched from him

A fire that neither wind nor rain can dim.

Sea Longing

A THOUSAND miles beyond this sun-steeped wall

Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand,

The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land

With the old murmur, long and musical;

The windy waves mount up and curve and fall,

And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow,--

Tho' I am inland far, I hear and know,

For I was born the sea's eternal thrall.

I would that I were there and over me

The cold insistence of the tide would roll,

Quenching this burning thing men call the soul,--

Then with the ebbing I should drift and be

Less than the smallest shell along the shoal,

Less than the sea-gulls calling to the sea.

The River

I CAME from the sunny valleys

And sought for the open sea,

For I thought in its gray expanses

My peace would come to me.

I came at last to the ocean

And found it wild and black,

And I cried to the windless valleys,

"Be kind and take me back!"

But the thirsty tide ran inland,

And the salt waves drank of me,

And I who was fresh as the rainfall

Am bitter as the sea.

Leaves

ONE by one, like leaves from a tree,

All my faiths have forsaken me;

But the stars above my head

Burn in white and delicate red,

And beneath my feet the earth

Brings the sturdy grass to birth.

I who was content to be

But a silken-singing tree,

But a rustle of delight

In the wistful heart of night--

I have lost the leaves that knew

Touch of rain and weight of dew.

Blinded by a leafy crown

I looked neither up nor down--

But the little leaves that die

Have left me room to see the sky;

Now for the first time I know

Stars above and earth below.

The Answer

WHEN I go back to earth

And all my joyous body

Puts off the red and white

That once had been so proud,

If men should pass above

With false and feeble pity,

My dust will find a voice

To answer them aloud:

"Be still, I am content,

Take back your poor compassion,

Joy was a flame in me

Too steady to destroy;

Lithe as a bending reed

Loving the storm that sways her--

I found more joy in sorrow

Than you could find in joy."