 | Songs of the silent world and other poems |  |
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III.
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THE POET AND THE POEM.
Upon the city called the Friends'
The light of waking spring
Fell vivid as the shadow thrown
Far from the gleaming wing
Of a great golden bird, that fled
Before us loitering.
The light of waking spring
Fell vivid as the shadow thrown
Far from the gleaming wing
Of a great golden bird, that fled
Before us loitering.
In hours before the spring, how light
The pulse of heaviest feet!
And quick the slowest hopes to stir
To measures fine and fleet.
And warm will grow the bitterest heart
To shelter fancies sweet.
The pulse of heaviest feet!
And quick the slowest hopes to stir
To measures fine and fleet.
And warm will grow the bitterest heart
To shelter fancies sweet.
Securely looks the city down
On her own fret and toil;
She hides a heart of perfect peace
Behind her veins' turmoil—
A breathing-space removed apart
From out their stir and soil.
On her own fret and toil;
She hides a heart of perfect peace
Behind her veins' turmoil—
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From out their stir and soil.
Our reverent feet that golden day
Stood in a quiet place,
That held repressed—I know not what
Of such a poignant grace
As falls, if dumb with life untold,
Upon a human face.
Stood in a quiet place,
That held repressed—I know not what
Of such a poignant grace
As falls, if dumb with life untold,
Upon a human face.
To fashion silence into words
The softest, teach me how!
I know the place is Silence caught
A-dreaming, then and now.
I only know 't was blue above,
And it was green below.
The softest, teach me how!
I know the place is Silence caught
A-dreaming, then and now.
I only know 't was blue above,
And it was green below.
And where the deepening sunshine found
And held a holy mood,
Lowly and old, of outline quaint,
In mingled brick and wood,
Clasped in the arms of ivy vines
A nestling cottage stood:
And held a holy mood,
Lowly and old, of outline quaint,
In mingled brick and wood,
Clasped in the arms of ivy vines
A nestling cottage stood:
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A thing so hidden and so fair,
So pure that it would seem
Hewn out of nothing earthlier
Than a young poet's dream,
Of nothing sadder than the lights
That through the ivies gleam.
So pure that it would seem
Hewn out of nothing earthlier
Than a young poet's dream,
Of nothing sadder than the lights
That through the ivies gleam.
“Tell me,” I said, while shrill the birds
Sang through the garden space,
To her who guided me—“tell me
The story of the place.”
She lifted, in her Quaker cap,
A peaceful, puzzled face,
Sang through the garden space,
To her who guided me—“tell me
The story of the place.”
She lifted, in her Quaker cap,
A peaceful, puzzled face,
Surveyed me with an aged, calm,
And unpoetic eye;
And peacefully, but puzzled half,
Half tolerant, made reply:
“The people come to see that house—
Indeed, I know not why,
And unpoetic eye;
And peacefully, but puzzled half,
Half tolerant, made reply:
“The people come to see that house—
Indeed, I know not why,
“Except thee know the poem there—
'T was written long since, yet
His name who wrote it, now—in fact—
I cannot seem to get—
His name who wrote that poetry
I always do forget.
'T was written long since, yet
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I cannot seem to get—
His name who wrote that poetry
I always do forget.
“Hers was Evangeline; and here
In sound of Christ Church bells
She found her lover in this house,
Or so I 've heard folks tell.
But most I know is, that 's her name,
And his was Gabriel.
In sound of Christ Church bells
She found her lover in this house,
Or so I 've heard folks tell.
But most I know is, that 's her name,
And his was Gabriel.
“I 've heard she found him dying, in
The room behind that door,
(One of the Friends' old almshouses,
Perhaps thee 've heard before;)
Perhaps thee 've heard about her all
That I can tell, and more.
The room behind that door,
(One of the Friends' old almshouses,
Perhaps thee 've heard before;)
Perhaps thee 've heard about her all
That I can tell, and more.
“Thee can believe she found him here,
If thee do so incline.
Folks have their fashions in belief—
That may be one of thine.
I'm sure his name was Gabriel,
And hers Evangeline.”
If thee do so incline.
Folks have their fashions in belief—
That may be one of thine.
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And hers Evangeline.”
She turned her to her common work
And unpoetic ways,
Nor knew the rare, sweet note she struck
Resounding to your praise,
O Poet of our common nights,
And of our care-worn days!
And unpoetic ways,
Nor knew the rare, sweet note she struck
Resounding to your praise,
O Poet of our common nights,
And of our care-worn days!
Translator of our golden mood,
And of our leaden hour!
Immortal thus shall poet gauge
The horizon of his power.
Wear in your crown of laurel leaves,
The little ivy flower!
And of our leaden hour!
Immortal thus shall poet gauge
The horizon of his power.
Wear in your crown of laurel leaves,
The little ivy flower!
And happy be the singer called
To such a lofty lot!
And ever blessed be the heart
Hid in the simple spot
Where Evangeline was loved and wept,
And Longfellow forgot.
To such a lofty lot!
And ever blessed be the heart
Hid in the simple spot
Where Evangeline was loved and wept,
And Longfellow forgot.
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O striving soul! strive quietly,
Whate'er thou art or dost,
Sweetest the strain, when in the song
The singer has been lost;
Truest the work, when 't is the deed,
Not doer, counts for most!
Whate'er thou art or dost,
Sweetest the strain, when in the song
The singer has been lost;
Truest the work, when 't is the deed,
Not doer, counts for most!
The shadow of the golden wing
Grew deep where'er it fell.
The heart it brooded over will
Remember long and well
Full many a subtle thing, too sweet
Or else too sad to tell.
Grew deep where'er it fell.
The heart it brooded over will
Remember long and well
Full many a subtle thing, too sweet
Or else too sad to tell.
Forever fall the light of spring
Fair as that day it fell,
Where Evangeline, led by your voice,
O solemn Christ Church bell!
For lovers of all springs, all climes,
At last found Gabriel.
Fair as that day it fell,
Where Evangeline, led by your voice,
O solemn Christ Church bell!
For lovers of all springs, all climes,
At last found Gabriel.
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OVERTASKED.
It was a weary hour,
I looked in the lily-bell.
How holy is the flower!
It leaned like an angel against the light;
“O soul!” it said, sighing, “be white, be white!”
I looked in the lily-bell.
How holy is the flower!
It leaned like an angel against the light;
“O soul!” it said, sighing, “be white, be white!”
I stretched my arms for rest,
I turned to the evening cloud—
A vision how fair, how blest!
“Low heart,” it called, softly, “arise and fly.
It were yours to reach levels as high as I.”
I turned to the evening cloud—
A vision how fair, how blest!
“Low heart,” it called, softly, “arise and fly.
It were yours to reach levels as high as I.”
I stooped to the hoary wave
That wept on the darkening shore.
It sobbed to me: “Oh, be brave!
Whatever you do, or dare, or will,
Like me to go striving, unresting still.”
That wept on the darkening shore.
It sobbed to me: “Oh, be brave!
Whatever you do, or dare, or will,
Like me to go striving, unresting still.”
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STRANDED.
O busy ships! that smile in sailing
In a glory
Like a dream,
From the colors of the harbor to the colors of the sea.
In singing words or in bewailing,
Tell the story
As you gleam,
Tell the story, guess the language of my idle hours for me.
In a glory
Like a dream,
From the colors of the harbor to the colors of the sea.
In singing words or in bewailing,
Tell the story
As you gleam,
Tell the story, guess the language of my idle hours for me.
O busy waves! so blest in bruising
Your white faces
On the shore.
So happy to be wasted with the purpose of the sea,
Content to leave with it the choosing
Of your places
Evermore,
Whisper but the far sea-meaning of my stranded life for me.
Your white faces
On the shore.
So happy to be wasted with the purpose of the sea,
Content to leave with it the choosing
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Evermore,
Whisper but the far sea-meaning of my stranded life for me.
Gray the sails grow in departing
Like fleet swallows
To the South.
Stern the tide turns in its parting,
As it follows
With dumb mouth.
In the stillness and the sternness God makes answer unto me.
Like fleet swallows
To the South.
Stern the tide turns in its parting,
As it follows
With dumb mouth.
In the stillness and the sternness God makes answer unto me.
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GLOUCESTER HARBOR.
One shadow glides from the dumb shore,
And one from every silent sail.
One cloud the averted heavens wear,
A soft mask, thin and frail.
And one from every silent sail.
One cloud the averted heavens wear,
A soft mask, thin and frail.
Oh, silver is the lessening rain,
And yellow was the weary drouth.
The reef her warning finger puts
Upon the harbor's mouth.
And yellow was the weary drouth.
The reef her warning finger puts
Upon the harbor's mouth.
Her thin, wan finger, stiff and stark,
She holds by night, she holds by day.
Ask, if you will. No answer makes
The sombre, guarded bay.
She holds by night, she holds by day.
Ask, if you will. No answer makes
The sombre, guarded bay.
The fleet, with idle canvas hung,
Like a brute life, sleeps patiently.
The headlights nod across the cliff,
The fog blows out to sea.
Like a brute life, sleeps patiently.
The headlights nod across the cliff,
The fog blows out to sea.
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There is no color on the tide,
No color on the helpless sky;
Across the beach,—a safe, small sound—
The grass-hid crickets cry.
No color on the helpless sky;
Across the beach,—a safe, small sound—
The grass-hid crickets cry.
And through the dusk I hear the keels
Of home-bound boats grate low and sweet.
O happy lights! O watching eyes!
Leap out the sound to greet.
Of home-bound boats grate low and sweet.
O happy lights! O watching eyes!
Leap out the sound to greet.
O tender arms that meet and clasp!
Gather and cherish while ye may.
The morrow knoweth God. Ye know
Your own are yours to-day.
Gather and cherish while ye may.
The morrow knoweth God. Ye know
Your own are yours to-day.
Forever from the Gloucester winds
The cries of hungry children start.
There breaks in every Gloucester wave
A widowed woman's heart.
The cries of hungry children start.
There breaks in every Gloucester wave
A widowed woman's heart.
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THE TERRIBLE TEST.
Separate, upon the folded page
Of myth or marvel, sad or glad,
The test that gave the Lord to thee,
And thee to us, O Galahad!
Of myth or marvel, sad or glad,
The test that gave the Lord to thee,
And thee to us, O Galahad!
“Found pure in deed, and word, and thought,”
The creature of our dream and guess,
The vision of the brain thou art,
The eidolon of holiness.
The creature of our dream and guess,
The vision of the brain thou art,
The eidolon of holiness.
Man with the power of the God,
Man with the weaknesses of men,
Whose lips the Sangreal leaned to feed,
“Whose strength was the strength of ten.”
Man with the weaknesses of men,
Whose lips the Sangreal leaned to feed,
“Whose strength was the strength of ten.”
We read—and smile; no man thou wast;
No human pulses thine could be;
With downcast eyes we read—and sigh;
So terrible is purity!
No human pulses thine could be;
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So terrible is purity!
O fairest legend of the years,
With folded wings, go, silently!
O flower of knighthood, yield your place
To One who comes from Galilee!
With folded wings, go, silently!
O flower of knighthood, yield your place
To One who comes from Galilee!
To wounded feet that shrink and bleed,
But press and climb the narrow way,—
The same old way our own must step,
Forever, yesterday, to-day.
But press and climb the narrow way,—
The same old way our own must step,
Forever, yesterday, to-day.
For soul can be what soul hath been,
And feet can tread where feet have trod.
Enough, to know that once the clay
Hath worn the features of the God.
And feet can tread where feet have trod.
Enough, to know that once the clay
Hath worn the features of the God.
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MY DREAMS ARE OF THE SEA.
My dreams are of the Sea.
All night the living waters stepped
Stately and steadily. All night the wind
Conducted them. With forehead high, a rock,
Glittering with joy, stood to receive the shock
Of the flood-tide. I saw it in the mind
Of sleep and silence. When I woke, I wept.
All night the living waters stepped
Stately and steadily. All night the wind
Conducted them. With forehead high, a rock,
Glittering with joy, stood to receive the shock
Of the flood-tide. I saw it in the mind
Of sleep and silence. When I woke, I wept.
My dreams are of the Sea.
But oh, it is the Sea of Glass!
I met that other tide as I desired.
Alone, the rock and I leaned to the wave,—
A foolish suicide, that scooped its grave
Within the piteous sand. Now I am tired.
It died and it was buried. Let me pass.
But oh, it is the Sea of Glass!
I met that other tide as I desired.
Alone, the rock and I leaned to the wave,—
A foolish suicide, that scooped its grave
Within the piteous sand. Now I am tired.
It died and it was buried. Let me pass.
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SONG.
The firelight listens on the floor
To hear the wild winds blow.
Within, the bursting roses burn,
Without, there slides the snow.
To hear the wild winds blow.
Within, the bursting roses burn,
Without, there slides the snow.
Across the flower I see the flake
Pass mirrored, mystic, slow.
Oh, blooms and storms must blush and freeze,
While seasons come and go!
Pass mirrored, mystic, slow.
Oh, blooms and storms must blush and freeze,
While seasons come and go!
I lift the sash—and live, the gale
Comes leaping to my call.
The rose is but a painted one
That hangs upon the wall.
Comes leaping to my call.
The rose is but a painted one
That hangs upon the wall.
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AN INTERPRETATION.
CHOPIN. Prelude in C Minor, Opus 28.
From whirlwind to shower,
From noon-glare to shadow,
From the plough to the vesper,
A day is gone.
From passion to purpose,
From turmoil to rest,
From discord to harmony,
Life moveth on.
From noon-glare to shadow,
From the plough to the vesper,
A day is gone.
From passion to purpose,
From turmoil to rest,
From discord to harmony,
Life moveth on.
From terror and heartbreak,
From anger of anguish,
From vigil and famine,
A soul has gone.
By mercy of mystery,
Through trust which is best,
To feasting and sleeping now,
God calleth on.
From anger of anguish,
From vigil and famine,
A soul has gone.
By mercy of mystery,
Through trust which is best,
To feasting and sleeping now,
God calleth on.
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THE SPHINX.
O glad girls' faces, hushed and fair! how shall I sing for ye?
For the grave picture of a sphinx is all that I can see.
For the grave picture of a sphinx is all that I can see.
Vain is the driving of the sand, and vain the desert's art;
The years strive with her, but she holds the lion in her heart.
The years strive with her, but she holds the lion in her heart.
Baffled or fostered, patient still, the perfect purpose clings;
Flying or folded, strong as stone, she wears the eagle's wings.
Flying or folded, strong as stone, she wears the eagle's wings.
Eastward she looks; against the sky the eternal morning lies;
Silent or pleading, veiled or free, she lifts the woman's eyes.
Silent or pleading, veiled or free, she lifts the woman's eyes.
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O grave girls' faces, listening kind! glad will I sing for ye,
While the proud figure of the sphinx is all that I can see.
While the proud figure of the sphinx is all that I can see.
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VICTURÆ SALUTAMUS.
Shall we who are about to live,Cry like a clarion on the battle-field?
Or weep before 't is fought, the fight to yield?
Thou that hast been and yet that art to be
Named by our name, that art the First and Last!
Womanhood of the future and the past!
Thee we salute, below the breath. Oh, give
To us the courage of our mystery.
... Pealing, the clock of Time
Has struck the Woman's Hour. ...
We hear it on our knees. For ah, no power
Is ours to trip too lightly to the rhyme
Of idle words that fan the summer air,
Of bounding words that leap the years to come.
Ideal of ourselves! We dream and dare.
Victuræ salutamus! Thou art dumb.
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THE ERMINE.
I read of the ermine to-day,
Of the ermine who will not step
By the feint of a step in the mire,—
The creature who will not stain
Her garment of wild, white fire;
Of the ermine who will not step
By the feint of a step in the mire,—
The creature who will not stain
Her garment of wild, white fire;
Of the dumb, flying, soulless thing
(So we with our souls dare to say),
The being of sense and of sod,
That will not, that will not defile
The nature she took from her God.
(So we with our souls dare to say),
The being of sense and of sod,
That will not, that will not defile
The nature she took from her God.
And we, with the souls that we have,
Go cheering the hunters on
To a prey with that pleading eye.
She cannot go into the mud!
She can stay like the snow, and die!
Go cheering the hunters on
To a prey with that pleading eye.
She cannot go into the mud!
She can stay like the snow, and die!
The hunters come leaping on.
She turns like a heart at bay.
They do with her as they will.
... O thou who thinkest on this!
Stand like a star, and be still,
She turns like a heart at bay.
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... O thou who thinkest on this!
Stand like a star, and be still,
Where the soil oozes under thy feet.
Better, ah, better to die
Than to take one step in the mire!
Oh, blessed to die or to live,
With garments of holy fire!
Better, ah, better to die
Than to take one step in the mire!
Oh, blessed to die or to live,
With garments of holy fire!
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UNQUENCHED.
I think upon the conquering Greek who ran
(Brave was the racer!) that brave race of old—
Swifter than hope his feet that did not tire.
(Brave was the racer!) that brave race of old—
Swifter than hope his feet that did not tire.
Calmer than love the hand which reached that goal;
A torch it bore, and cherished to the end,
And rescued from the winds the sacred fire.
A torch it bore, and cherished to the end,
And rescued from the winds the sacred fire.
O life the race! O heart the racer! Hush!
And listen long enough to learn of him
Who sleeps beneath the dust with his desire.
And listen long enough to learn of him
Who sleeps beneath the dust with his desire.
Go! shame thy coward weariness, and wail.
Who doubles contest, doubles victory.
Go! learn to run the race, and carry fire.
Who doubles contest, doubles victory.
Go! learn to run the race, and carry fire.
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O Friend! The lip is brave, the heart is weak.
Stay near. The runner faints—the torch falls pale.
Save me the flame that mounteth ever higher!
Stay near. The runner faints—the torch falls pale.
Save me the flame that mounteth ever higher!
Grows it so dark? I lift mine eyes to thine;
Blazing within them, steadfast, pure, and strong,
Against the wind there fights the eternal fire.
Blazing within them, steadfast, pure, and strong,
Against the wind there fights the eternal fire.
At the Promethean and other festivals, young men ran with torches or lamps lighted from the sacrificial altar. “In this contest, only he was victorious whose lamp remained unextinguished in the race.”
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THE KING'S IMAGE.
Of iron were his arms; they could have held
The need of half the kingdom up; and in
His brow were iron atoms too. Thus was
He built. His heart, observe, was wrought of gold,
Burnished; it dazzled one to look at it.
His feet were carved of clay—and so he fell.
The need of half the kingdom up; and in
His brow were iron atoms too. Thus was
He built. His heart, observe, was wrought of gold,
Burnished; it dazzled one to look at it.
His feet were carved of clay—and so he fell.
Clay unto clay shall perish and return.
The tooth of rust shall gnaw the iron down.
The conqueror of time, gold must endure.
The tooth of rust shall gnaw the iron down.
The conqueror of time, gold must endure.
Thou great amalgam! Suffering in thyself,
The while inflicting still the certain fate
Of thy disharmony. From Nature's law,
Unto her law, thy doom appeals; bids thee
To fear the metal sinews of thy soul,
And scorn the dust on which thou totterest;
But save, oh, save the heart of gold for one
Who did, beholding, trust in it.
The while inflicting still the certain fate
Of thy disharmony. From Nature's law,
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To fear the metal sinews of thy soul,
And scorn the dust on which thou totterest;
But save, oh, save the heart of gold for one
Who did, beholding, trust in it.
| Songs of the silent world and other poems | |