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 | Poems of Charles Warren Stoddard . |  |
7
SAY, CHARLIE
Say, Charlie, our Charlie, say,
What of the night? A-lo-ha! Hail!
What noonful sea? What restful sail?
Where tent you, Bedouin, to-day?
O generous green leaves of our tree,
What fruitful first young buoyant year!
But bleak winds blow; the leaves are sere,
And listless rustle two or three.
What of the night? A-lo-ha! Hail!
What noonful sea? What restful sail?
Where tent you, Bedouin, to-day?
O generous green leaves of our tree,
What fruitful first young buoyant year!
But bleak winds blow; the leaves are sere,
And listless rustle two or three.
Say, Charlie, where is Bret and Twain?
Shy Prentice, and the former few?
You spoke and spoke as one who knew—
Now, Charlie, speak us once again!
The night-wolf prowls; we guess, we grope,
But day is night and night despair,
And doubt seems some unuttered prayer,
And hope seems hoping against hope.
Shy Prentice, and the former few?
You spoke and spoke as one who knew—
Now, Charlie, speak us once again!
The night-wolf prowls; we guess, we grope,
But day is night and night despair,
And doubt seems some unuttered prayer,
And hope seems hoping against hope.
But, Charlie, you had faith, and you,
Gentlest of all God's gentlemen,
You said you knew and surely knew—
Now speak, and speak as spoke you then.
Gentlest of all God's gentlemen,
You said you knew and surely knew—
Now speak, and speak as spoke you then.
Joaquin Miller.
8
AT ANCHOR
In Memory of Charles Warren Stoddard, Author of “South Sea Idyls.”
Swing to the harbor from the deep of sea,
O sail of mine, but hold the sea in sight!
These are my fronded palms, my cocoa tree,
And these the islands of my heart's delight!
O sail of mine, but hold the sea in sight!
These are my fronded palms, my cocoa tree,
And these the islands of my heart's delight!
My lift of emerald hills against the blue
From blue; the feathery mists of waterfalls;
The wingéd gems that flash the foliage through,
Filling the air with fluted madrigals.
From blue; the feathery mists of waterfalls;
The wingéd gems that flash the foliage through,
Filling the air with fluted madrigals.
The wash of waves upon the coral reef,—
O song familiar of the long ago!—
The lap of waves, where blade and lance and leaf,
Fringing the water's rim, are glassed below.
O song familiar of the long ago!—
The lap of waves, where blade and lance and leaf,
Fringing the water's rim, are glassed below.
9
And here my tawny comrades laugh, and reach
Warm hands to mine,—the dear brown hands I knew—
With glad, glad greetings in soft-voweled speech,
From hearts that have remembered and been true.
Warm hands to mine,—the dear brown hands I knew—
With glad, glad greetings in soft-voweled speech,
From hearts that have remembered and been true.
Long have I wandered, tossed by stormy tides,
Benumbed in calms,—but here, how sure the sea!
Furl the worn sails,—the ship at anchor rides,—
Leave me with these! Leave me to these and Thee!
Benumbed in calms,—but here, how sure the sea!
Furl the worn sails,—the ship at anchor rides,—
Leave me with these! Leave me to these and Thee!
Ina Coolbrith.
10
CHARLES WARREN STODDARD
The Poet of the South Seas, 1843–1909.
Thine exile ended,—O belovéd seer,—
Thou turnest homeward to thine isles of light;
Thy reefs of silver, and palmetto height!
Yea, down thy vales sonorous thou wouldst hear
Again the cataracts that white and clear
Called from young days—oh, with what loving might!—
That from our arms and this embattled night
Thou break'st away and leav'st us sobbing here.
Thou turnest homeward to thine isles of light;
Thy reefs of silver, and palmetto height!
Yea, down thy vales sonorous thou wouldst hear
Again the cataracts that white and clear
Called from young days—oh, with what loving might!—
That from our arms and this embattled night
Thou break'st away and leav'st us sobbing here.
Vain the laudation!—What are crowns and praise
To thee whom Youth anointed on the eyes?
We have but known the lesser heart of thee
Whose spirit bloomed in lilies down the ways
Of Padua; whose voice perpetual sighs
On Molokai in tides of melody.
To thee whom Youth anointed on the eyes?
We have but known the lesser heart of thee
11
Of Padua; whose voice perpetual sighs
On Molokai in tides of melody.
EXILE ENDED—1909
Friend, they have led thee far, the voices fondFrom peak and strand through all the thousand isles
Abloom with wreaths and kisses, lit with smiles
And vast Alohas calling from beyond!
Yet wouldst thou once again be vagabond
'Neath that eternal star which ne'er beguiles;
Thy foot hath learned to tread the lily files
That sway thy Padua as with silver wand;
12
Been benediction;—Dreamer, whither now
With heart unquenchéd wouldst thou make away?—
For what new sphere of sapphire—what regale
Of seraphim Alohas hath thy brow
Foregone the plaudits, the pale wreaths to-day?
Thomas Walsh.
13
CHARLES WARREN STODDARD
O Muse! within thy western hall,
To mellow chord and crystal string,
At many harps thy chosen sing:
His was the gentlest soul of all.
To mellow chord and crystal string,
At many harps thy chosen sing:
His was the gentlest soul of all.
He sang not as the leaping faun
By voiceless rivers cool and clear,
Nor yet as chants the visioned seer
When darkness trembles with the dawn.
By voiceless rivers cool and clear,
Nor yet as chants the visioned seer
When darkness trembles with the dawn.
A milder music held his lyre—
A wistful strain, all human-sweet,
Between the ashes at our feet
And stars that pass in alien fire.
A wistful strain, all human-sweet,
Between the ashes at our feet
And stars that pass in alien fire.
His skies were somber, but he lit
His garden with a lamp of gold
Where tropic laughters left untold
The sadness buried in his wit.
His garden with a lamp of gold
Where tropic laughters left untold
The sadness buried in his wit.
Lonely, he harbored to the last
A boyish spirit, large and droll;
Tardy of flesh and swift of soul,
He walked with angels of the Past.
A boyish spirit, large and droll;
Tardy of flesh and swift of soul,
He walked with angels of the Past.
14
With tears his laurels still are wet;
But now we smile, whose hearts have known
The fault that harmed himself alone,—
The art that left a world in debt.
But now we smile, whose hearts have known
The fault that harmed himself alone,—
The art that left a world in debt.
Of all he said, I best recall:
“He knows the sky who knows the sod,
And he who loves a flower, loves God.”
Sky, flower and sod, he loved them all.
“He knows the sky who knows the sod,
And he who loves a flower, loves God.”
Sky, flower and sod, he loved them all.
From all he wrote (not for his day),
A sense of marvel drifts to me—
Of morning on a purple sea,
And fragrant islands far away.
A sense of marvel drifts to me—
Of morning on a purple sea,
And fragrant islands far away.
George Sterling.
POEMS OF CHARLES WARREN STODDARD
21
THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL
[_]
(The Mission of San Gabriel Arcángel, near Los Angeles, founded in 1771, was, for a time, the most flourishing mission in California.)
Thine was the corn and the wine,
The blood of the grape that nourished;
The blossom and fruit of the vine
That was heralded far away.
These were thy gifts; and thine,
When the wine and the fig-tree flourished,
The promise of peace and of glad increase
Forever and ever and aye.
What then wert thou, and what art now?
Answer me O, I pray!
The blood of the grape that nourished;
The blossom and fruit of the vine
That was heralded far away.
These were thy gifts; and thine,
When the wine and the fig-tree flourished,
The promise of peace and of glad increase
Forever and ever and aye.
What then wert thou, and what art now?
Answer me O, I pray!
And every note of every bell
Sang Gabriel! rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
Sang Gabriel! rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
22
Oil of the olive was thine;
Flood of the wine-press flowing,
Blood of the Christ was the wine—
Blood of the Lamb that was slain.
Thy gifts were fat of the kine
Forever coming and going
Far over the hills, the thousand hills—
Their lowing a soft refrain.
What then wert thou, and what art now?
Answer me, once again!
Flood of the wine-press flowing,
Blood of the Christ was the wine—
Blood of the Lamb that was slain.
Thy gifts were fat of the kine
Forever coming and going
Far over the hills, the thousand hills—
Their lowing a soft refrain.
What then wert thou, and what art now?
Answer me, once again!
And every note of every bell
Sang Gabriel! rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
Sang Gabriel! rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
Seed of the corn was thine—
Body of Him thus broken
And mingled with blood of the vine—
The bread and the wine of life.
Out of the good sunshine
They were given to thee as a token—
The body of Him, and the blood of Him,
When the gifts of God were rife.
What then wert thou, and what art now
After the weary strife?
Body of Him thus broken
And mingled with blood of the vine—
The bread and the wine of life.
Out of the good sunshine
They were given to thee as a token—
The body of Him, and the blood of Him,
When the gifts of God were rife.
What then wert thou, and what art now
After the weary strife?
23
And every note of every bell
Sang Gabriel! rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
Sang Gabriel! rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
Where are they now, O bells?
Where are the fruits of the Mission?
Garnered, where no one dwells,
Shepherd and flock are fled.
O'er the Lord's vineyard swells
The tide that with fell perdition
Sounded their doom and fashioned their tomb
And buried them with the dead.
What then wert thou, and what art now?
The answer is still unsaid.
Where are the fruits of the Mission?
Garnered, where no one dwells,
Shepherd and flock are fled.
O'er the Lord's vineyard swells
The tide that with fell perdition
Sounded their doom and fashioned their tomb
And buried them with the dead.
What then wert thou, and what art now?
The answer is still unsaid.
And every note of every bell
Sang Gabriel! rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
Sang Gabriel! rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
Where are they now, O tower!
The locusts and wild honey?
Where is the sacred dower
That the bride of Christ was given?
Gone to the wielders of power,
The misers and minters of money;
Gone for the greed that is their creed—
And these in the land have thriven.
What then wert thou, and what art now,
And wherefore hast thou striven?
The locusts and wild honey?
Where is the sacred dower
That the bride of Christ was given?
24
The misers and minters of money;
Gone for the greed that is their creed—
And these in the land have thriven.
What then wert thou, and what art now,
And wherefore hast thou striven?
And every note of every bell
Sang Gabriel! rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
Sang Gabriel! rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
25
ALBATROSS
Time cannot age thy sinews, nor the gale
Batter the network of thy feathered mail,
Lone sentry of the deep!
Among the crashing caverns of the storm,
With wing unfettered, lo! thy frigid form
Is whirled in dreamless sleep!
Batter the network of thy feathered mail,
Lone sentry of the deep!
Among the crashing caverns of the storm,
With wing unfettered, lo! thy frigid form
Is whirled in dreamless sleep!
Where shall thy wing find rest for all its might?
Where shall thy lidless eye, that scours the night,
Grow blank in utter death?
When shall thy thousand years have stripped thee bare,
Invulnerable spirit of the air,
And sealed thy giant-breath?
Where shall thy lidless eye, that scours the night,
Grow blank in utter death?
When shall thy thousand years have stripped thee bare,
Invulnerable spirit of the air,
And sealed thy giant-breath?
Not till thy bosom hugs the icy wave—
Not till thy palsied limbs sink in that grave,
Caught by the shrieking blast,
And hurled upon the sea with broad wings locked,
On an eternity of waters rocked,
Defiant to the last!
Not till thy palsied limbs sink in that grave,
Caught by the shrieking blast,
26
On an eternity of waters rocked,
Defiant to the last!
27
PALM OF THE SEA
Palm of the Sea!
O, living lyric of repose eternal—
Born of the elements and full of grace;
Happy art thou where'er thy dwelling place—
Thou, and the sombre Syrians, when they stood
Beside the way, a saintly sisterhood,
Wearing triumphantly their wreaths supernal.
Happy their life, happy their death and sweet,
For their plucked boughs have kissed the Saviour's feet.
O, living lyric of repose eternal—
Born of the elements and full of grace;
Happy art thou where'er thy dwelling place—
Thou, and the sombre Syrians, when they stood
Beside the way, a saintly sisterhood,
Wearing triumphantly their wreaths supernal.
Happy their life, happy their death and sweet,
For their plucked boughs have kissed the Saviour's feet.
Palm of the Sea!
O, virgin palm, upon thy rocky throne
Transfigured in the sun's serene baptism,
Thy pillar a pure flame, and every leaf a prism
Fretting the shadow of thy emerald zone:
In thy deep joy, thus heavenly arrayed,
Wrapped in celestial silence, undismayed,
Sole in the far oasis, all thine own—
An angel waiting in a desert lone!
O, virgin palm, upon thy rocky throne
Transfigured in the sun's serene baptism,
Thy pillar a pure flame, and every leaf a prism
28
In thy deep joy, thus heavenly arrayed,
Wrapped in celestial silence, undismayed,
Sole in the far oasis, all thine own—
An angel waiting in a desert lone!
Palm of the Sea!
Out of the purple gulfs of Ocean reaching,
Like to a soul aspiring and beseeching,
O'er the glazed wave thy mirrored form is shed.
In the glad hour, when sorrows all grow old,
Against the shining gates I shall behold
Thy leaves of silver and thy stem of gold:
I shall behold that crown upon thy head,
When the graves yawn and seas give up their dead!
Out of the purple gulfs of Ocean reaching,
Like to a soul aspiring and beseeching,
O'er the glazed wave thy mirrored form is shed.
In the glad hour, when sorrows all grow old,
Against the shining gates I shall behold
Thy leaves of silver and thy stem of gold:
I shall behold that crown upon thy head,
When the graves yawn and seas give up their dead!
29
ONE LIFE
Upon the woven leaf,
Upon the veinéd flower,
I find my life portrayed in brief—
My life from hour to hour.
Upon the veinéd flower,
I find my life portrayed in brief—
My life from hour to hour.
A frail leaf fit to die;
A young bud fed with dew,
The faithful air of heaven by,
While no wind roughly blew.
A young bud fed with dew,
The faithful air of heaven by,
While no wind roughly blew.
All day for my delight,
From dark to dark my own;
One butterfly delaying flight,
That left me not alone.
From dark to dark my own;
One butterfly delaying flight,
That left me not alone.
A humming-bird to float
Upon a breath; a bee
To blow a long complaining note,
Invited were of me.
Upon a breath; a bee
To blow a long complaining note,
Invited were of me.
30
A rill below a rock,
A pool to revel in,
A lonely lad, a wandering flock,
Were all my kith and kin.
A pool to revel in,
A lonely lad, a wandering flock,
Were all my kith and kin.
A tropic time of growth,
A twilight long and mild;
Delay, O Autumn! I am loth
To leave thee, well beguiled.
A twilight long and mild;
Delay, O Autumn! I am loth
To leave thee, well beguiled.
Forbid a leaf to fade,
Forbid a bough to fall,
Until one perfect bloom be made,
More beautiful than all.
Forbid a bough to fall,
Until one perfect bloom be made,
More beautiful than all.
I know that Time and Death
Will wither me away,
Yet of that perfect flower one breath
May brighten all the day.
Will wither me away,
Yet of that perfect flower one breath
May brighten all the day.
31
THE DAUGHTER OF PHARAOH TO BOHEMIA
Wherefore these revels that my dull eyes greet?
These dancers, dancing at my fleshless feet;
The harpers, harping vainly at my ears
Deaf to the world, lo! thrice a thousand years?
These dancers, dancing at my fleshless feet;
The harpers, harping vainly at my ears
Deaf to the world, lo! thrice a thousand years?
Time was when even I was blithe: I knew
The murmur of the flowing wave, where grew
The lean, lithe rushes; I have heard the moan
Of Nilus in prophetic undertone.
The murmur of the flowing wave, where grew
The lean, lithe rushes; I have heard the moan
Of Nilus in prophetic undertone.
My sire was monarch of a mighty race:
Daughter of Pharaoh, I; before my face
Myriads of groveling creatures crawled, to thrust
Their fearful foreheads in the desert dust.
Daughter of Pharaoh, I; before my face
32
Their fearful foreheads in the desert dust.
Above me gleamed and glowed my palace walls:
There bloomed my bowers; and there my waterfalls
Lulled me in languors; slaves with feather flails
Fretted the tranquil air to gentle gales.
There bloomed my bowers; and there my waterfalls
Lulled me in languors; slaves with feather flails
Fretted the tranquil air to gentle gales.
O, my proud palms! my royal palms, that stood
In stately groups, a queenly sisterhood!
And O! my sphinxes, gazing eye in eye,
Down the dim vistas of eternity.
In stately groups, a queenly sisterhood!
And O! my sphinxes, gazing eye in eye,
Down the dim vistas of eternity.
Where be you now? And where am I at last?
With gay Bohemia is my portion cast;
Born of the oldest East, I seek my rest
In the fair city of the youngest West.
With gay Bohemia is my portion cast;
Born of the oldest East, I seek my rest
In the fair city of the youngest West.
Farewell, O Egypt! Naught can thee avail;
What tarries now to tell thy sorry tale?
A sunken temple that the sands have hid!
The tapering shadow of a pyramid!
What tarries now to tell thy sorry tale?
33
The tapering shadow of a pyramid!
And now, my children, harbour me not ill;
I was a princess, am a woman still.
Gibe me no gibes, but greet me at your best,
As I was wont to greet the stranger guest.
I was a princess, am a woman still.
Gibe me no gibes, but greet me at your best,
As I was wont to greet the stranger guest.
Feast well, drink well, make merry while you may,
For e'en the best of you must pass my way.
The elder as the youngster, fair to see,
Must gird his marble loins and follow me.
For e'en the best of you must pass my way.
The elder as the youngster, fair to see,
Must gird his marble loins and follow me.
Read on the occasion of the presentation of a mummy to the Bohemian Club, San Francisco, California, by Jeremiah Lynch, Esq.
34
ALMA NATURA
Come from the vales of grief,
O Pilgrim, I implore thee! Let me tell
How I have sought and found my full relief;
For Nature loves us well.
O Pilgrim, I implore thee! Let me tell
How I have sought and found my full relief;
For Nature loves us well.
Look at thine own disgrace,
O foolish Pilgrim, fainting in thy soul!
Let but the sweet air breathe upon thy face
And it shall make thee whole.
O foolish Pilgrim, fainting in thy soul!
Let but the sweet air breathe upon thy face
And it shall make thee whole.
Bare thy close-shodden feet;
Put off thy raiment; naked, free, and glad,
Walk with the shining angels Light and Heat,
For thou art fitly clad.
Put off thy raiment; naked, free, and glad,
Walk with the shining angels Light and Heat,
For thou art fitly clad.
Bathe in the running tide;
O seek it with a lover's heart, for lo!
Thou shalt arise from out it purified,
And whiter than the snow.
O seek it with a lover's heart, for lo!
Thou shalt arise from out it purified,
And whiter than the snow.
35
Pause in the orchard path;
Pluck from the bough the fruit's untainted flesh,
Eat freely, for a copious store it hath:
Then live and love afresh.
Pluck from the bough the fruit's untainted flesh,
Eat freely, for a copious store it hath:
Then live and love afresh.
Seek thou the ocean's flood,
And as the sun glows on the crystal brink
Seize thou the golden chalice of his blood
And thirsting, deeply drink.
And as the sun glows on the crystal brink
Seize thou the golden chalice of his blood
And thirsting, deeply drink.
Through Nature art thou blest:
She clothes thee, and she feeds thee, and she gives
Drink to the lips that thirst, and perfect rest
To every one that lives.
She clothes thee, and she feeds thee, and she gives
Drink to the lips that thirst, and perfect rest
To every one that lives.
36
EXPECTATION
What news, I wonder, from the South!
I saw a sail blow past the Head.
I wonder if my lovers still
Are watching for me from the hill,
Whereon the palms are dry with drouth,
And ferns are crisp and dead.
I saw a sail blow past the Head.
I wonder if my lovers still
Are watching for me from the hill,
Whereon the palms are dry with drouth,
And ferns are crisp and dead.
I wonder if my lovers yet
Are all beginning to forget
How dear that day was when we sat
Upon our Island Ararat,
While floods were beating at its base,
And winds in anger seemed to fret
Our new-found dwelling place!
Are all beginning to forget
How dear that day was when we sat
Upon our Island Ararat,
While floods were beating at its base,
And winds in anger seemed to fret
Our new-found dwelling place!
The bark was driving on the beach;
How far life seemed beyond our reach!
The shore was thronged with savage men;
They plunged into the surf, and then,
Above the breakers' deafening roar,
They gave us each some cheering speech,
And helped us to the shore.
How far life seemed beyond our reach!
The shore was thronged with savage men;
They plunged into the surf, and then,
Above the breakers' deafening roar,
They gave us each some cheering speech,
And helped us to the shore.
37
What sweet, unprofitable hours
We passed within the silent land:
Calm, or impatient, sadly mute,
Or merry in a mild dispute;
Long days of summer, ripe and hale,
Horizons all hemmed in with flowers,
Till, rescued by a passing sail,
We gave each dusky friend a hand,
And parted on the sand.
We passed within the silent land:
Calm, or impatient, sadly mute,
Or merry in a mild dispute;
Long days of summer, ripe and hale,
Horizons all hemmed in with flowers,
Till, rescued by a passing sail,
We gave each dusky friend a hand,
And parted on the sand.
I wonder how my lovers are!
I wonder if the lime has shed
The name I cut upon its bark!
I wonder if they speared the shark
We chased one night by torch and star—
He had our pet kid in his mouth!
The sea rolls in with easy swell;
I saw a sail blow past the Head;
“She's from the Line,” I heard it said—
And there is where my lovers dwell,
Along the burning South.
I wonder if the lime has shed
The name I cut upon its bark!
I wonder if they speared the shark
We chased one night by torch and star—
He had our pet kid in his mouth!
The sea rolls in with easy swell;
I saw a sail blow past the Head;
“She's from the Line,” I heard it said—
And there is where my lovers dwell,
Along the burning South.
38
THE COCOA TREE
Cast on the water by a careless hand
Day after day the winds persuaded me:
Onward I drifted till a coral tree
Stayed me among its branches, where the sand
Gathered about me, and I slowly grew,
Fed by the constant sun and the inconstant dew.
Day after day the winds persuaded me:
Onward I drifted till a coral tree
Stayed me among its branches, where the sand
Gathered about me, and I slowly grew,
Fed by the constant sun and the inconstant dew.
The sea birds build their nests against my root,
And eye my slender body's horny case.
Widowed within this solitary place
Into the thankless sea I cast my fruit;
Joyless I thrive, for no man may partake
Of all the store I bear and harvest for his sake.
And eye my slender body's horny case.
Widowed within this solitary place
Into the thankless sea I cast my fruit;
Joyless I thrive, for no man may partake
Of all the store I bear and harvest for his sake.
No more I heed the kisses of the morn;
The harsh winds rob me of the life they gave;
I watch my tattered shadow in the wave,
And hourly droop and nod my crest forlorn,
While all my fibres stiffen and grow numb
Beck'ning the tardy ships, the ships that never come.
The harsh winds rob me of the life they gave;
39
And hourly droop and nod my crest forlorn,
While all my fibres stiffen and grow numb
Beck'ning the tardy ships, the ships that never come.
40
TO THE UNSEEN
I know of One who is so true to me,
We may not parted be.
We may not parted be.
Though I have strayed on to the uttermost,
Yet is His voice not lost.
Yet is His voice not lost.
If I am madly-deaf, for having erred,
Still may I hear His word.
Still may I hear His word.
If I have sinned, behold a crimson flood—
The river of His blood,
The river of His blood,
Wherein I find redemption: tenderly
He wooes my fear away,
He wooes my fear away,
And searches out some star of hope above,
So boundless is His love.
So boundless is His love.
41
Though I am weak, there is a hope of power:
He is my mighty tower.
He is my mighty tower.
Like as the sun that frights the gloom away,
He is my perfect day.
He is my perfect day.
E'en as the moon that is the charm of night,
He is my full delight.
He is my full delight.
His beauty lights a mansion in the sky—
Alas! and what am I?
Alas! and what am I?
42
IN VACATION
The sun has marked me for his own;
I'm growing browner day by day:
I cannot leave the fields alone;
I bring their breath away.
I'm growing browner day by day:
I cannot leave the fields alone;
I bring their breath away.
I put aside the forms of men,
And shun the world's consuming care.
Come, green and honest hills again!
For you are free and fair.
And shun the world's consuming care.
Come, green and honest hills again!
For you are free and fair.
How wonderful this pilgrimage!
On every side new worlds appear.
I weigh the wisdom of the sage,
And find it wanting here.
On every side new worlds appear.
I weigh the wisdom of the sage,
And find it wanting here.
I crave the tongues that Adam knew,
To question and discourse with these,—
To taunt the jay with jacket blue,
And quarrel with the bees.
To question and discourse with these,—
To taunt the jay with jacket blue,
And quarrel with the bees.
43
To answer when the grosbeak calls
His mate; to mock the catbird's screech;
The sloven crow's, with nasal drawls,
The oriole's golden speech.
His mate; to mock the catbird's screech;
The sloven crow's, with nasal drawls,
The oriole's golden speech.
Now through the pasture, and across
The brook, while flocks of sparrows try
To quit the world, and wildly toss
Their forms against the sky.
The brook, while flocks of sparrows try
To quit the world, and wildly toss
Their forms against the sky.
A small owl from the thistle-tops
Makes eyes at me, with blank distrust,
Tips off upon the air, and drops
Flat-footed in the dust.
Makes eyes at me, with blank distrust,
Tips off upon the air, and drops
Flat-footed in the dust.
The meadow-lark lifts shoulder-high
Above the sward, and, quivering
With broken notes of ecstasy,
Slants forth on curved wing.
Above the sward, and, quivering
With broken notes of ecstasy,
Slants forth on curved wing.
The patient barn-fowls strut about,
Intent on nothing every one.
A tall cock hails a cock without,
A grave hen eyes the sun.
Intent on nothing every one.
A tall cock hails a cock without,
A grave hen eyes the sun.
44
The gobbler swells his shaggy coat,
Portentous of a conquest sure;
His houris pipe their treble note
Round-shouldered and demure.
Portentous of a conquest sure;
His houris pipe their treble note
Round-shouldered and demure.
The clear-eyed cattle calmly stop
To munch the dry husk in the rack;
Or stretch their solid necks, and crop
The fringes of the stack.
To munch the dry husk in the rack;
Or stretch their solid necks, and crop
The fringes of the stack.
But night is coming, as I think;
The moving air is growing cool;
I hear the hoarse frog's hollow chink
Around the weedy pool.
The moving air is growing cool;
I hear the hoarse frog's hollow chink
Around the weedy pool.
The sun is down, the clouds are grey,
The cricket lifts his trembling voice.
Come back again, O happy day,
And bid my heart rejoice!
The cricket lifts his trembling voice.
Come back again, O happy day,
And bid my heart rejoice!
45
MOODS
I
O my belovéd, e'er the sun is down,
Where is my young renown?
Where is my young renown?
O dear belovéd, e'er the day is past,
Where is my portion cast?
Where is my portion cast?
If I have falsely sung I sought amends—
Yet still the sun descends.
Yet still the sun descends.
And I have striven hard and constantly,
Yet still the day goes by.
Yet still the day goes by.
What is a lamp unto my stumbling feet,
With life no longer sweet?
With life no longer sweet?
The stars, in differing glories, what are they
To the good warmth of day?
To the good warmth of day?
46
Where is my lacking, that the world denies
Unto my art the prize?
Unto my art the prize?
Gird me about with wings that I may speed,
Touching the stars, indeed.
Touching the stars, indeed.
Strong is the spirit, is the flesh so weak?
O best belovéd, speak!
O best belovéd, speak!
Is there no gift in store for such as I?
Belovéd love, reply.
Belovéd love, reply.
II
O my belovéd, though the night were here,
Still could thy presence cheer.
Still could thy presence cheer.
False is the smile of Fame, and soon obscure,
How doth thy light endure!
How doth thy light endure!
Fame beckons all and courts the multitude:
How doth thy love exclude!
How doth thy love exclude!
47
How doth thy love exclude all, saving me,
I kept unworthily—
I kept unworthily—
Retained, made richer by endowment, filled
Full of thy grace, yet skilled
Full of thy grace, yet skilled
To walk in modesty. O perfect heart
Night is not where thou art!
Night is not where thou art!
How can I comprehend and value thee
Out of my poverty?
Out of my poverty?
Amid thy lavish elements disbursed,
I faint and am a-thirst?
I faint and am a-thirst?
Too prodigal of sweets to satisfy—
Drinking, I still am dry!
Drinking, I still am dry!
And hunger ever though forever fed,
Belovéd! belovéd!
Belovéd! belovéd!
48
THE AWAKENING
I touched the shore in other climes
Encompassed by warm leagues of sea;
I breathed the spicy breath of limes
The sauntering gales bore down to me.
Encompassed by warm leagues of sea;
I breathed the spicy breath of limes
The sauntering gales bore down to me.
A hundred palms with feathered tips
Displayed their fair pavilion screens
Upon the yellow sandy slips;
Beyond the beating barks were seen.
Displayed their fair pavilion screens
Upon the yellow sandy slips;
Beyond the beating barks were seen.
And as the barks were blown across
The summer-blue of ocean's breast,
My thoughts were borne about to toss
Among the currents of unrest.
The summer-blue of ocean's breast,
My thoughts were borne about to toss
Among the currents of unrest.
My hammock swung within a shade,
I loosed my thoughts where they would rove,
Then sounds were hushed, the ships did fade,
I slumbered in the musky grove.
I loosed my thoughts where they would rove,
Then sounds were hushed, the ships did fade,
I slumbered in the musky grove.
49
I dreamed, and all my thoughts returned
Across the far-dividing deep,
And that dear land for which I yearned
I seemed to find in fevered sleep.
Across the far-dividing deep,
And that dear land for which I yearned
I seemed to find in fevered sleep.
In dreams I reached my native shore,
I found the year in deep decline,
The desolate, dull landscape bore
No hopeful look to answer mine.
I found the year in deep decline,
The desolate, dull landscape bore
No hopeful look to answer mine.
I faltered then and prayed for hope—
And hope is his whoever wills;
With half a hundred doubts to cope
I strode across the bronze-brown hills.
And hope is his whoever wills;
With half a hundred doubts to cope
I strode across the bronze-brown hills.
Then seeking with impulsive haste
Some phantom that my brain had wrought,
Old, dear familiar streets I paced,
But missed forever what I sought.
Some phantom that my brain had wrought,
Old, dear familiar streets I paced,
But missed forever what I sought.
Where were the faces that I knew?
Where were the hearts that I could trust?
Below the dark and lonely yew
Was heaped away their hallowed dust.
Where were the hearts that I could trust?
Below the dark and lonely yew
Was heaped away their hallowed dust.
50
“O Christ!” I cried, “who died for us
That we might live; one only kiss
From those mute lips!” “Why sorrow thus?
There is another life than this—”
That we might live; one only kiss
From those mute lips!” “Why sorrow thus?
There is another life than this—”
A mellow voice of heavenly calm
With its annunciation spilled
Soft chrism oils, and straight a balm
Fell on me, and my pain was stilled.
With its annunciation spilled
Soft chrism oils, and straight a balm
Fell on me, and my pain was stilled.
But then I pleaded: “Take me hence
To glorify Thee and adore,
For what are actions or events
With kindred gone forevermore?”
To glorify Thee and adore,
For what are actions or events
With kindred gone forevermore?”
The voice replied: “No action dies
Although forgotten long, it still
A sure conviction shall arise—
A spirit working good or ill.”
Although forgotten long, it still
A sure conviction shall arise—
A spirit working good or ill.”
Then shame smote crimson down my face,
I hastened from the place of tombs,
A lighter heart bespoke me grace,
I doffed my dismal cloak of glooms.
I hastened from the place of tombs,
A lighter heart bespoke me grace,
I doffed my dismal cloak of glooms.
51
I cried: “I will rejoice to do
Such deeds that nothing ill shall dare
To stand erected in the view
Of the new legend, fresh and fair.”
Such deeds that nothing ill shall dare
To stand erected in the view
Of the new legend, fresh and fair.”
Then swinging in my hammock, hung
In arbors filled with fine perfume,
My pulses quickened as they sung:
“We shall anon this task assume.”
In arbors filled with fine perfume,
My pulses quickened as they sung:
“We shall anon this task assume.”
And swaying with the swaying boughs,
With odors of the fruit and flower
About me, tempting me to drowse
Forever in the scented bower,
With odors of the fruit and flower
About me, tempting me to drowse
Forever in the scented bower,
There came a voice from out the waves,
It was not as the voice of men:
“All they that lie in loathèd graves,
They shall arise and live again;
It was not as the voice of men:
“All they that lie in loathèd graves,
They shall arise and live again;
“And whether urns with precious mold,
Or whether acts long since forgot,
A new shall come of every old,
There is no death in any lot.”
Or whether acts long since forgot,
A new shall come of every old,
There is no death in any lot.”
52
I could have turned as adders turn
To slay themselves in misery,
That I had lived my life to learn
So late the worth of life to me.
To slay themselves in misery,
That I had lived my life to learn
So late the worth of life to me.
O! foolish lips that were content
To sup the honey of soft song!
O! silly heart so sweetly blent
With harp-like music trilled too long!
To sup the honey of soft song!
O! silly heart so sweetly blent
With harp-like music trilled too long!
O! heavenly oracle divine
That filled my heart with holy flame,
What new delight of life is mine?
What miracle of hope and aim?
That filled my heart with holy flame,
What new delight of life is mine?
What miracle of hope and aim?
53
A NANTUCKET GRAVE
Tired of the tempest and racing wind,
Tired of the spouting breaker,
Here they come at the end, to find
Rest in the silent acre.
Tired of the spouting breaker,
Here they come at the end, to find
Rest in the silent acre.
Feet pass over the graveyard turf,
Up from the sea or downward;
One way leads to the raging surf,
One to the perils townward.
Up from the sea or downward;
One way leads to the raging surf,
One to the perils townward.
“Hearken, hearken!” the dead men call,—
“Whose is the step that passes?
Knows he not we are safe from all,
Under the nodding grasses?”
“Whose is the step that passes?
Knows he not we are safe from all,
Under the nodding grasses?”
54
UTOPIA
Scene: Moku, in the South Sea. The Poet under his vine and fig-tree. Piolani, his “Man Friday,” in attendance.)The Poet
speaks:
A cottage on a cliff,
And a vine beside the door;
While the wind, with fragrant whiff,
Wakes the parrot in a tiff,
Puffs the matting from the floor,
Swings the window open wide.
—Piolani, please to slide
Wine-jar or a calabash
Close against the window-sash.
Drops a spider from the thatch
Down upon my writing table;
Splendid specimen to catch,
I'll secure him with despatch,
Pin him up and write his label.
And a vine beside the door;
While the wind, with fragrant whiff,
Wakes the parrot in a tiff,
Puffs the matting from the floor,
Swings the window open wide.
—Piolani, please to slide
Wine-jar or a calabash
Close against the window-sash.
Drops a spider from the thatch
Down upon my writing table;
Splendid specimen to catch,
I'll secure him with despatch,
Pin him up and write his label.
55
With her song so bland,
By the cocoas in the sand,
Singing with her siren's voice,
The sea leans on the land.
I listen and rejoice,
For I like this tawny hour;
When the stars begin to flower,
As it were; and day is pleading,
With those heavy drooping lids,
And a glance of love exceeding,
For one moment more of power.
Thrumming crickets, katydids,
Clouds of giddy butterflies;
Oddest fowls of every feather
Hail me with their plaintive cries.
Moths and insects of all breeding
Upon one another feeding,
Huddle here together.
—Piolani, take the broom,
Chase that lizard from the room.
There's another on the wall!
How the slimy creatures crawl
Over everything and all.
By the cocoas in the sand,
Singing with her siren's voice,
The sea leans on the land.
I listen and rejoice,
For I like this tawny hour;
When the stars begin to flower,
As it were; and day is pleading,
With those heavy drooping lids,
And a glance of love exceeding,
For one moment more of power.
Thrumming crickets, katydids,
Clouds of giddy butterflies;
Oddest fowls of every feather
Hail me with their plaintive cries.
Moths and insects of all breeding
Upon one another feeding,
Huddle here together.
—Piolani, take the broom,
Chase that lizard from the room.
There's another on the wall!
How the slimy creatures crawl
Over everything and all.
After hours of heat,
And leagues of burning dust,
How soft and passing sweet
Is the turf beneath my feet.
See this wondrous blossom thrust
From its dusky tent of green,
In its splendid pride and lust,
Like a painted savage queen.
And leagues of burning dust,
56
Is the turf beneath my feet.
See this wondrous blossom thrust
From its dusky tent of green,
In its splendid pride and lust,
Like a painted savage queen.
—Piolani, do you know
Of the nature of this shrub?
Why the waters ebb and flow?
Where the butterflies all go,
Or the future of the grub?
You have never thought of these,
Yet are happier than I,
Who am trying to descry
What my brother watcher sees
In a very distant sky.
Do you ever question fate?
Do you hate with burning hate
One who cannot think with you?
Do you send us white-faced men
To a hot perdition, when
You have found our faith untrue?
That is what we Christians do.
Do you pity when you hear
How we turn about and dread
Being numbered with the dead,
And the only God we know
Is a God to scorn or fear?
Do not tell me that your foe
Meets you with unflinching gaze,
Certain that the weaker dies!
That you let the life-blood flow,
For a coward you despise!
So your soul through endless days
Walks the valley of its youth;
Goes the old familiar ways;
And shall sleep no more, forsooth!
Do not say we cannot touch
The one God we fear so much!
Do not say we cannot prove
The one volume that we love!
Do not scorn us when you see
How we never can agree—
How we never have agreed!
—Kill that scudding centipede
In the corner on the floor!
Would you land upon our shore
And destroy our too frail hopes?
Better is the mind that gropes
Toward some divine ideal
Than the mind that sleeps in sloth!
Hopeless, aimless, hating both;
Doubting what the years reveal.
Let us worship each his way,
Though some saints would doubtless say
That this very liberal view,
And the plan in question, too,
Can't, of course, apply to you.
Of the nature of this shrub?
Why the waters ebb and flow?
Where the butterflies all go,
Or the future of the grub?
You have never thought of these,
Yet are happier than I,
Who am trying to descry
What my brother watcher sees
In a very distant sky.
Do you ever question fate?
Do you hate with burning hate
One who cannot think with you?
Do you send us white-faced men
To a hot perdition, when
You have found our faith untrue?
That is what we Christians do.
Do you pity when you hear
How we turn about and dread
57
And the only God we know
Is a God to scorn or fear?
Do not tell me that your foe
Meets you with unflinching gaze,
Certain that the weaker dies!
That you let the life-blood flow,
For a coward you despise!
So your soul through endless days
Walks the valley of its youth;
Goes the old familiar ways;
And shall sleep no more, forsooth!
Do not say we cannot touch
The one God we fear so much!
Do not say we cannot prove
The one volume that we love!
Do not scorn us when you see
How we never can agree—
How we never have agreed!
—Kill that scudding centipede
In the corner on the floor!
Would you land upon our shore
And destroy our too frail hopes?
Better is the mind that gropes
Toward some divine ideal
Than the mind that sleeps in sloth!
58
Doubting what the years reveal.
Let us worship each his way,
Though some saints would doubtless say
That this very liberal view,
And the plan in question, too,
Can't, of course, apply to you.
Piolani, if you like,
Having brought my coffee in,
Strip your body to the skin,
Don't imagine you will strike
Consternation to this breast.
Thus it was we found you drest,
Nature in this case knew best.
Take your little Idol down;
Cold and stony, rude and brown,
Eyeless, earless, noseless too,
But it's all the same to you.
Nor foot, nor hand in any part,
Utterly devoid of art,
But a comfort to your heart.
Fall before it as of old,
Sing your melis manifold.
Burn the boughs of resinous trees,
Solemn incantations blending
With the savory smoke ascending.
Prone upon your hands and knees,
Care not that a stranger sees;
Be a savage as you please.
Be not watchful nor alert,
Nor regard with eye suspicious
Any matter I assert.
Do not try with surreptitious
Spell my spirit to convert.
Union we can scarce expect—
Let our hearts our ways direct—
I will call you some new sect.
Having brought my coffee in,
Strip your body to the skin,
Don't imagine you will strike
Consternation to this breast.
Thus it was we found you drest,
Nature in this case knew best.
Take your little Idol down;
Cold and stony, rude and brown,
Eyeless, earless, noseless too,
But it's all the same to you.
Nor foot, nor hand in any part,
Utterly devoid of art,
But a comfort to your heart.
Fall before it as of old,
Sing your melis manifold.
Burn the boughs of resinous trees,
Solemn incantations blending
59
Prone upon your hands and knees,
Care not that a stranger sees;
Be a savage as you please.
Be not watchful nor alert,
Nor regard with eye suspicious
Any matter I assert.
Do not try with surreptitious
Spell my spirit to convert.
Union we can scarce expect—
Let our hearts our ways direct—
I will call you some new sect.
Piolani, I can hear
Your sweet voice rise strong and clear.
Is it god or goddess now
Whom you flatter with a vow?
Under deepest tropic skies
Let our two-fold prayer arise.
Question not but in the end
It will reach the self-same friend,
Who will judge us well indeed—
Each according to his meed.
Your sweet voice rise strong and clear.
Is it god or goddess now
Whom you flatter with a vow?
Under deepest tropic skies
Let our two-fold prayer arise.
Question not but in the end
It will reach the self-same friend,
Who will judge us well indeed—
Each according to his meed.
Piolani, this is all,
Swing the hammock in the hall,
Roll your mat out at my feet,
Day is weary, night is sweet.
Day with toil and trouble teems,
Night is hallowéd with dreams.
Asleep already, at the start!
Piolani, bless your heart!
If peace of spirit rest insures
What a conscience must be yours.
Swing the hammock in the hall,
60
Day is weary, night is sweet.
Day with toil and trouble teems,
Night is hallowéd with dreams.
Asleep already, at the start!
Piolani, bless your heart!
If peace of spirit rest insures
What a conscience must be yours.
So I swing, and think of this;
Saying as I shut my eyes,
This is ignorance and bliss.
If it isn't, then what is,
And who of us is wise?
Saying as I shut my eyes,
This is ignorance and bliss.
If it isn't, then what is,
And who of us is wise?
61
PREMONITION
In a still chamber, a white bed of sleep
With soothing pillow, and a dream so deep
That it alone reality did seem,
And all reality was but a dream,
I woke as children waken,—in surprise,
With soft bewilderment of lips and eyes;
For I had felt upon my eyelids pressed
One darling baby kiss, upon my breast
A passing breath as of an angel-wing
Poising above me, fragrant, fluttering.
With soothing pillow, and a dream so deep
That it alone reality did seem,
And all reality was but a dream,
I woke as children waken,—in surprise,
With soft bewilderment of lips and eyes;
For I had felt upon my eyelids pressed
One darling baby kiss, upon my breast
A passing breath as of an angel-wing
Poising above me, fragrant, fluttering.
And then I breathed the subtle, sweet perfume
Of lilacs,—purple lilacs in full bloom;
Lilacs so cool and fresh, the flowers I knew
Just plucked; pale purple lilacs damp with dew.
Of lilacs,—purple lilacs in full bloom;
Lilacs so cool and fresh, the flowers I knew
Just plucked; pale purple lilacs damp with dew.
In ecstasy, I to the window flew,
Charmed with the garden of my dreams; but no!
There coldly fell the moonlight on the snow,—
The snow that lay like moonlight far below.
Charmed with the garden of my dreams; but no!
62
The snow that lay like moonlight far below.
Was it a memory that chose to bring
From my dream-garden a forgotten flower?
Was it a spirit that forestalled the hour,
And woke me with the first faint breath of spring?
From my dream-garden a forgotten flower?
Was it a spirit that forestalled the hour,
And woke me with the first faint breath of spring?
63
OTAHEITE
Beautiful Siren, thou whose palm-plumed crest
Gems the horizon like an emerald spray
Plucked from perennial paradise away
And lost forever, yet forever blest!
Gems the horizon like an emerald spray
Plucked from perennial paradise away
And lost forever, yet forever blest!
O Summer Isle! the rich sea's rich bequest
Unto her mermen, that with rare display
Meltest the souls of those whose hearts are gray,
Like the warm wave that fawns upon thy breast!
Unto her mermen, that with rare display
Meltest the souls of those whose hearts are gray,
Like the warm wave that fawns upon thy breast!
Beautiful Siren! Thy voluptuous vales
Invite the weary. As thy raptured guest
The mariner lets hang his mildewed sails
And seeks the fervor of thy full embrace
In bowers whose balm betrays their hiding-place,
Never to rouse from his enchanted rest.
Invite the weary. As thy raptured guest
The mariner lets hang his mildewed sails
And seeks the fervor of thy full embrace
In bowers whose balm betrays their hiding-place,
Never to rouse from his enchanted rest.
64
SOUTH SEA BUBBLES
An August in the highlands
Is a chilly shadow of my lands;
O, for an hour of the fervent heat
That nurses the South Sea Islands!
Is a chilly shadow of my lands;
O, for an hour of the fervent heat
That nurses the South Sea Islands!
Your harvest's a quick comer,
Your Fall a tireless hummer;
The century-plant grows old and dies,
In the prime of a South Sea summer.
Your Fall a tireless hummer;
The century-plant grows old and dies,
In the prime of a South Sea summer.
When smuggling bees hum over
Their honey in the clover,
I think of the honey beds I know,
And storm like a South Sea rover.
Their honey in the clover,
I think of the honey beds I know,
And storm like a South Sea rover.
When the winds begin to mutter,
My heart is in a flutter;
For I dream of foam and a roaring reef,
And a rakish South Sea cutter;
My heart is in a flutter;
For I dream of foam and a roaring reef,
And a rakish South Sea cutter;
In spite of all endeavor,
Her straining low lines sever;
A crash, a wreck, and a watery grave—
Or a South Sea home forever!
Her straining low lines sever;
65
Or a South Sea home forever!
I long for a palm thatch cover,
Where chattering parrots hover;
I hate these dreary fields and folk,
And sigh for a South Sea lover.
Where chattering parrots hover;
I hate these dreary fields and folk,
And sigh for a South Sea lover.
At the glow of sandy reaches,
How all my soul beseeches
One glimpse of the far-off blue, blue wave
That laps on the South Sea beaches!
How all my soul beseeches
One glimpse of the far-off blue, blue wave
That laps on the South Sea beaches!
For my heart is full of trouble,
Of cares on cares that double;
And out of the core of a citron gourd
I blow me a South Sea bubble!
Of cares on cares that double;
And out of the core of a citron gourd
I blow me a South Sea bubble!
66
LINES ON A LOVING CUP
My heart to thy heart,My lips to thine,
In the dew of the cornfield
The blood of the vine.
The last sigh at leaving,
The word as we part
Is, my lips to thy lips,
We two, heart to heart.
67
AVALON
When lamp light flickers in the room,
And curtains shut away the night,
Before me in the shadows loom
My tranquil islands of delight.
And curtains shut away the night,
Before me in the shadows loom
My tranquil islands of delight.
I seem to see their sunny slopes,
With valleys, misty-veiled between;
Their forests hung with leafy ropes
And vines of never fading green.
With valleys, misty-veiled between;
Their forests hung with leafy ropes
And vines of never fading green.
I scent the breath of cassia buds,
The gloria-mundi as it swings;
I see the parrot where it floods
The heavy air on flaming wings.
The gloria-mundi as it swings;
I see the parrot where it floods
The heavy air on flaming wings.
O placid rivers of the south,
Through still ravines you never haste!
With little fear of dearth or drouth
Your amber wealth runs all to waste.
Through still ravines you never haste!
With little fear of dearth or drouth
Your amber wealth runs all to waste.
I cleave again your tideless wave:
New Edens dawn at every turn,
Where I am greeted by the grave
Flamingo and the stately hern.
New Edens dawn at every turn,
68
Flamingo and the stately hern.
A slim canoe with spicy freight,
Steals by me on its silent way;
The pale-pink lilies undulate
In ecstasy, with life's sweet day.
Steals by me on its silent way;
The pale-pink lilies undulate
In ecstasy, with life's sweet day.
The magic of the gods is mine;
For in the bee's hum I may hear
A secret that I will divine,
And legends of the flowery year.
For in the bee's hum I may hear
A secret that I will divine,
And legends of the flowery year.
Soft summer showers sweep through the land,
The buds are drunk with sun and dew,
The twilight falls on either hand—
Lo! Night is coming, calm and blue.
The buds are drunk with sun and dew,
The twilight falls on either hand—
Lo! Night is coming, calm and blue.
Along the reef the sea is loud,
And tosses in its deep unrest;
A mellow star sits in a cloud;
The moon is falling to the west.
And tosses in its deep unrest;
A mellow star sits in a cloud;
The moon is falling to the west.
And voices call me in the air—
The dear sad voices that I know—
“O, come away, while life is fair:
Come now!” they cry—and I would go,
The dear sad voices that I know—
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Come now!” they cry—and I would go,
While life is fair and youth is gay.
O, how these tedious fetters thrall!
“O come away! O come away!”
I hear those plaintive voices call.
O, how these tedious fetters thrall!
“O come away! O come away!”
I hear those plaintive voices call.
How little I the cost would heed,
If I could rush upon the sea,
And hurry on, with tempest speed,
To those sad voices calling me.
If I could rush upon the sea,
And hurry on, with tempest speed,
To those sad voices calling me.
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SAIL HO!
I heard a rustle in my garden patch—I saw a shadow bow beneath my thatch—
One morning while the dawn was breaking fast;
And, coming near, a nervous hand was passed
Across my face, and some one bade me wake,
And “hasten to the cliff, for Heaven's sake:
A sail was shining in the eastern sea!”
“A sail!” I gasped; “the Saints compassion me.
Go you and fire the signal-pyre!” I said.
The shadow turned, and in a moment fled;
And soon I followed—pale, and scant of breath—
For on that chance was staked my life or death.
I skirted the long shore of the lagoon,
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And scaled the rocky battlements that rise,
Like a great wall, against the eastern skies.
The morning air blew down a fragrant whiff,
Combing the wind-burnt grasses on the cliff.
The cactus' thousand thorny palms were spread
Against a sun-cloud hanging, hot and red,
In the horizon; and a little way
Off, in the bright, blue depths of dawning day,
A fair and flickering atom—star-like, pale—
I saw a sole and solitary sail.
Then down I knelt and prayed. The biting fire
Curled the green balsams of my signal-pyre,
And sent a bold black shaft into the air,
That towered above the shadows and grew fair,
Like to a palm in stature, full of grace,
Waving its sable plumes before the face
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Commanding that the voyager should draw near.
I shut away the sight in deep suspense,
Half drugged with the rich odors of the dense
And multiplying fumes that hung about,
And half afraid to struggle with my doubt.
The sun arose and all the world was gay;
The sweet winds spirited the mists away,
I lifted up my eyes, where I was bowed,
And, through the portals of a golden cloud,
Beheld the vessel, by fair breezes fanned,
Trimming her sails, and making for the land.
But when she shaped her course toward the shore,
And I was sure my banishment was o'er,
Somehow I was not happy—for I grew
So jealous of the solitude I knew,
And loved my Island dearer than before!
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MERCY
In his last hour a good man lay alone,His couch, the naked earth; his pillow, stone.
Thus faithless fortune left him, in the end,
To perish in the dark, without one friend.
Lifting his eyes, in great bewilderment,
He saw seven shining angels o'er him bent;
And with his failing breath he cried, in fear,
“Ye heavenly messengers! what do you here?”
Each angel in his turn made low reply,
In voices of celestial melody:
“I was hungered, and thou gavest meat,”
“I was athirst, thy draught was passing sweet.”
“And I was naked, and was clothed by thee;”
“A captive I, when thou didst ransom me;”
“I harborless till I thy harbor found;”
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Then the last whispered, as he bowed his head,
“And thou didst bury me when I was dead.”
Now a great glory filled the vault of night,
A still small voice glowed like intensest light;
It seemed to fashion words that were as flame,
One flashed and faded as another came—
“And lo! as thou hast done it unto these,
So hast thou done it unto Me.” At ease
On his cold bed the good man breathed his last;
A bed of roses now, and every blast
Was softer, sweeter than an infant's breath,
For the bright watchers by that bed of death,
And as the spirit left its form of clay,
Seven angels bore it in their arms away.
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INDIANA
“What's in a name?” the poet cried:
Sometimes less than is implied;
Sometimes all—and more beside.
Sometimes less than is implied;
Sometimes all—and more beside.
Tell me, Indiana, why
Thy name, so like a lullaby
Droned in wigwam to papoose,
Seemeth unto me a truce?
Is it that the soothing word—
Musical as song of bird—
Seeks to make in melody
What we should not know or see?
Face of nature, solemn, proud,
Wrapped in blanket of the cloud.
Fallow-field and tangled mead—
Arrow-heads their barren seed.
Swamp in ambush; stealthy creek
Stealing through the meadow sleek.
Crafty snake that wimples by;
Lake that sleeps with open eye;
Sandy soil the foot sinks in
Noiselessly as moccasin.
Ushered by a frown or smile
Stalk the seasons Indian file;
Forest flowers of love and spring;
Young brave, happily summering,
Turns and beckons all too soon
Pale face of the harvest moon;
Secretly, 'twixt dark and dawn,
Indian-like, is summer gone;
Blood upon the trail is met
In the sullen, red sunset.
Thy name, so like a lullaby
Droned in wigwam to papoose,
Seemeth unto me a truce?
Is it that the soothing word—
Musical as song of bird—
Seeks to make in melody
What we should not know or see?
Face of nature, solemn, proud,
Wrapped in blanket of the cloud.
Fallow-field and tangled mead—
Arrow-heads their barren seed.
Swamp in ambush; stealthy creek
Stealing through the meadow sleek.
Crafty snake that wimples by;
Lake that sleeps with open eye;
Sandy soil the foot sinks in
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Ushered by a frown or smile
Stalk the seasons Indian file;
Forest flowers of love and spring;
Young brave, happily summering,
Turns and beckons all too soon
Pale face of the harvest moon;
Secretly, 'twixt dark and dawn,
Indian-like, is summer gone;
Blood upon the trail is met
In the sullen, red sunset.
Shivering trees their mantles lose;
Curling leaves, like weird canoes,
Driving here and driving there
Sail the currents of the air.
Fade the embers of life's fire;
Fails the fountain of desire;
Enter fever, famine, drought;
Melancholy prowls about.
Drip the night dews, chilly damp,
In the now deserted camp;
Wampum of the withered cone
Hangs in pine-tree lodge alone.
Through the branches, savage, fleet,
Tear the tomahawks of sleet;
And the frantic bows now toss.
Come rebellious brotherhood—
War-paint of the autumnal wood,
War-whoop of the wintry wind,
War-dance of the snows that blind,
Swell the bitter, wild, intense
Pow-wow of the elements!
Curling leaves, like weird canoes,
Driving here and driving there
Sail the currents of the air.
Fade the embers of life's fire;
Fails the fountain of desire;
Enter fever, famine, drought;
Melancholy prowls about.
Drip the night dews, chilly damp,
In the now deserted camp;
Wampum of the withered cone
Hangs in pine-tree lodge alone.
Through the branches, savage, fleet,
Tear the tomahawks of sleet;
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Come rebellious brotherhood—
War-paint of the autumnal wood,
War-whoop of the wintry wind,
War-dance of the snows that blind,
Swell the bitter, wild, intense
Pow-wow of the elements!
These, thy phases, treacherous clime—
Save in Indian-summer time
When warm hazy days abound;
And the poet seeks in rhyme
Peace-pipe and happy hunting ground.
Save in Indian-summer time
When warm hazy days abound;
And the poet seeks in rhyme
Peace-pipe and happy hunting ground.
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THE SECRET WELL
I know a well so deep and cool
And hid, the crystal-hearted pool
Hath never thrilled a swallow's throat
Or sweetened one lark's note.
And hid, the crystal-hearted pool
Hath never thrilled a swallow's throat
Or sweetened one lark's note.
No fainting stag, though perishing,
Hath ventured to disturb this spring:
No leopard with its fiery breast
This fountain dares molest.
Hath ventured to disturb this spring:
No leopard with its fiery breast
This fountain dares molest.
No cunning, silver-caséd trout
The sheltered source can e'er find out—
No tongue but mine may ever tell
The secret of this well.
The sheltered source can e'er find out—
No tongue but mine may ever tell
The secret of this well.
I build about its guarded rim
With added stones; I know the dim,
Still twilight of its mossy cell
Where the sweet waters dwell.
With added stones; I know the dim,
Still twilight of its mossy cell
Where the sweet waters dwell.
For spirits go between us two
With flasks; they brim with softest dew.
I drink and am refreshed, and seem
As living in a dream.
With flasks; they brim with softest dew.
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As living in a dream.
This well, that is alone for me,
Is but a fount of memory:
And every year that I have known
Is but an added stone.
Is but a fount of memory:
And every year that I have known
Is but an added stone.
My willing thoughts, as spirits, haste
To draw the draught I love to taste.
There is an ever full supply,
Yet who may drink but I?
To draw the draught I love to taste.
There is an ever full supply,
Yet who may drink but I?
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RESURGAM
Shall I behold, what time the snows distill
In the soft wind along these silver boughs,
Crisp bud and curling leaf—the golden house
Of robin red-breast and the whip-poor-will?
Shall I behold the sudden pulse, the thrill,
As the rich blood, long dormant, 'gins to rouse
Among the meadows where the cattle browse,
Sad-eyed and tranquil, while they take their fill?
In the soft wind along these silver boughs,
Crisp bud and curling leaf—the golden house
Of robin red-breast and the whip-poor-will?
Shall I behold the sudden pulse, the thrill,
As the rich blood, long dormant, 'gins to rouse
Among the meadows where the cattle browse,
Sad-eyed and tranquil, while they take their fill?
Shall I behold again, shall I behold
The slumbering dead that waken as of old
At sound of a still voice that quickeneth?
There will I hymn thee to the very skies,
Spirit of lovely Spring! I will arise—
I will arise from out this shadow of death.
The slumbering dead that waken as of old
At sound of a still voice that quickeneth?
There will I hymn thee to the very skies,
Spirit of lovely Spring! I will arise—
I will arise from out this shadow of death.
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IN CLOVER
O Sun! be very slow to set;
Sweet blossoms kiss me on the mouth;
O birds! you seem a chain of jet
Blown over from the South.
Sweet blossoms kiss me on the mouth;
O birds! you seem a chain of jet
Blown over from the South.
O cloud! press onward to the hill;
He needs you for his failing streams.
The Sun shall be my solace still,
And feed me with his beams.
He needs you for his failing streams.
The Sun shall be my solace still,
And feed me with his beams.
O little hump-back bumble-bee!
O smuggler! breaking my repose;
I'll slily watch you now and see
Where all the honey grows.
O smuggler! breaking my repose;
I'll slily watch you now and see
Where all the honey grows.
Yes, here is room enough for two;
I'd sooner be your friend than not;
Forgetful of the world, as true,
I would it were forgot.
I'd sooner be your friend than not;
Forgetful of the world, as true,
I would it were forgot.
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LITANY OF THE SHRINES
The Angelus from rise to set of sun
Recalls us thrice unto our private prayers;
So may these Missions memories recall—
With their soft names, now named one after one—
Recall the pious life which once was theirs;
Recall their rise, alas! recall their fall—
For all too soon their blesséd work was done.
Recalls us thrice unto our private prayers;
So may these Missions memories recall—
With their soft names, now named one after one—
Recall the pious life which once was theirs;
Recall their rise, alas! recall their fall—
For all too soon their blesséd work was done.
In the far south the sunny San Diego,
Carmelo, San Antonio, each their way go—
Dust unto dust, so crumbles the abode.
Within one year sprang up San Luis Obispo,
And San Antonio, and San Gabriel:
After five years of struggle, San Francisco,
And San Juan Capistrano—it is well
To pause a little now and then if, so be,
Thou gainest strength; good works rush not pell-mell.
Santa Clara and San Buenaventura,
Santa Barbara and Purissima;
And darling Santa Cruz—sanctissima—
Next Soledad, and then a pause secura.
Carmelo, San Antonio, each their way go—
Dust unto dust, so crumbles the abode.
Within one year sprang up San Luis Obispo,
And San Antonio, and San Gabriel:
After five years of struggle, San Francisco,
And San Juan Capistrano—it is well
To pause a little now and then if, so be,
Thou gainest strength; good works rush not pell-mell.
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Santa Barbara and Purissima;
And darling Santa Cruz—sanctissima—
Next Soledad, and then a pause secura.
Six years to gather strength, when San José
And San Miguel and shortly San Fernando
Were born within a twelve-month; what can man do
Better than this? And then San Luis Rey
Closed a long interval of years eleven—
Friars and neophytes were going to heaven
At such a rate!—but the good work progressed:
San Juan Bautista closed a century blest.
And San Miguel and shortly San Fernando
Were born within a twelve-month; what can man do
Better than this? And then San Luis Rey
Closed a long interval of years eleven—
Friars and neophytes were going to heaven
At such a rate!—but the good work progressed:
San Juan Bautista closed a century blest.
Santa Inez and fair San Rafael
Lead to the final effort in Solano;—
'Twas thus the missions rose and thus they fell—
Perchance a solitary boy-soprano,
Last of his race, was left the tale to tell.
Lead to the final effort in Solano;—
'Twas thus the missions rose and thus they fell—
Perchance a solitary boy-soprano,
Last of his race, was left the tale to tell.
Ring, gentle Angelus! ring in my dream,
But wake me not, for I would rather seem
To live the life they lived who've slumbered long
Beneath their fallen altars, than to waken
And find their sanctuaries thus forsaken:
God grant their memory may survive in song!
But wake me not, for I would rather seem
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Beneath their fallen altars, than to waken
And find their sanctuaries thus forsaken:
God grant their memory may survive in song!
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STIGMATA
In the wrath of the lips that assail us,
In the scorn of the lips that are dumb,
The symbols of sorrow avail us,
The joy of the people is come.
They parted Thy garments for barter,
They follow Thy steps with complaint;
Let them know that the pyre of the martyr
But purges the blood of the saint!
In the scorn of the lips that are dumb,
The symbols of sorrow avail us,
The joy of the people is come.
They parted Thy garments for barter,
They follow Thy steps with complaint;
Let them know that the pyre of the martyr
But purges the blood of the saint!
They have crucified Thee for a token;
For a token Thy flesh crucified
Shall bleed in a heart that is broken
For love of the wound in Thy side:
In pity for palms that were pleading,
For feet that were grievously used,
There is blood on the brow that is bleeding
And torn, as Thy brow that was bruised!
For a token Thy flesh crucified
Shall bleed in a heart that is broken
For love of the wound in Thy side:
In pity for palms that were pleading,
For feet that were grievously used,
There is blood on the brow that is bleeding
And torn, as Thy brow that was bruised!
By Thee have we life, breath, and being;
Thou hast knowledge of us and our kind;
Thou hast pleasure of eyes that are seeing,
And sorrow of eyes that are blind;
By the seal of the mystery shown us—
The wound that with Thy wounds accord—
O Lord, have mercy upon us!
Have mercy upon us, O Lord!
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Thou hast pleasure of eyes that are seeing,
And sorrow of eyes that are blind;
By the seal of the mystery shown us—
The wound that with Thy wounds accord—
O Lord, have mercy upon us!
Have mercy upon us, O Lord!
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SUNSET FROM PUU MAHOE
I thread the path through verdant leas,
Till, looking downward from the height,
Lo! dreamy lands by dreamy seas
Made misty in the mellow light.
Till, looking downward from the height,
Lo! dreamy lands by dreamy seas
Made misty in the mellow light.
And ever-wandering clouds that drape
With tint of pearl, or stain of blood,
The nestling isle, the distant cape
That sinks into yon purple flood.
With tint of pearl, or stain of blood,
The nestling isle, the distant cape
That sinks into yon purple flood.
And overhead the jewelled plain,
Where shadows deepen as they close—
But deepening, neither blot nor stain
The sweetest blue that heaven knows.
Where shadows deepen as they close—
But deepening, neither blot nor stain
The sweetest blue that heaven knows.
O perfect sight—more perfect still
For being sought in happy mood—
How many hearts might pulse and thrill
Within this seeming solitude!
For being sought in happy mood—
How many hearts might pulse and thrill
Within this seeming solitude!
And have the ages wrought so long;
Must all this beauty go to make
A thought to perish in a song,
One picture for one creature's sake?
Must all this beauty go to make
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One picture for one creature's sake?
No! rather think this fair expanse
May be the margin of that shore
Swept over with seraphic glance
By spirits that we know no more.
May be the margin of that shore
Swept over with seraphic glance
By spirits that we know no more.
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SANCTUARY
Surely some sacrilegious hand
Hath robbed the temples of their store
Of relics, up and down the land,
And hurled the altars o'er.
Hath robbed the temples of their store
Of relics, up and down the land,
And hurled the altars o'er.
And strewn the treasures all among
These quiet valleys. As I walk
I find a pearly rosary hung
Upon this lily stalk.
These quiet valleys. As I walk
I find a pearly rosary hung
Upon this lily stalk.
Hath timid maid, or tearful nun
Bethought her of this lone retreat
Yet, with her “Ave” scarce begun,
Her prayer-beads at her feet,
Bethought her of this lone retreat
Yet, with her “Ave” scarce begun,
Her prayer-beads at her feet,
Intruders bid her quickly fly,
And flying, frighted, she forgets
That where she knelt in secret lie
Her glittering amulets.
And flying, frighted, she forgets
That where she knelt in secret lie
Her glittering amulets.
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Alas! how poor, how desolate
The place where man strode rudely by,
The pink no more shall elevate
Its chalice to the sky.
The place where man strode rudely by,
The pink no more shall elevate
Its chalice to the sky.
And here are bleeding roses shorn
Along the hedge—by shearer vext,
Rare antique rubrics—roughly torn
From that quaint leafy text.
Along the hedge—by shearer vext,
Rare antique rubrics—roughly torn
From that quaint leafy text.
And thistle-aspergills bestrew
Meek buds that nestle at their side
With holy drops of luscious dew
That night hath sanctified.
Meek buds that nestle at their side
With holy drops of luscious dew
That night hath sanctified.
The morning-glory's fragile cup
A lucent honey-drop could boast;
Fair monstrance—it is broken up,
And veiléd is the Host.
A lucent honey-drop could boast;
Fair monstrance—it is broken up,
And veiléd is the Host.
And what is this that greeteth me,
The Calla, that I prize above
All lilies? so I mention thee,
O! lily of my love—
The Calla, that I prize above
All lilies? so I mention thee,
O! lily of my love—
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A perfumed satin altar cloth
With one tall, golden candlestick;
A velvet butterfly's the moth
That frets thy rosy wick.
With one tall, golden candlestick;
A velvet butterfly's the moth
That frets thy rosy wick.
Thy spotless napkin doth enfold
Such balm and costly frankincense,
As shrouds the swinging censer's gold
In clouds that struggle thence.
Such balm and costly frankincense,
As shrouds the swinging censer's gold
In clouds that struggle thence.
But now I hear the vesper call
Of floating air-bells, deftly tipt;
The dove's at her confessional—
The monk-mole in his crypt.
Of floating air-bells, deftly tipt;
The dove's at her confessional—
The monk-mole in his crypt.
And flowery fields my eyes engage;
The rivulets, the winding ways—
A missal, whose illumined page
Is given up to praise.
The rivulets, the winding ways—
A missal, whose illumined page
Is given up to praise.
So if none false hath donned the gown
And sought the votive priest to play,
Then thrown the sacred altars down
And hid the charms away—
And sought the votive priest to play,
Then thrown the sacred altars down
And hid the charms away—
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Dear Nature is the saint that rears
This sanctuary to our God—
And still renews through all the years
Where hateful feet have trod.
This sanctuary to our God—
And still renews through all the years
Where hateful feet have trod.
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VALE
He had the soul of truth,Strong with the strength of youth;
He had the gift of wit,
With love to sweeten it.
He knew not fear or shame:
When the destroyer came,
When death betrayed the fall,
He could surrender all,
Putting the world aside.
For time had proved him,
And the gods loved him
That he died.
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IN A CLOISTER
A fair white tower, where doves as white as snowFlutter, the while three bells swing to and fro;
A garden and a cloister hid below.
A summer garden full of calm delight;
A cloister wreathed with roses, red and white:
A row of lilies meek, that hold their breath,
As pale and mute and passionless as death:
Curtained beyond a leafy screen, the bees
Drone their monotonous, sweet Litanies:
A fountain lisping the responses, caught
On the still airs, with heavy incense fraught:
And all within an Island in the wild
And wide Lagoon; an Island Sanctified;
Walled by the golden flood, the glowing amber tide.
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THE STORMY PETREL
Above the rough sea's climbing crest
The sunbeams flashed afar,
And smote the Phaeton's silver breast,
That sparkled like a star.
The sunbeams flashed afar,
And smote the Phaeton's silver breast,
That sparkled like a star.
A wail was in the rising gale,
A wail both long and low;
The sailors flew to shorten sail,
The landsmen crept below.
A wail both long and low;
The sailors flew to shorten sail,
The landsmen crept below.
We faced the fury of the blast;
A head-sea swept the deck—
A great wave leaped upon the mast,
And threatened total wreck.
A head-sea swept the deck—
A great wave leaped upon the mast,
And threatened total wreck.
No man but with the spray was blind—
No galley fires would burn—
No sound but of the awful wind
That shrieked from stem to stern.
No galley fires would burn—
No sound but of the awful wind
That shrieked from stem to stern.
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Yet with a quick and fearful glance
That now my bosom thrills,
I saw the stormy petrel dance
Among the watery hills.
That now my bosom thrills,
I saw the stormy petrel dance
Among the watery hills.
And where the hissing bubbles sprawled
With weird and impish form,
The dancing petrel clucked and called
The devils of the storm.
With weird and impish form,
The dancing petrel clucked and called
The devils of the storm.
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A RHYME OF THE OLD YEAR
Who killed the Old Year?
“I,” said Sparrow Time;
“So put me in the rhyme—
I killed the Old Year.”
“I,” said Sparrow Time;
“So put me in the rhyme—
I killed the Old Year.”
Who saw him die?
“I,” said the Morning Star;
“While watching from afar,
I saw him die.”
“I,” said the Morning Star;
“While watching from afar,
I saw him die.”
Who caught his blood?
“I,” said each Man and Maid;
“I caught a drop that will not fade,
For it is his blood.”
“I,” said each Man and Maid;
“I caught a drop that will not fade,
For it is his blood.”
Who'll weave his shroud?
“I,” said Memory;
“Of flowers fair to see
I'll weave his shroud.”
“I,” said Memory;
“Of flowers fair to see
I'll weave his shroud.”
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Who'll dig his grave?
“I,” said Oblivion;
“For, sure, it must be done—
I'll dig his grave.”
“I,” said Oblivion;
“For, sure, it must be done—
I'll dig his grave.”
Who'll be chief mourner?
“I,” said Sad Regret;
“As I am fittest yet,
I'll be chief mourner.”
“I,” said Sad Regret;
“As I am fittest yet,
I'll be chief mourner.”
Who'll come and sing?
“We,” said Hope and Trust;
“We'll sing above his dust—
We'll come and sing.”
“We,” said Hope and Trust;
“We'll sing above his dust—
We'll come and sing.”
Who'll toll the bell?
“I,” said the Broken Heart;
“I can toll—it asks no art;
I'll toll the bell.”
“I,” said the Broken Heart;
“I can toll—it asks no art;
I'll toll the bell.”
And so the service
Is sung and said
Over the pitiful
Year that is dead.
Is sung and said
Over the pitiful
Year that is dead.
99
RETURN
Out of the sunset, in a Summer land,
Led by the South wind from a coral strand,
A prodigal I come at Christmas Eve,
Love in my heart and heart upon my sleeve.
Led by the South wind from a coral strand,
A prodigal I come at Christmas Eve,
Love in my heart and heart upon my sleeve.
'Tis here I seek the love of long ago
And find it, radiant as an afterglow.
Have I been absent, say—or can it be
That I have dreamed that life beyond the sea?
And find it, radiant as an afterglow.
Have I been absent, say—or can it be
That I have dreamed that life beyond the sea?
I cannot tell you, for so true you seem,
Which is reality and which is dream:
But if I dream to-night I pray you then,
“Oh, do not wake me—let me dream again.”
Which is reality and which is dream:
But if I dream to-night I pray you then,
“Oh, do not wake me—let me dream again.”
100
OLD MONTEREY
Sleep on in thy sunny sand-dunes and slumber in thy byways;
In the hollow of thy drowsy hills, lo! sleep and the shadow of death.
Dream on, O dear enchantress, of the babel that filled thy highways,
When passionate throngs sang thy song of songs and a war-cry was thy breath.
In the hollow of thy drowsy hills, lo! sleep and the shadow of death.
Dream on, O dear enchantress, of the babel that filled thy highways,
When passionate throngs sang thy song of songs and a war-cry was thy breath.
Now in thy listless languor, lo! the encircling sea-mew—
Gulls in the wild sea-gardens; and the curve of the lateen sail
As it cleaves like a silver scimitar the mist of the sea; and dream you
Of the treasure vast and the glory past—the visions of no avail.
Gulls in the wild sea-gardens; and the curve of the lateen sail
As it cleaves like a silver scimitar the mist of the sea; and dream you
Of the treasure vast and the glory past—the visions of no avail.
Dream of the splendid trappings of the troops that met and mingled—
Mexican cavaleros and hidalgos of old Castile:
Hark to the music of the spurs of silver that jolted and jingled;
And loudly laugh, as the wine you quaff, at the past beyond appeal.
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Hark to the music of the spurs of silver that jolted and jingled;
And loudly laugh, as the wine you quaff, at the past beyond appeal.
Where are they now, O dreamer? thy treasures have vanished whither?
Thou who wast first to the headland-front and Queen of the western sea:
Long have I watched and have waited and have wandered hither and thither
Asking a word with a voice unheard and now I would ask it of thee.
Thou who wast first to the headland-front and Queen of the western sea:
Long have I watched and have waited and have wandered hither and thither
Asking a word with a voice unheard and now I would ask it of thee.
The bitter tang of the sea is ours and the winds forever roaming;
The fleecy crest of the breaking wave and the ribbons of streaming kelp;
The fishers mending their nets in the sun, and the crickets in the gloaming,
And the seal's gruff bark, in the dew and the dark, and the whine of her hungry whelp.
The fleecy crest of the breaking wave and the ribbons of streaming kelp;
The fishers mending their nets in the sun, and the crickets in the gloaming,
And the seal's gruff bark, in the dew and the dark, and the whine of her hungry whelp.
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The wind and the wave pour over the rocks that are barren and bony;
Like ghosts of avalanches the fog sweeps down from the heights:
The star-fish sprawl in the briny meadows; the abalone
Hides, where it lies, its rainbow dyes in a dome of dim delights.
Like ghosts of avalanches the fog sweeps down from the heights:
The star-fish sprawl in the briny meadows; the abalone
Hides, where it lies, its rainbow dyes in a dome of dim delights.
There is spice of the pine in plenty and oak and the cypress tangle;
And the bleaching bones of the strand whale, and sea-shells near and far—
No soft refrain of old, old Spain, or voices in musical wrangle;
Nor the click of the clashing castanets nor the throb of the hushed guitar.
And the bleaching bones of the strand whale, and sea-shells near and far—
No soft refrain of old, old Spain, or voices in musical wrangle;
Nor the click of the clashing castanets nor the throb of the hushed guitar.
There is never a day in the year but tells of thy glory gone forever,
And never a dusk that hovers near in the sea-shell pink of the sky,
But we sit in the chill adobe shade with hearts that are past endeavor—
While the mists unfurl like the gates of pearl, as we watch the daylight die.
And never a dusk that hovers near in the sea-shell pink of the sky,
But we sit in the chill adobe shade with hearts that are past endeavor—
While the mists unfurl like the gates of pearl, as we watch the daylight die.
103
YO-SEMITE FALLS
O, under Heaven! is there one
More lovely offspring of the snow,
So cherished by the constant Sun,
So fostered by the gale below?
More lovely offspring of the snow,
So cherished by the constant Sun,
So fostered by the gale below?
In what far angel-haunted spring
Hast thou, fair stream, thy happy birth?
What is thy will that thou shouldst fling
Thy slender form from Heaven to earth?
Hast thou, fair stream, thy happy birth?
What is thy will that thou shouldst fling
Thy slender form from Heaven to earth?
The cloud thy sister is, the rain
Thy brother; and thy form inclined
Most spirit like, has often lain
Within the broad arms of the wind.
Thy brother; and thy form inclined
Most spirit like, has often lain
Within the broad arms of the wind.
Thy trailing silver laces sway
Upon the air how constantly!—
Thy misty tissue lifts away
A swinging ladder to the sky.
Upon the air how constantly!—
Thy misty tissue lifts away
A swinging ladder to the sky.
104
Forever falling, and to fall
Forever from that cloudy gate,
And crying with incessant call
Against the tumult of thy fate.
Forever from that cloudy gate,
And crying with incessant call
Against the tumult of thy fate.
The valley takes thee, trembling stream,
In smoky fragments on its breast;
Wake, giddy leaper, from thy dream.
Here is at last some peaceful rest.
In smoky fragments on its breast;
Wake, giddy leaper, from thy dream.
Here is at last some peaceful rest.
105
AT POINT LOBOS
Clear noon without obscurity,
No flake of cloud 'twixt heaven and me;
No mist athwart the Golden Gate:
The hearty sun doth willfully
His profuse beams precipitate.
No flake of cloud 'twixt heaven and me;
No mist athwart the Golden Gate:
The hearty sun doth willfully
His profuse beams precipitate.
I cling to humpéd rocks that kneel
On unswept sands, where breakers reel
In splendid curves, and pile their foam
In spongy hills, that slow congeal,
And dulce and drift-wood find a home.
On unswept sands, where breakers reel
In splendid curves, and pile their foam
In spongy hills, that slow congeal,
And dulce and drift-wood find a home.
We clasp the silver crescent set
Within the hazy parapet
That belts the horizon: and in glee
I count the fitful puffs that fret
The eternal levels of the sea.
Within the hazy parapet
That belts the horizon: and in glee
I count the fitful puffs that fret
The eternal levels of the sea.
I watch the waves that seem to breathe
And pant unceasingly beneath
Their silken coverings, that cringe,
As flecked with swirls of froth, they seethe,
And whip, and flutter to a fringe.
And pant unceasingly beneath
Their silken coverings, that cringe,
106
And whip, and flutter to a fringe.
Brown pipers run upon the sand
Like shadows; far out from the land
Gray gulls slide up against the blue;
One shining spar is sudden manned
By squadrons of their wrecking crew.
Like shadows; far out from the land
Gray gulls slide up against the blue;
One shining spar is sudden manned
By squadrons of their wrecking crew.
My city is beyond the hill;
I cannot hear its voices shrill:
I little heed its gains and greeds;
Here is my song, where waters spill
Their liquid strophes in the reeds.
I cannot hear its voices shrill:
I little heed its gains and greeds;
Here is my song, where waters spill
Their liquid strophes in the reeds.
And to this music I forswear
Whatever soils the world with care:
I see the listless waters toss—
I track the swift lark through the air—
I lie with sunlight on the moss.
Whatever soils the world with care:
I see the listless waters toss—
I track the swift lark through the air—
I lie with sunlight on the moss.
White caravans of cloud go by
Across the desert of bright sky,
And burly winds are following
The trailing pilgrims, as they fly
Over the grassy hills of spring.
Across the desert of bright sky,
And burly winds are following
The trailing pilgrims, as they fly
Over the grassy hills of spring.
107
What Mecca are they hastening to?
What princess journeying to woo
In the rich Orient? I am thrilled
With spice and odor they imbue—
I feed upon their manna spilled!
What princess journeying to woo
In the rich Orient? I am thrilled
With spice and odor they imbue—
I feed upon their manna spilled!
I strip my breast with eager mind,
To tarry and invite the wind
To my embrace: by curious spell
It quickens me with praises kind—
'Tis Ariel that blows his shell!
To tarry and invite the wind
To my embrace: by curious spell
It quickens me with praises kind—
'Tis Ariel that blows his shell!
Invisible, and soft as dews
Descending, he his love renews,
Delighting daisy colonies
That gloss them with the lustrous ooze
Of meadows steeped in ecstasies.
Descending, he his love renews,
Delighting daisy colonies
That gloss them with the lustrous ooze
Of meadows steeped in ecstasies.
Until the homely, sunburnt Heads,
The tumbling hills, in browns and reds,
And gray sand-hillocks, everywhere
Are buried in the mist that sheds
Its subtle snow upon the air.
The tumbling hills, in browns and reds,
And gray sand-hillocks, everywhere
Are buried in the mist that sheds
Its subtle snow upon the air.
And Prospero, aroused from sleep,
Recalls his spirits from the deep—
They cross the wave with stealthy tread,
Their shadows down upon me sweep—
And day is past, and joy is fled.
Recalls his spirits from the deep—
108
Their shadows down upon me sweep—
And day is past, and joy is fled.
I hear the dismal bells that shout
Their warning to the ships without:
The dripping sails are reefed and furled,
The pilots sound and grope about—
The Gate is barred against the world!
Their warning to the ships without:
The dripping sails are reefed and furled,
The pilots sound and grope about—
The Gate is barred against the world!
109
THE ANGELUS
At dawn, the joyful choir of bells
In consecrated citadels,
Flings on the sweet and drowsy air,
A brief, melodious call to prayer;
For Mary, Virgin meek and lowly,
Conceivéd of the Spirit Holy,
As the Lord's angel did declare.
Ave Maria!
In consecrated citadels,
Flings on the sweet and drowsy air,
A brief, melodious call to prayer;
For Mary, Virgin meek and lowly,
Conceivéd of the Spirit Holy,
As the Lord's angel did declare.
Ave Maria!
At noon, above the fretful street,
Our souls are lifted to repeat
The prayer, with low and wistful voice—
“According to Thy word, and choice,
Though sorrowful and heavy laden,
So be it to Thy handmaiden!”
Then all the sacred bells rejoice—
Ave Maria!
Our souls are lifted to repeat
The prayer, with low and wistful voice—
“According to Thy word, and choice,
Though sorrowful and heavy laden,
So be it to Thy handmaiden!”
Then all the sacred bells rejoice—
Ave Maria!
At eve, with roses in the west,
The daylight's withering bequest,
Ring, prayerful bells, while blossom bright
The stars, the lilies of the night;
Of all the songs the years have sung us,
“The Word made flesh has dwelt among us,”
Is still our ever new delight.
Ave Maria!
The daylight's withering bequest,
110
The stars, the lilies of the night;
Of all the songs the years have sung us,
“The Word made flesh has dwelt among us,”
Is still our ever new delight.
Ave Maria!
111
LAHAINA
Where the wave tumbles;
Where the reef rumbles;
Where the sea sweeps
Under bending palm-branches,
Sliding its snow-white
And swift avalanches:
Where the sails pass
O'er an ocean of glass.
Or trail their dull anchors
Down in the sea-grass.
Where the reef rumbles;
Where the sea sweeps
Under bending palm-branches,
Sliding its snow-white
And swift avalanches:
Where the sails pass
O'er an ocean of glass.
Or trail their dull anchors
Down in the sea-grass.
Where the hills smoulder;
Where the plains smoke;
Where the peaks shoulder
The clouds like a yoke;
Where the dear isle
Has a charm to beguile
As she lies in the lap
Of the seas that enfold her.
Where shadows falter;
Where the mist hovers
Like steam that covers
Some ancient altar.
Where the plains smoke;
Where the peaks shoulder
The clouds like a yoke;
Where the dear isle
Has a charm to beguile
As she lies in the lap
Of the seas that enfold her.
112
Where the mist hovers
Like steam that covers
Some ancient altar.
Where the sky rests
On deep wooded crests;
Where the clouds lag;
Where the sun floats
His glittering motes
Swimming the rainbows
That girdle the crag.
On deep wooded crests;
Where the clouds lag;
Where the sun floats
His glittering motes
Swimming the rainbows
That girdle the crag.
Where the newcomer
In deathless summer
Dreams away troubles;
Where the grape blossoms
And blows its sweet bubbles;
Where the goats cry
From the hillside corral;
Where the fish leap
In the weedy canal—
In the hollow lagoon
With its waters forsaken;
Where the dawn struggles
With night for an hour,
Then breaks like a tropical
Bird from its bower.
In deathless summer
Dreams away troubles;
Where the grape blossoms
And blows its sweet bubbles;
Where the goats cry
From the hillside corral;
Where the fish leap
In the weedy canal—
In the hollow lagoon
With its waters forsaken;
113
With night for an hour,
Then breaks like a tropical
Bird from its bower.
Where from the long leaves
The fresh dew is shaken;
Where the wind sleeps
And where the birds waken.
The fresh dew is shaken;
Where the wind sleeps
And where the birds waken.
114
TO A SON OF THE SOIL
Without the man with the seed
Who would do the sowing?
Without the man with the hoe
Who would do the hoeing?
Without the man with the scythe
Who would do the mowing?
God is the God of us all—
Blessings well bestowing.
Who would do the sowing?
Without the man with the hoe
Who would do the hoeing?
Without the man with the scythe
Who would do the mowing?
God is the God of us all—
Blessings well bestowing.
Son of the son of the soil—
Earth our fost'ring mother,—
Without the rich and the poor
Who would help the other?
Without the call to do good
Each one to another,
Sad were the world. Here's a hand,
Brother,—O my brother!
Earth our fost'ring mother,—
Without the rich and the poor
Who would help the other?
Without the call to do good
Each one to another,
Sad were the world. Here's a hand,
Brother,—O my brother!
115
THE FIRST RAIN
Between the ranks of thistle, down the road,The phantom flocks of sunbeams hastily,
With gilded feathers of the butterfly,
Disperse away; anon a weary load
Of grain, wild scented, being freshly mowed,
Comes smoking on; as from the brooding sky
There fall deliberate, still showers of shy
Big rain-drops all around. The teamsters goad
The swaying oxen, steaming, to a shed
For covering. The brown and dusty trees
Are whispering, as eagerly they spread
Their branches in the rain, and stand at ease,
And listen, yonder in the clover bed
The happy buzzing of ten thousand bees!
116
WIND AND WAVE
O when I hear at sea
The water on our lee,
I fancy that I hear the wind
That combs my hemlock tree:
The water on our lee,
I fancy that I hear the wind
That combs my hemlock tree:
But when beneath that tree
I listen eagerly,
I seem to hear the rushing wave
I heard far out at sea.
I listen eagerly,
I seem to hear the rushing wave
I heard far out at sea.
117
MAIDEN LOVE
Love, maiden Love, cries not within the gates
Where sit the watchers, watching hour by hour;
Love hideth by the wayside and Love waits
Breathless within her bower.
Where sit the watchers, watching hour by hour;
Love hideth by the wayside and Love waits
Breathless within her bower.
For faint her voice and very sweet to hear,
And dim her form, yet very fair to see,
O Love! my Love! it quiets all my fear
And hourly comforts me.
And dim her form, yet very fair to see,
O Love! my Love! it quiets all my fear
And hourly comforts me.
Who blindly loves, and boldly, he but errs;
Love answers not to each and all who cry;
Perchance this Love her willing love prefers
To those who pass her by.
Love answers not to each and all who cry;
Perchance this Love her willing love prefers
To those who pass her by.
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They know not where to seek her and to find;
They wander after her from night till morn;
Their messages are wasted on the wind
And all in all forlorn.
They wander after her from night till morn;
Their messages are wasted on the wind
And all in all forlorn.
Yet who shall lead the lover to his Love,
Or lead his Love to him, to ease his sigh?
No one I wot of out of Heaven above—
In sooth, not you, or I!
Or lead his Love to him, to ease his sigh?
No one I wot of out of Heaven above—
In sooth, not you, or I!
119
SAMARITANS
I heard a tender voice, as one
That cried from out the wilderness,
“Come hitherward, our longing son,
The woods thy heart shall bless.”
That cried from out the wilderness,
“Come hitherward, our longing son,
The woods thy heart shall bless.”
I took in hand my trusty staff,
And sailed across the narrow sea;
I of the running brooks could quaff,
The land would nourish me.
And sailed across the narrow sea;
I of the running brooks could quaff,
The land would nourish me.
I said: “Mine host can well afford,
His cup is sweetened to the brim.
Now, whoso asks me to his board
I will partake with him.”
His cup is sweetened to the brim.
Now, whoso asks me to his board
I will partake with him.”
All day I watched the country road,
All day my hopeful heart was kind;
But no man said where he abode
I would a welcome find.
All day my hopeful heart was kind;
But no man said where he abode
I would a welcome find.
120
All day I sought a friend, all day
My soul was fruitless in the search;
Men passed in silence on their way,
And left me in the lurch.
My soul was fruitless in the search;
Men passed in silence on their way,
And left me in the lurch.
They passed me on the other side,
I shivered in the clouding dusks.
At last I cried, “Must I abide
In hunger with the husks?”
I shivered in the clouding dusks.
At last I cried, “Must I abide
In hunger with the husks?”
A fir tree spread her matted eaves,
The moss grew soft beneath my head,
The wind swept over me the leaves,
And furnished all my bed.
The moss grew soft beneath my head,
The wind swept over me the leaves,
And furnished all my bed.
Some robins called me at the dawn
In matin time: we said our prayers;
Then seeing all my breakfast gone
They gave me some of theirs.
In matin time: we said our prayers;
Then seeing all my breakfast gone
They gave me some of theirs.
They showed me where the berries grew,
They found me a delicious spring;
We drank a jolly toast or two,
And laughed like anything.
They found me a delicious spring;
We drank a jolly toast or two,
And laughed like anything.
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We talked about the city folk
Across our berries and our drink:
“They can't see heaven for the smoke,”
Said Master Bob o' Link.
Across our berries and our drink:
“They can't see heaven for the smoke,”
Said Master Bob o' Link.
We laughed all day in huge delight,
And sang and gossiped unafraid;
When lo! at coming of the night
My bed was still unmade.
And sang and gossiped unafraid;
When lo! at coming of the night
My bed was still unmade.
I said, “I'd better turn about,”
But they opposed me in a breath.
I didn't like that sleeping out,
Lest I should catch my death.
But they opposed me in a breath.
I didn't like that sleeping out,
Lest I should catch my death.
They begged me to remain awhile,
And proffered nests; but they were small.
With songs they strove me to beguile
Without a bed at all.
And proffered nests; but they were small.
With songs they strove me to beguile
Without a bed at all.
Then berries are so plain a dish,
And water tasteless on the whole,
And still there was the endless wish
That haunts my restless soul.
And water tasteless on the whole,
And still there was the endless wish
That haunts my restless soul.
122
I said: “Sweet-voiced and wingéd friends,
You build your homes within my heart;
But distance—sometimes—something lends—
One glass before we part!”
You build your homes within my heart;
But distance—sometimes—something lends—
One glass before we part!”
We drank a toast at parting there;
“A speech,” they cried, with one accord.
Oh, there was music in the air
Till order was restored!
“A speech,” they cried, with one accord.
Oh, there was music in the air
Till order was restored!
They followed to the city boat,
Then in a body gave me cheers;
I drank the sweetness of each note
Into my thirsting ears.
Then in a body gave me cheers;
I drank the sweetness of each note
Into my thirsting ears.
I made a speech of compliment:
If country life should prove a bore,
“My room is yours quite free of rent,
I'll feed you at the door.
If country life should prove a bore,
“My room is yours quite free of rent,
I'll feed you at the door.
“You will not find our city streets
So soft and sweet a place of rest;
Not every friendly face one meets
Has love within the breast.
So soft and sweet a place of rest;
Not every friendly face one meets
Has love within the breast.
123
“You are the friends I find most true,
For you were kind when no one bid.
In trusting you I only do
As old Elijah did.”
For you were kind when no one bid.
In trusting you I only do
As old Elijah did.”
124
IN CONFERENCE
If I could fly the hateful town,
And flying, suddenly discover
Some velvet valley, softly brown,
With hills that elbow one another—
And flying, suddenly discover
Some velvet valley, softly brown,
With hills that elbow one another—
Those robust hills; so resolute
And satisfied, with brawny shoulders
Set close together, in their mute,
Firm way, that startles us beholders,
And satisfied, with brawny shoulders
Set close together, in their mute,
Firm way, that startles us beholders,
And gathered close about my vale,
To nurse it, sitting still together,
Its body-guard in autumn mail,
Like Arabs in their cloaks of leather,
To nurse it, sitting still together,
Its body-guard in autumn mail,
Like Arabs in their cloaks of leather,
I would dispose myself among
Their surging waves of grain, beseeching
Some brief translation of their tongue,
Some knowledge of their healthful preaching.
Their surging waves of grain, beseeching
Some brief translation of their tongue,
Some knowledge of their healthful preaching.
125
Oh! pleasure for a spirit vext,
A listening, after introduction,
To whispered echoes of their text,
And volumes of their pure instruction;
A listening, after introduction,
To whispered echoes of their text,
And volumes of their pure instruction;
While ever from the valley's rim
The wind peeps over as it passes,
And merrily and mild for him,
Blows silver clouds across the grasses;
The wind peeps over as it passes,
And merrily and mild for him,
Blows silver clouds across the grasses;
Brings down an apple with his hail—
Plump skin—was ever apple riper?
And frights, in hasty whirr, a quail
That was my musical chief piper.
Plump skin—was ever apple riper?
And frights, in hasty whirr, a quail
That was my musical chief piper.
Full-bosomed quail in mottled casque
And plume, and silken bib to cover
Your panting throat, I only ask,
Return again unto your lover!
And plume, and silken bib to cover
Your panting throat, I only ask,
Return again unto your lover!
Now swoops an inky cloud of birds
Into the valley's deepest dimple;
They storm me with their teasing words,
Yet please me with their gambols simple.
Into the valley's deepest dimple;
They storm me with their teasing words,
Yet please me with their gambols simple.
126
I wish those five in epaulets
Of rose would quell the boisterous greeting;
But I suppose each one forgets
He interrupts my quiet meeting.
Of rose would quell the boisterous greeting;
But I suppose each one forgets
He interrupts my quiet meeting.
Their little hearts with song-delight
Are over-full—sufficient reason;
The pretty things are pardoned quite
For only singing out of season.
Are over-full—sufficient reason;
The pretty things are pardoned quite
For only singing out of season.
Was that a sprinkle on my face,
Descending from this sky of blueness?
Baptism in this holy place
Is fitting; for a sense of newness
Descending from this sky of blueness?
Baptism in this holy place
Is fitting; for a sense of newness
Pervades these vestibules of earth—
Sacristies, most securely hidden—
These halls, appropriate to new birth,
Where all unto the feast are bidden.
Sacristies, most securely hidden—
These halls, appropriate to new birth,
Where all unto the feast are bidden.
How silent has the valley grown—
The birds have hushed their playful riot;
A murmur, as a bee's dull drone,
Is all that stirs the perfect quiet.
The birds have hushed their playful riot;
A murmur, as a bee's dull drone,
Is all that stirs the perfect quiet.
127
Transparent curtains of the rain
Are sweeping down to me, delighting
The dusty trees; where I have lain
The broken grasses now are righting.
Are sweeping down to me, delighting
The dusty trees; where I have lain
The broken grasses now are righting.
The swarms of blackbirds lift away;
The most demoralized of creatures
Myself will be, if I delay—
So now, farewell, my wholesome preachers!
The most demoralized of creatures
Myself will be, if I delay—
So now, farewell, my wholesome preachers!
With your broad foreheads in the mist,
You cannot show a sign of sorrow;
But you are honest, keep the tryst—
I'll worship with you on to-morrow.
You cannot show a sign of sorrow;
But you are honest, keep the tryst—
I'll worship with you on to-morrow.
128
BY THE BROOK
Down across the hill's low brow—
A slender, silver fillet—
Nothing is so musical
As my little rillet.
Ah! that laughing song of yours!
Delicately trill it.
A slender, silver fillet—
Nothing is so musical
As my little rillet.
Ah! that laughing song of yours!
Delicately trill it.
Shall I fret you, hasty brook?
Shall I mar your paces—
Weaver, weaving silver threads
Into silver laces,
Round about and in and out
The sunniest of places?
Shall I mar your paces—
Weaver, weaving silver threads
Into silver laces,
Round about and in and out
The sunniest of places?
Loose your tresses in the chase,
Slip about the border
Of yon garden wall, and catch
A blossom, gay marauder!
What shall please my love of ease
As your sweet disorder?
Slip about the border
Of yon garden wall, and catch
A blossom, gay marauder!
What shall please my love of ease
As your sweet disorder?
129
While the world goes jogging on,
Presently I miss you;
Life is made of other stuff
Than your limpid tissue.
Turn a mill, you lazy rill,
While I wait the issue.
Presently I miss you;
Life is made of other stuff
Than your limpid tissue.
Turn a mill, you lazy rill,
While I wait the issue.
Let the beetle while away
The Summer with its drumming,
Foam you at the whirling wheel,
And babble to its humming.
Toil away the livelong day—
It is more becoming.
The Summer with its drumming,
Foam you at the whirling wheel,
And babble to its humming.
Toil away the livelong day—
It is more becoming.
Creep beneath the sweeping bough,
While each ripple twinkles,
Starlike, in a sky of leaves,
And your frothy crinkles
Form a leathern apron there,
Full of creamy wrinkles.
While each ripple twinkles,
Starlike, in a sky of leaves,
And your frothy crinkles
Form a leathern apron there,
Full of creamy wrinkles.
When the bald and brazen day
Hath donned his dusky visor,
Still you flow a-down apace,
While night's myriad eyes are
Watching you; for what they view
No one is the wiser.
Hath donned his dusky visor,
Still you flow a-down apace,
While night's myriad eyes are
Watching you; for what they view
No one is the wiser.
130
THROUGH THE SHADOWS
All in a dream in the twilight,
Glimmering stars in their glee,
List to the murmur of far-off
Ripples of tropic sea.
Glimmering stars in their glee,
List to the murmur of far-off
Ripples of tropic sea.
Low in the westward bleeding
The sun slowly sinks in the wave—
Staining and tinting with crimson
The corals that fashion his grave.
The sun slowly sinks in the wave—
Staining and tinting with crimson
The corals that fashion his grave.
Out through the mist and the vapor,
The cloudy wreaths and the rings,
Sunlight has flown like a butterfly
Brushing the gold from its wings.
The cloudy wreaths and the rings,
Sunlight has flown like a butterfly
Brushing the gold from its wings.
Quiet is coming and folding
Our troubles away; and our woes
Are hushed in the cool, fragrant shadows,
Like bees in the heart of a rose.
Our troubles away; and our woes
Are hushed in the cool, fragrant shadows,
Like bees in the heart of a rose.
131
Come on little stars all silver,
For the terrible sun has gone,
And out of the eastern shadows
The moon sets sail for the dawn.
For the terrible sun has gone,
And out of the eastern shadows
The moon sets sail for the dawn.
Pale are the stars—for the morning
Is blooming fresh as the May;
So through the shadows we wander,
Seeking the perfect day.
Is blooming fresh as the May;
So through the shadows we wander,
Seeking the perfect day.
132
YO-SEMITE
Innumerable lessons to relateAnd myriad voices rushing to baptize
These chosen lips, which send into the skies
Their oracles, to awe and elevate.
The world's chief mouth-piece is this marvelous gate,
That lavish nature wholly sanctifies
With majesty and beauty. Here my eyes
Some revelation seem to penetrate;
For God, begetting mysteries from the first,
All glorified, stood down upon the rock,
And smiting through, the curious earth was riven—
A thousand silver arteries were burst—
The mountains staggered from the fearful shock,
With heart laid bare to the soft eyes of Heaven.
133
TAMALPAIS
How glorious thy dwelling place!
How manifold thy beauties are!
I do not reckon time or space—
I worship thy exceeding grace,
And hasten, as a flying star,
To reach thy splendor from afar.
How manifold thy beauties are!
I do not reckon time or space—
I worship thy exceeding grace,
And hasten, as a flying star,
To reach thy splendor from afar.
The first flush of thy morning face
Is dear to me; thy shadowless,
Broad noon that doth all sweets confess;
But fairer is thy even-fall,
When seem to cry with airy call
Thy roses in the wilderness.
Thy deserts blithely blossoming,
Decoy me for the love of Spring.
With all thy glare and glitter spent,
Thy quiet dusk so eloquent;
Thy veil of vapors—the caress
Of Zephyrus, right cool and sweet—
I cannot wait to love thee less—
I cling to thee with full content,
And fall a-dreaming at thy feet.
Anon the sudden evening gun
Awakes me to the sinking sun
And golden glories at the Gate.
The full, strong tides, that slowly run,
Their sliding waters modulate
To indolent soft winds that wait
And lift a long web newly spun.
I see the groves of scented bay,
And night is in their fragrant mass;
But tassel-shadows swing and sway,
And spangles flash and fade away
Upon their glimmering leaves of glass—
And there a fence of rail, quite gray,
With ribs of sunlight in the grass—
And here a branch full well arrayed
With struggling beams a moment stayed—
Like panting butterflies afraid.
Is dear to me; thy shadowless,
Broad noon that doth all sweets confess;
But fairer is thy even-fall,
When seem to cry with airy call
Thy roses in the wilderness.
Thy deserts blithely blossoming,
Decoy me for the love of Spring.
With all thy glare and glitter spent,
Thy quiet dusk so eloquent;
Thy veil of vapors—the caress
Of Zephyrus, right cool and sweet—
I cannot wait to love thee less—
I cling to thee with full content,
And fall a-dreaming at thy feet.
134
Awakes me to the sinking sun
And golden glories at the Gate.
The full, strong tides, that slowly run,
Their sliding waters modulate
To indolent soft winds that wait
And lift a long web newly spun.
I see the groves of scented bay,
And night is in their fragrant mass;
But tassel-shadows swing and sway,
And spangles flash and fade away
Upon their glimmering leaves of glass—
And there a fence of rail, quite gray,
With ribs of sunlight in the grass—
And here a branch full well arrayed
With struggling beams a moment stayed—
Like panting butterflies afraid.
Lo! shadows slipping down the slope
And filling every narrow vale,
The shining waters growing pale—
The mellow-burning star of Hope
And in the wave its silver trope.
A slender shallop, feather-frail,
A pencil-mast and rocking sail.
The glooms that gather at the Gate;
The somber lines against the sky,
While dizzy gnats about me fly,
And overhead the birds go by,
Dropping a note so crystal clear,
The spirit cannot choose but hear.
The hollow moon, and up between
An oak with yard-long mosses, green
In sunlight, now as dull as crêpe;
The mountain softened in its shape,
Its perfect symmetry attained—
And swathed in velvet folds, and stained
With dusty purple of the grape.
And filling every narrow vale,
The shining waters growing pale—
The mellow-burning star of Hope
And in the wave its silver trope.
A slender shallop, feather-frail,
A pencil-mast and rocking sail.
135
The somber lines against the sky,
While dizzy gnats about me fly,
And overhead the birds go by,
Dropping a note so crystal clear,
The spirit cannot choose but hear.
The hollow moon, and up between
An oak with yard-long mosses, green
In sunlight, now as dull as crêpe;
The mountain softened in its shape,
Its perfect symmetry attained—
And swathed in velvet folds, and stained
With dusty purple of the grape.
136
DRIFTING
A lark's song rippled in the air,
With liquid trill that smote the dawn,
He hastened down the dewy lawn
And found the morning breezes fair;
With liquid trill that smote the dawn,
He hastened down the dewy lawn
And found the morning breezes fair;
And half the anchor-cable in,
And half the sails were loosed, and full
Of salty winds; with steady pull
He bade the frothing eddies spin
And half the sails were loosed, and full
Of salty winds; with steady pull
He bade the frothing eddies spin
And whirl about his dripping oar,
As on he sped and joined the bark;
Then from the deck he leaned to mark
The wondrous beauty of the shore.
As on he sped and joined the bark;
Then from the deck he leaned to mark
The wondrous beauty of the shore.
They seemed as falling scales, his tears,
From blinded eyes, that would not see
How comfort in that home could be,
Though comfort kept him all his years.
From blinded eyes, that would not see
How comfort in that home could be,
Though comfort kept him all his years.
137
High on the yard a sailor sang:
“O! dusky love beyond the sea;
O! dusky love that longs for me”—
“And thee,” the mocking echoes rang.
“O! dusky love beyond the sea;
O! dusky love that longs for me”—
“And thee,” the mocking echoes rang.
“There is a glory in the gale—
An idle dream will suit the calm,
And talk of leafy thatch and palm—
Shall fill the watch with song and tale.
An idle dream will suit the calm,
And talk of leafy thatch and palm—
Shall fill the watch with song and tale.
“Lo! yonder is the star that guides
The mariner; we lift our hands
About the world, in many lands;
For what are winds, and what are tides,
The mariner; we lift our hands
About the world, in many lands;
For what are winds, and what are tides,
“But spirits luring us abroad?
Rise fragrant isles before our eyes—
A pyre for passion's sacrifice,
Where pleasure is our only god!”
Rise fragrant isles before our eyes—
A pyre for passion's sacrifice,
Where pleasure is our only god!”
[OMITTED]
A hundred trilling songs of larks
A hundred blooming dawns may greet,
But who shall stay the wanderer's feet,
And call his spirit from the dark?
A hundred blooming dawns may greet,
But who shall stay the wanderer's feet,
And call his spirit from the dark?
138
DECREES
I sit in sorrow by the watery gates,
A-questioning the Fates.
A-questioning the Fates.
I ask: “What manner of strange ships are these
Slipping adown the seas?
Slipping adown the seas?
“Slipping adown the slanting seas—what sail
Is yonder—calm and pale?”
Is yonder—calm and pale?”
Then the Fates answer me: “That goodly bark
Braving the waters dark
Braving the waters dark
“So fearlessly—the cross upon her mast—
Is Trust, come home at last.
Is Trust, come home at last.
“Yon quivering craft that veers and puts about,
Is the long-cruising Doubt.
Is the long-cruising Doubt.
139
“This dancing galley that the waters mock
Shall strike upon the rock;
Shall strike upon the rock;
“'Tis Chance, a pleasure yacht; her ribs shall bleach
Upon the blistering beach.”
Upon the blistering beach.”
Yet still I see a flamelike, shining cloud,
And eager cry aloud:
And eager cry aloud:
“That other sail that waits upon the wind—
What is her name and kind?”
What is her name and kind?”
To me the Fates: “Though lying still and wan
She shall approach anon;
She shall approach anon;
“So nobly manned—with any gale to cope—
Behold the trusty Hope.”
Behold the trusty Hope.”
“Quicken the winds, I pray you, worthy Fates;
In her are stored my freights!
In her are stored my freights!
“Nor am I fit for life of any sort,
Till she shall reach the port.”
Till she shall reach the port.”
140
MY FRIEND
I have a friend who is so true to me,
We may not parted be.
We may not parted be.
Though I have strayed, on to the uttermost,
Yet is his voice not lost.
Yet is his voice not lost.
If I am madly-deaf for having erred,
Still may I hear his word.
Still may I hear his word.
If sin hath slain mine honor, straight appears
The river of his tears,
The river of his tears,
Wherein I find redemption; tenderly
He woos my fear away
He woos my fear away
And searches out some star of hope, above,
So boundless is his love.
So boundless is his love.
When from the loathéd grave I shall arise,
He'll hail me from the skies.
He'll hail me from the skies.
141
Who else would seek me in corruption's dress
With a so kind caress?
With a so kind caress?
Though I am weak, there is a hope of power;
He is my mighty tower;
He is my mighty tower;
Like as a flame to fright the gloom away;
He is my perfect day.
He is my perfect day.
I am the homely bulb that tops the reed—
He is the precious seed.
He is the precious seed.
I am the rudest shell the vext-waves whirl—
He is the priceless pearl.
He is the priceless pearl.
Thou art indeed my friend while ages roll,
O, thou, my deathless soul!
O, thou, my deathless soul!
142
A PROVERB PROVED
Will My Love's so trustful eyes
Ever fail me, though I please
From their depths to draw supplies
That could waste the seas?
Ever fail me, though I please
From their depths to draw supplies
That could waste the seas?
Will those pure delicious springs
Ever fail me? Wretched day
When my heart no longer brings
Its life-draught away!
Ever fail me? Wretched day
When my heart no longer brings
Its life-draught away!
Do they nourish my desire,
But to break the golden bowl?
At their margin bid expire
My all-thirsting soul?
But to break the golden bowl?
At their margin bid expire
My all-thirsting soul?
No; a voice forever tells
That My Love's so trustful eyes
Are th' unfathomed crystal wells
Where within truth lies.
That My Love's so trustful eyes
Are th' unfathomed crystal wells
Where within truth lies.
143
AFTERMATH
Out of my life has gone
So much that was worth the living
I watch with dimmed eyes for the dawn
Hoping, despairing, forgiving.
So much that was worth the living
I watch with dimmed eyes for the dawn
Hoping, despairing, forgiving.
Hoping that hope may live,
Despairing lest fate us sever,
Forgiving whate'er's to forgive,
Forever, and ever, and ever.
Despairing lest fate us sever,
Forgiving whate'er's to forgive,
Forever, and ever, and ever.
144
“I AM THE WAY!”
I am the way, fear not, but follow me:Not thro' the waters flowing still and sweet;
Not thro' the meadows gracious to the feet;
But in the bitter dust and heat of day.—
I am the way!
| Poems of Charles Warren Stoddard . | |