 | Dreams and Dust |  |
LYRICS
"KING PANDION, HE IS DEAD"
"King Pandion, he is dead;
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead."
—SHAKESPEARE.
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead."
—SHAKESPEARE.
DREAMERS, drinkers, rebel youth,
Where's the folly free and fine
You and I mistook for truth?
Wits and wastrels, friends of wine,
Wags and poets, friends of mine,
Gleams and glamors all are fled,
Fires and frenzies half divine!
King Pandion, he is dead!
Where's the folly free and fine
You and I mistook for truth?
Wits and wastrels, friends of wine,
Wags and poets, friends of mine,
Gleams and glamors all are fled,
Fires and frenzies half divine!
King Pandion, he is dead!
Time's unmannerly, uncouth!
Here's the crow's-foot for a sign!
And, upon our brows, forsooth,
Wits and wastrels, friends of wine,
Time hath set his mark malign;
Frost has touched us, heart and head,
Cooled the blood and dulled the eyne:
King Pandion, he is dead!
Here's the crow's-foot for a sign!
And, upon our brows, forsooth,
Wits and wastrels, friends of wine,
Time hath set his mark malign;
Frost has touched us, heart and head,
Cooled the blood and dulled the eyne:
King Pandion, he is dead!
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Time's a tyrant without ruth:—
Fancies used to bloom and twine
Round a common tavern booth,
Wits and wastrels, friends of wine,
In that youth of mine and thine!
'Tis for youth the feast is spread;
When we dine now—we but dine!—
King Pandion, he is dead!
Fancies used to bloom and twine
Round a common tavern booth,
Wits and wastrels, friends of wine,
In that youth of mine and thine!
'Tis for youth the feast is spread;
When we dine now—we but dine!—
King Pandion, he is dead!
How our dreams would glow and shine,
Wits and wastrels, friends of wine,
Ere the drab Hour came that said:
King Pandion, he is dead!
Wits and wastrels, friends of wine,
Ere the drab Hour came that said:
King Pandion, he is dead!
127
DAVID TO BATHSHEBA
VERY red are the roses of Sharon,
But redder thy mouth,
There is nard, there is myrrh, in En Gedi,
From the uplands of Lebanon, heavy
With balsam, the winds
Drift freighted and scented and cedarn—
But thy mouth is more precious than spices!
But redder thy mouth,
There is nard, there is myrrh, in En Gedi,
From the uplands of Lebanon, heavy
With balsam, the winds
Drift freighted and scented and cedarn—
But thy mouth is more precious than spices!
Thy breasts are twin lilies of Kedron;
White lilies, that sleep
In the shallows where loitering Kedron
Broadens out and is lost in the Jordan;
Globed lilies, so white
That David, thy King, thy beloved
Declareth them meet for his gardens.
White lilies, that sleep
In the shallows where loitering Kedron
Broadens out and is lost in the Jordan;
Globed lilies, so white
That David, thy King, thy beloved
Declareth them meet for his gardens.
Under the stars very strangely
The still waters gleam;
Deep down in the waters of Hebron
The soul of the starlight is sunken,
But deep in thine eyes
Stirs a more wonderful secret
Than pools ever learn of the starlight.
The still waters gleam;
Deep down in the waters of Hebron
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The soul of the starlight is sunken,
But deep in thine eyes
Stirs a more wonderful secret
Than pools ever learn of the starlight.
129
THE JESTERS
A TOAST to the Fools!
Pierrot, Pantaloon,
Harlequin, Clown,
Merry-Andrew, Buffoon—
Touchstone and Triboulet—all of the tribe.—
Dancer and jester and singer and scribe.
We sigh over Yorick—(unfortunate fool,
Ten thousand Hamlets have fumbled his skull!)—
But where is the Hamlet to weep o'er the biers
Of his brothers?
And where is the poet solicits our tears
For the others?
They have passed from the world and left never a sign,
And few of us now have the courage to sing
That their whimsies made life a more livable thing—
We, that are left of the line,
Let us drink to the jesters—in gooseberry wine!
Then here's to the Fools!
Flouting the sages
Through history's pages
And driving the dreary old seers into rages—
The humbugging Magis
Who prate that the wages
Of Folly are Death—toast the Fools of all ages!
They have ridden like froth down the whirlpools of time,
They have jingled their caps in the councils of state,
They have snared half the wisdom of life in a rhyme,
And tripped into nothingness grinning at fate—
Ho, brothers mine,
Brim up the glasses with gooseberry wine!
Though the prince with his firman,
The judge in his ermine,
Affirm and determine
Bold words need the whip,
Let them spare us the rod and remit us the sermon,
For Death has a quip
Of the tomb and the vermin
That will silence at last the most impudent lip!
Is the world but a bubble, a bauble, a joke?
Heigho, Brother Fools, now your bubble is broke,
Do you ask for a tear?—or is it worth while?
Here's a sigh for you, then—but it ends in a smile!
Ho, Brother Death,
We would laugh at you, too—if you spared us the breath!
Pierrot, Pantaloon,
Harlequin, Clown,
Merry-Andrew, Buffoon—
Touchstone and Triboulet—all of the tribe.—
Dancer and jester and singer and scribe.
We sigh over Yorick—(unfortunate fool,
Ten thousand Hamlets have fumbled his skull!)—
But where is the Hamlet to weep o'er the biers
Of his brothers?
And where is the poet solicits our tears
For the others?
They have passed from the world and left never a sign,
And few of us now have the courage to sing
That their whimsies made life a more livable thing—
We, that are left of the line,
Let us drink to the jesters—in gooseberry wine!
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Then here's to the Fools!
Flouting the sages
Through history's pages
And driving the dreary old seers into rages—
The humbugging Magis
Who prate that the wages
Of Folly are Death—toast the Fools of all ages!
They have ridden like froth down the whirlpools of time,
They have jingled their caps in the councils of state,
They have snared half the wisdom of life in a rhyme,
And tripped into nothingness grinning at fate—
Ho, brothers mine,
Brim up the glasses with gooseberry wine!
Though the prince with his firman,
The judge in his ermine,
Affirm and determine
Bold words need the whip,
Let them spare us the rod and remit us the sermon,
For Death has a quip
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Of the tomb and the vermin
That will silence at last the most impudent lip!
Is the world but a bubble, a bauble, a joke?
Heigho, Brother Fools, now your bubble is broke,
Do you ask for a tear?—or is it worth while?
Here's a sigh for you, then—but it ends in a smile!
Ho, Brother Death,
We would laugh at you, too—if you spared us the breath!
132
"MARY, MARY, QUITE CONTRARY"
"Mary, Mary, quite contrary,How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle-shells
And pretty maids all in a row!"
—Mother Goose.
MARY, Mistress Mary,
How does your garden grow?
From your uplands airy,
Mary, Mistress Mary,
Float the chimes of faery
When the breezes blow!
Mary, Mistress Mary,
How does your garden grow?
How does your garden grow?
From your uplands airy,
Mary, Mistress Mary,
Float the chimes of faery
When the breezes blow!
Mary, Mistress Mary,
How does your garden grow?
With flower-maidens, singing
Among the morning hills—
With silvern bells a-ringing,
With flower-maidens singing,
With vocal lilies, springing
By chanting daffodils;
With flower-maidens, singing
Among the morning hills!
Among the morning hills—
With silvern bells a-ringing,
With flower-maidens singing,
With vocal lilies, springing
By chanting daffodils;
With flower-maidens, singing
Among the morning hills!
133
THE TRIOLET
YOUR triolet should glimmer
Like a butterfly;
In golden light, or dimmer,
Your triolet should glimmer,
Tremble, turn, and shimmer,
Flash, and flutter by;
Your triolet should glimmer
Like a butterfly.
Like a butterfly;
In golden light, or dimmer,
Your triolet should glimmer,
Tremble, turn, and shimmer,
Flash, and flutter by;
Your triolet should glimmer
Like a butterfly.
134
FROM THE BRIDGE
HELD and thrilled by the vision
I stood, as the twilight died,
Where the great bridge soars like a song
Over the crawling tide—
I stood, as the twilight died,
Where the great bridge soars like a song
Over the crawling tide—
Stood on the middle arch—
And night flooded in from the bay,
And wonderful under the stars
Before me the city lay;
And night flooded in from the bay,
And wonderful under the stars
Before me the city lay;
Girdled with swinging waters—
Guarded by ship on ship—
A gem that the strong old ocean
Held in his giant grip;
Guarded by ship on ship—
A gem that the strong old ocean
Held in his giant grip;
There was play of shadows above
And drifting gleams below,
And magic of shifting waves
That darkle and glance and glow;
And drifting gleams below,
And magic of shifting waves
That darkle and glance and glow;
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Dusky and purple and splendid,
Banded with loops of light,
The tall towers rose like pillars,
Lifting the dome of night;
Banded with loops of light,
The tall towers rose like pillars,
Lifting the dome of night;
The gliding cars of traffic
Slid swiftly up and down
Like monsters, fiery mailed,
Leaping across the town.
Slid swiftly up and down
Like monsters, fiery mailed,
Leaping across the town.
Not planned with a thought of beauty;
Built by a lawless breed;
Builded of lust for power,
Builded of gold and greed.
Built by a lawless breed;
Builded of lust for power,
Builded of gold and greed.
Risen out of the trader's
Brutal and sordid wars—
And yet, behold! a city
Wonderful under the stars!
Brutal and sordid wars—
And yet, behold! a city
Wonderful under the stars!
136
"PALADINS, PALADINS, YOUTH NOBLE-HEARTED"
GALAHADS, Galahads, Percivals, gallop!
Bayards, to the saddle!—the clangorous trumpets,
Hoarse with their ecstasy, call to the mellay.
Paladins, Paladins, Rolands flame-hearted,
Olivers, Olivers, follow the bugles!
Bayards, to the saddle!—the clangorous trumpets,
Hoarse with their ecstasy, call to the mellay.
Paladins, Paladins, Rolands flame-hearted,
Olivers, Olivers, follow the bugles!
Girt with the glory and glamor of power,
Error sits throned in the high place of justice;
Paladins, Paladins, youth noble-hearted,
Saddle and spear, for the battle-flags beckon!
Thrust the keen steel through the throat of the liar.
Error sits throned in the high place of justice;
Paladins, Paladins, youth noble-hearted,
Saddle and spear, for the battle-flags beckon!
Thrust the keen steel through the throat of the liar.
Star (or San Grael) that illumines thy pathway,
Follow it, follow that far Ideal!—
Thine not the guerdon to gain it or grasp it;
Soul of thee, passing, ascendeth unto it,
Augmenting its brightness for them that come after.
Follow it, follow that far Ideal!—
Thine not the guerdon to gain it or grasp it;
Soul of thee, passing, ascendeth unto it,
Augmenting its brightness for them that come after.
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Heed then the call of the trumpets, the trumpets,
Hoarse with the fervor, the frenzy of battle,—
Paladins, Paladins, saddle! to saddle!
Bide not, abide not, God's bugles are calling!—
Thrust the sharp sword through the heart of the liar.
Hoarse with the fervor, the frenzy of battle,—
Paladins, Paladins, saddle! to saddle!
Bide not, abide not, God's bugles are calling!—
Thrust the sharp sword through the heart of the liar.
138
"MY LANDS, NOT THINE"
MY lands, not thine, we look upon,
Friend Croesus, hill and vale and lawn.
Mine every woodland madrigal,
And mine thy singing waterfall
That vaguely hints of Helicon.
Friend Croesus, hill and vale and lawn.
Mine every woodland madrigal,
And mine thy singing waterfall
That vaguely hints of Helicon.
Mark how thine upland slopes have drawn
A golden glory from the dawn!—
Fool's gold?—thy dullness proves them all My lands—not thine!
A golden glory from the dawn!—
Fool's gold?—thy dullness proves them all My lands—not thine!
For when all title-deeds are gone,
Still, still will satyr, nymph, and faun
Through brake and covert pipe and call
In dances bold and bacchanal—
For them, for me, you hold in pawn, My lands—not thine!
Still, still will satyr, nymph, and faun
Through brake and covert pipe and call
In dances bold and bacchanal—
For them, for me, you hold in pawn, My lands—not thine!
139
TO A DANCING DOLL
FORMAL, quaint, precise, and trim,
You begin your steps demurely—
There's a spirit almost prim
In the feet that move so surely,
So discreetly, to the chime
Of the music that so sweetly
Marks the time.
You begin your steps demurely—
There's a spirit almost prim
In the feet that move so surely,
So discreetly, to the chime
Of the music that so sweetly
Marks the time.
But the chords begin to tinkle
Quicker,
And your feet they flash and flicker—
Twinkle!—
Flash and flutter to a tricksy
Fickle meter;
And you foot it like a pixie—
Only fleeter!
Quicker,
And your feet they flash and flicker—
Twinkle!—
Flash and flutter to a tricksy
Fickle meter;
And you foot it like a pixie—
Only fleeter!
Now our current, dowdy
Things—
"Turkey-trots" and rowdy
Flings—
For they made you overseas
In politer times than these,
In an age when grace could please,
Ere St. Vitus
Clutched and shook us, spine and knees;—
Loosed a plague of jerks to smite us!
Things—
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"Turkey-trots" and rowdy
Flings—
For they made you overseas
In politer times than these,
In an age when grace could please,
Ere St. Vitus
Clutched and shook us, spine and knees;—
Loosed a plague of jerks to smite us!
Well, our day is far more brisk
And our manner rather slacker),
And you are nothing more than bisque
And lacquer—
But you shame us with the graces
Of courtlier times and places
When the cheap
And vulgar wasn't "art"—
When the faunal prance and leap
Weren't "smart."
And our manner rather slacker),
And you are nothing more than bisque
And lacquer—
But you shame us with the graces
Of courtlier times and places
When the cheap
And vulgar wasn't "art"—
When the faunal prance and leap
Weren't "smart."
Have we lost the trick of wedding
Grace to pleasure?
Must we clown it at the bidding
Of some tawdry, common measure?
Grace to pleasure?
Must we clown it at the bidding
Of some tawdry, common measure?
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Can't you school us in the graces
Of your pose and dainty paces?—
Now the chords begin to tinkle
Quicker—
And your feet they flash and flicker—
Twinkle!—
And you mock us as you featly
Swing and flutter to the chime
Of the music-box that sweetly
Marks the time!
Of your pose and dainty paces?—
Now the chords begin to tinkle
Quicker—
And your feet they flash and flicker—
Twinkle!—
And you mock us as you featly
Swing and flutter to the chime
Of the music-box that sweetly
Marks the time!
142
LOWER NEW YORK—A STORM
WHITE wing'd below the darkling clouds
The driven sea-gulls wheel;
The roused sea flings a storm against
The towers of stone and steel.
The driven sea-gulls wheel;
The roused sea flings a storm against
The towers of stone and steel.
The very voice of ocean rings
Along the shaken street—
Dusk, storm, and beauty whelm the world
Where sea and city meet—
Along the shaken street—
Dusk, storm, and beauty whelm the world
Where sea and city meet—
But what care they for flashing wings,
Quick beauty, loud refrain,
These huddled thousands, deaf and blind
To all but greed and gain?
Quick beauty, loud refrain,
These huddled thousands, deaf and blind
To all but greed and gain?
143
AT SUNSET
THE sun-god stooped from out the sky
To kiss the flushing sea,
While all the winds of all the world
Made jovial melody;
The night came hurrying up to hide
The lovers with her tent;
The governed thunders, rank on rank,
Stood mute with wonderment;
The pale worn moon, a jealous shade,
Peered from the firmament;
The early stars, the curious stars,
Came peering forth to see
What mighty nuptials shook the world
With such an ecstasy
Whenas the sun-god left the sky
To mingle with the sea.
To kiss the flushing sea,
While all the winds of all the world
Made jovial melody;
The night came hurrying up to hide
The lovers with her tent;
The governed thunders, rank on rank,
Stood mute with wonderment;
The pale worn moon, a jealous shade,
Peered from the firmament;
The early stars, the curious stars,
Came peering forth to see
What mighty nuptials shook the world
With such an ecstasy
Whenas the sun-god left the sky
To mingle with the sea.
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A CHRISTMAS GIFT
ALACK-A-DAY for poverty!
What jewels my mind doth give to thee!
What jewels my mind doth give to thee!
Carved agate stone porphyrogene,
Green emerald and beryl green,
Deep sapphine and pale amethyst,
Sly opal, cloaking with a mist
The levin of its love elate,
Shy brides' pearls, flushed and delicate,
Sea-colored lapis lazuli,
Sardonyx and chalcedony,
Enkindling diamond, candid gold,
Red rubies and red garnets bold:
And all their humors should be blent
In one intolerable blaze,
Barbaric, fierce, and opulent,
To dazzle him that dared to gaze!
Alack-a-day for poverty:
My rhymes are all you get of me!
Yet, if your heart receive, behold!
The worthless words are set in gold.
Green emerald and beryl green,
Deep sapphine and pale amethyst,
Sly opal, cloaking with a mist
The levin of its love elate,
Shy brides' pearls, flushed and delicate,
Sea-colored lapis lazuli,
Sardonyx and chalcedony,
Enkindling diamond, candid gold,
Red rubies and red garnets bold:
And all their humors should be blent
In one intolerable blaze,
Barbaric, fierce, and opulent,
To dazzle him that dared to gaze!
145
Alack-a-day for poverty:
My rhymes are all you get of me!
Yet, if your heart receive, behold!
The worthless words are set in gold.
146
SILVIA
I STILL remember how she moved
Among the rathe, wild blooms she loved,
(When Spring came tip-toe down the slopes,
Atremble 'twixt her doubts and hopes,
Half fearful and all virginal)—
How Silvia sought this dell to call
Her flowers into full festival,
And chid them with this madrigal:
Among the rathe, wild blooms she loved,
(When Spring came tip-toe down the slopes,
Atremble 'twixt her doubts and hopes,
Half fearful and all virginal)—
How Silvia sought this dell to call
Her flowers into full festival,
And chid them with this madrigal:
"The busy spider hangs the brush
With filmy gossamers,
The frogs are croaking in the creek,
The sluggish blacksnake stirs,
But still the ground is bare of bloom
Beneath the fragrant firs.
With filmy gossamers,
The frogs are croaking in the creek,
The sluggish blacksnake stirs,
But still the ground is bare of bloom
Beneath the fragrant firs.
"Arise, arise, O briar rose,
And sleepy violet!
Awake, awake, anemone,
Your wintry dreams forget—
For shame, you tardy marigold,
Are you not budded yet?
And sleepy violet!
Awake, awake, anemone,
Your wintry dreams forget—
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For shame, you tardy marigold,
Are you not budded yet?
"The Swallow's back, and claims the eaves
That last year were his home;
The Robin follows where the plow
Breaks up the crusted loam;
And Red-wings spies the Thrush and pipes:
'Look! Speckle-breast is come!'
That last year were his home;
The Robin follows where the plow
Breaks up the crusted loam;
And Red-wings spies the Thrush and pipes:
'Look! Speckle-breast is come!'
"Up, blooms! and storm the wooded slopes,
The lowlands and the plain—
Blow, jonquil, blow your golden horn
Across the ranks of rain!
To arms! to arms! and put to flight
The Winter's broken train!"
The lowlands and the plain—
Blow, jonquil, blow your golden horn
Across the ranks of rain!
To arms! to arms! and put to flight
The Winter's broken train!"
She paused beside this selfsame rill,
And as she ceased, a daffodil
Held up reproachfully his head
And fluttered into speech, and said:
And as she ceased, a daffodil
Held up reproachfully his head
And fluttered into speech, and said:
"Chide not the flowers! You little know
Of all their travail 'neath the snow,
Their struggling hours
Of choking sorrow underground.
Chide not the flowers!
You little guess of that profound
And blind, dumb agony of ours! Yet, victor here beside the rill,
I greet the light that I have found, A Daffodil!"
Of all their travail 'neath the snow,
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Their struggling hours
Of choking sorrow underground.
Chide not the flowers!
You little guess of that profound
And blind, dumb agony of ours! Yet, victor here beside the rill,
I greet the light that I have found, A Daffodil!"
And when the Daffodil was done
A boastful Marigold spake on:
A boastful Marigold spake on:
"Oh, chide the white frost, if you choose,
The heavy clod, so hard to loose,
The preying powers
Of worm and insect underground.
Chide not the flowers!
For spite of scathe and cruel wound,
Unconquered by the sunless hours, I rise in regal pride, a bold
And golden-hearted, golden-crowned Marsh Marigold!"
The heavy clod, so hard to loose,
The preying powers
Of worm and insect underground.
Chide not the flowers!
For spite of scathe and cruel wound,
Unconquered by the sunless hours, I rise in regal pride, a bold
And golden-hearted, golden-crowned Marsh Marigold!"
And when she came no more, her creek
Would not believe, but bade us seek
Hither, yon, and to and fro—
Everywhere that children go
When the Spring
Is on the wing
And the winds of April blow—
"I will never think her dead;
"She will come again!" it said;
And then the birds that use the vale,
Broken-hearted, turned the tale
Into syllables of song
And chirped it half a summer long:
Would not believe, but bade us seek
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Hither, yon, and to and fro—
Everywhere that children go
When the Spring
Is on the wing
And the winds of April blow—
"I will never think her dead;
"She will come again!" it said;
And then the birds that use the vale,
Broken-hearted, turned the tale
Into syllables of song
And chirped it half a summer long:
"Silvia, Silvia,
Be our Song once more,
Our vale revisit, Silvia,
And be our Song once more:
For joy lies sleeping in the lute;
The merry pipe, the woodland flute,
And all the pleading reeds are mute
That breathed to thee of yore.
Be our Song once more,
Our vale revisit, Silvia,
And be our Song once more:
For joy lies sleeping in the lute;
The merry pipe, the woodland flute,
And all the pleading reeds are mute
That breathed to thee of yore.
"Silvia, Silvia,
Be our Moon again,
Shine on our valley, Silvia,
And be our Moon again:
The fluffy owl and nightingale
Flit silent through the darkling vale,
Or utter only words of wail
From throats all harsh with pain.
Be our Moon again,
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Shine on our valley, Silvia,
And be our Moon again:
The fluffy owl and nightingale
Flit silent through the darkling vale,
Or utter only words of wail
From throats all harsh with pain.
"Silvia, Silvia,
Be Springtime, as of old;
Come clad in laughter, Silvia,
Our Springtime, as of old:
The waiting lowlands and the hills
Are tremulous with daffodils
Unblown, until thy footstep thrills
Their promise into gold."
Be Springtime, as of old;
Come clad in laughter, Silvia,
Our Springtime, as of old:
The waiting lowlands and the hills
Are tremulous with daffodils
Unblown, until thy footstep thrills
Their promise into gold."
And, musing on her here, I too
Must wonder if it can be true
She died, as other mortals do.
The thought would fit her more, to feign
That, full of life and unaware
That earth holds aught of grief or stain,
The fairies stole and hold her where
Death enters not, nor strife nor pain;—
Must wonder if it can be true
She died, as other mortals do.
The thought would fit her more, to feign
That, full of life and unaware
That earth holds aught of grief or stain,
The fairies stole and hold her where
Death enters not, nor strife nor pain;—
151
That, drowsing on some bed of pansies,
By Titania's necromancies
Her senses were to slumber lulled,
Deeply sunken, steeped and dulled,
And by wafture of swift pinions
She was borne out through earth's portals
To the fairy queen's dominions,
To some land of the immortals.
By Titania's necromancies
Her senses were to slumber lulled,
Deeply sunken, steeped and dulled,
And by wafture of swift pinions
She was borne out through earth's portals
To the fairy queen's dominions,
To some land of the immortals.
152
THE EXPLORERS
AND some still cry: "What is the use?
The service rendered? What the gain?
Heroic, yes!—but in what cause?
Have they made less one earth-borne pain?
Broadened the bounded spirit's scope?
Or died to make the dull world hope?"
The service rendered? What the gain?
Heroic, yes!—but in what cause?
Have they made less one earth-borne pain?
Broadened the bounded spirit's scope?
Or died to make the dull world hope?"
Must man still be the slave of Use?—
But these men, careless and elate,
Join battle with a burly world
Or come to wrestling grips with fate,
And not for any good nor gain
Nor any fame that may befall—
But, thrilling in the clutch of life,
Heed the loud challenge and the call;—
And grown to symbols at the last,
Stand in heroic silhouette
Against horizons ultimate,
As towers that front lost seas are set;—
The reckless gesture, the strong pose,
Sharp battle-cry flung back to Earth,
And buoyant humor, as a god
Might say: "Lo, here my feet have trod!"—
There lies the meaning and the worth!
But these men, careless and elate,
Join battle with a burly world
Or come to wrestling grips with fate,
And not for any good nor gain
Nor any fame that may befall—
But, thrilling in the clutch of life,
Heed the loud challenge and the call;—
And grown to symbols at the last,
Stand in heroic silhouette
Against horizons ultimate,
As towers that front lost seas are set;—
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The reckless gesture, the strong pose,
Sharp battle-cry flung back to Earth,
And buoyant humor, as a god
Might say: "Lo, here my feet have trod!"—
There lies the meaning and the worth!
They bring no golden treasure home,
They win no acres for their clan,
Nor dream nor deed of theirs shall mend
The ills of man's bedeviled span—
Nor are they skilled in sleights of speech, (Nor overeager) to make plain
The use they serve, transcending use,—
The gain beyond apparent gain!
They win no acres for their clan,
Nor dream nor deed of theirs shall mend
The ills of man's bedeviled span—
Nor are they skilled in sleights of speech, (Nor overeager) to make plain
The use they serve, transcending use,—
The gain beyond apparent gain!
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EARLY AUTUMN
WITH half-hearted levies of frost that make foray,
retire, and refrain—
Ambiguous bugles that blow and that falter to silence again—
Ambiguous bugles that blow and that falter to silence again—
With banners of mist that still waver above them,
advance and retreat,
The hosts of the Autumn still hide in the hills, for a doubt stays their feet;—
The hosts of the Autumn still hide in the hills, for a doubt stays their feet;—
But anon, with a barbaric splendor to dazzle the
eyes that behold,
And regal in raiment of purple and umber and amber and gold,
And regal in raiment of purple and umber and amber and gold,
And girt with the glamor of conquest and scarved
with red symbols of pride,
From the hills in their might and their mirth on the steeds of the wind will they ride,
From the hills in their might and their mirth on the steeds of the wind will they ride,
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To make sport and make spoil of the Summer,
who dwells in a dream on the plain,
Still tented in opulent ease in the camps of her indolent train.
Still tented in opulent ease in the camps of her indolent train.
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"TIME STEALS FROM LOVE"
TIME steals from Love all but Love's wings;
And how should aught but evil things,
Or any good but death, befall
Him that is thrall unto Time's thrall,
Slave to the lesser of these Kings?
And how should aught but evil things,
Or any good but death, befall
Him that is thrall unto Time's thrall,
Slave to the lesser of these Kings?
O heart of youth that wakes and sings!
O golden vows and golden rings!
Life mocks you with the tale of all
Time steals from Love!
O golden vows and golden rings!
Life mocks you with the tale of all
Time steals from Love!
O riven lute and writhen strings,
Dead bough whereto no blossom clings,
The glory was ephemeral!
Nor may our Autumn grief recall
The passion of the perished Springs
Time steals from Love!
Dead bough whereto no blossom clings,
The glory was ephemeral!
Nor may our Autumn grief recall
The passion of the perished Springs
Time steals from Love!
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THE RONDEAU
YOUR rondeau's tale must still be light—
No bugle-call to life's stern fight!
Rather a smiling interlude
Memorial to some transient mood
Of idle love and gala-night.
No bugle-call to life's stern fight!
Rather a smiling interlude
Memorial to some transient mood
Of idle love and gala-night.
Its manner is the merest sleight
O' hand; yet therein dwells its might,
For if the heavier touch intrude
Your rondeau's stale.
O' hand; yet therein dwells its might,
For if the heavier touch intrude
Your rondeau's stale.
Fragrant and fragile, fleet and bright,
And wing'd with whim, it gleams in flight
Like April blossoms wind-pursued
Down aisles of tangled underwood;—
Nor be too serious when you write
Your rondeau's tail!
And wing'd with whim, it gleams in flight
Like April blossoms wind-pursued
Down aisles of tangled underwood;—
Nor be too serious when you write
Your rondeau's tail!
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VISITORS
THEY haunt me, they tease me with hinted
Withheld revelations,
The songs that I may not utter;
They lead me, they flatter, they woo me.
I follow, I follow, I snatch
At the veils of their secrets in vain—
For lo! they have left me and vanished,
The songs that I cannot sing.
Withheld revelations,
The songs that I may not utter;
They lead me, they flatter, they woo me.
I follow, I follow, I snatch
At the veils of their secrets in vain—
For lo! they have left me and vanished,
The songs that I cannot sing.
There are visions elusive that come
With a quiver and shimmer of wings;—
Shapes shadows and shapes, and the murmur
Of voices;—
Shapes, that out of the twilight
Leap, and with gesture appealing
Seem to deliver a message,
And are gone 'twixt a breath and a breath;—
Shapes that race in with the waves
Moving silverly under the moon,
And are gone ere they break into foam on the rocks
And recede;—
Breathings of love from invisible
Flutes,
Blown somewhere out in the tender
Dusk,
That die on the bosom of Silence;—
Formless,
And fleeter than thought,
Vaguer than thought or emotion,
What are these visitors?
With a quiver and shimmer of wings;—
Shapes shadows and shapes, and the murmur
Of voices;—
Shapes, that out of the twilight
Leap, and with gesture appealing
Seem to deliver a message,
And are gone 'twixt a breath and a breath;—
Shapes that race in with the waves
Moving silverly under the moon,
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And are gone ere they break into foam on the rocks
And recede;—
Breathings of love from invisible
Flutes,
Blown somewhere out in the tender
Dusk,
That die on the bosom of Silence;—
Formless,
And fleeter than thought,
Vaguer than thought or emotion,
What are these visitors?
Out of the vast and uncharted
Realms that encircle the visible world,
With a glimmer of light on their pinions,
They rush . . .
They waver, they vanish,
Leaving me stirred with a dream of the ultimate beauty,
A sense of the ultimate music,
I never shall capture;—
Realms that encircle the visible world,
With a glimmer of light on their pinions,
They rush . . .
They waver, they vanish,
Leaving me stirred with a dream of the ultimate beauty,
A sense of the ultimate music,
I never shall capture;—
They are Beauty,
Formless and tremulous Beauty,
Beauty unborn;
Beauty as yet unappareled
In thought;
Beauty that hesitates,
Falters,
Withdraws from the verge of birth,
Flutters,
Retreats from the portals of life;—
O Beauty for ever uncaptured!
O songs that I never shall sing!
Formless and tremulous Beauty,
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Beauty unborn;
Beauty as yet unappareled
In thought;
Beauty that hesitates,
Falters,
Withdraws from the verge of birth,
Flutters,
Retreats from the portals of life;—
O Beauty for ever uncaptured!
O songs that I never shall sing!
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THE PARTING
WE have come "the primrose way,"
Folly, thou and I!
Such a glamor and a grace
Ever glimmered on thy face,
Ever such a witchery
Lit the laughing eyes of thee,
Could a fool like me withstand
Folly's feast and beckoning hand?
Drinking, how thy lips' caress
Spiced the cup of waywardness!
So we came "the primrose way,"
Folly, thou and I!
Folly, thou and I!
Such a glamor and a grace
Ever glimmered on thy face,
Ever such a witchery
Lit the laughing eyes of thee,
Could a fool like me withstand
Folly's feast and beckoning hand?
Drinking, how thy lips' caress
Spiced the cup of waywardness!
So we came "the primrose way,"
Folly, thou and I!
But now, Folly, we must part,
Folly, thou and I!
Shall one look with mirth or tears
Back on all his wasted years,
Purposes dissolved in wine,
Pearls flung to the heedless swine?—
Idle days and nights of mirth,
Were they pleasures nothing worth?
Well, there's no gainsaying we
Squandered youth right merrily!
But now, Folly, we must part,
Folly, thou and I!
Folly, thou and I!
Shall one look with mirth or tears
Back on all his wasted years,
Purposes dissolved in wine,
Pearls flung to the heedless swine?—
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Idle days and nights of mirth,
Were they pleasures nothing worth?
Well, there's no gainsaying we
Squandered youth right merrily!
But now, Folly, we must part,
Folly, thou and I!
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AN OPEN FIRE
THESE logs with drama and with dream are rife,
For all their golden Summers and green Springs
Through leaf and root they sucked the forest's life,
Drank in its secret, deep, essential things,
Its midwood moods, its mystic runes,
Its breathing hushes stirred of faery wings,
Its August nights and April noons;
The garnered fervors of forgotten Junes
Flare forth again and waste away;
And in the sap that leaps and sings
We hear again the chant the cricket flings
Across the hawthorn-scented dusks of May.
For all their golden Summers and green Springs
Through leaf and root they sucked the forest's life,
Drank in its secret, deep, essential things,
Its midwood moods, its mystic runes,
Its breathing hushes stirred of faery wings,
Its August nights and April noons;
The garnered fervors of forgotten Junes
Flare forth again and waste away;
And in the sap that leaps and sings
We hear again the chant the cricket flings
Across the hawthorn-scented dusks of May.
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| Dreams and Dust | |