Poems

VIVISECTION

 
WE saw unpitying skill
In curious hands put living flesh apart,
Till, bare and terrible, the tiny heart
Pulsed, and was still.
 
 
We saw Grief’s sudden knife
Strip through the pleasant flesh of soul-disguise —
Lay for a second’s space before our eyes
A naked life.
 

THE STRANGER

 
SHE sat so quiet day by day,
The sweet withdrawal of a nun,
With busy hands and downward eyes —
The shyest thing beneath the sun.
 
 
Nor knew we, tossing each to each
Our rapid speech, our careless words,
That through them, always, half-afraid,
Her thoughts had gone like seeking birds,
 
 
Plucking a twig, a shining straw,
A happy thread with silken gleams,
To carry homeward to her heart,
And weave a hidden nest of dreams.
 

THE CONSTANT ONES

 
THE tossing trees had every flag unfurled
To hail their chief, but now the sun is set,
And in the sweet new quiet on the world
The king is dead, the fickle leaves forget.
 
 
A placid earth, an air serene and still;
In misty blue the gradual smoke is thinned —
Only the grasses, leaning to his will,
The grasses hold a memory of wind.
 

INSTINCT

 
TO Reason with the praise of one I go
To fall back, silent, at her whispered “No.”
 
 
And always of the other says she, “Trust —
He doeth thus and thus, O thou unjust!”
 
 
Yet meet one eye to eye and queries end —
An eager hand goes out to greet a friend,
 
 
And let the other please me, soon or late
Wakes with a hiss the little snake of hate.
 

SAN FRANCISCO NEW YEAR’S, 1907

 
SAID the Old Year to the New: “They will never welcome you
As they sang me in and rang me in upon my birthday night —
All above the surging crowd, bells and voices calling loud —
A throng attuned to laughter and a city all alight.
 
 
“Kind had been the years of old, drowsy-lidded, zoned with gold;
They swept their purples down the bay and sped the homeward keel;
The years of fruits and peace, smiling days and rich increase —
Too indolent with wine and sun to grasp the slaying steel.
 
 
“As my brothers so I came, panther-treading, silken, tame;
The sword was light within my hand, I kept it sheathed and still —
The jeweled city prayed me and the laughing voices stayed me —
A little while I pleased them well and gave them all their will.
 
 
“As a panther strikes to slay, so I wrenched my shuddering prey.
I lit above the panic throng my torches’ crimson flare;
For they made my coming bright and I gave them light for light —
I filled the night with flaming wings and Terror’s streaming hair.
 
 
“They were stately walls and high – as I felled them so they lie —
Lie like bodies torn and broken, lie like faces seamed with scars;
Here where Beauty dwelt and Pride, ere my torches flamed and died,
The empty arches break the night to frame the tranquil stars.
 
 
“Though of all my brothers scorned, I, betrayer, go unmourned,
It is I who tower shoulder-high above the level years;
You who come to build anew, joy will live again with you,
But mightiest I who walked with Death and taught the sting of tears!”
 

THE POPPY FIELD

 
BEYOND the tangled poppies lies a lake;
And ever sings to him who muses here
The murmur of the hidden streams and clear
That flow thereto by arching fern and brake.
But never, slumber-heavy, does he wake
To heed the music calling in his ear,
Nor ever knows the water, deep and near,
Ashine with silver lilies for his sake.
 
 
And never he will heed, that love of thine;
The poppies of thy beauty drug his sleep;
Nor heedest thou that I must hear the streams,
And follow all thy crystal thought and fine,
And love at last the lilies folded deep
Within thy soul’s unknown beyond his dreams.
 

YOU

 
ALL elfish woodland things that Fancy broods —
The comrades of my solitary moods —
Would crouch when heavy footsteps passed them by,
And peer from shelter – freakish folk and shy.
 
 
At you they pricked their furry ears in doubt;
Then, “This one sees – he knows!” they cried.
“Come out!”
They thought to hush their piping till you passed.
“Come out!” they cried. “We dare be brave at last!”
 
 
So forth the gay procession sways and weaves;
And some are crowned with roses, some with leaves,
And all are mine, but some I never knew.
I could not wake them, but they come for you.
 

JUST A DOG ⁴

 
SO many times in those dark days,
Instinct with sudden hope he crept,
(When sad, infrequent hands would raise
The startled notes where sound had slept)
Seeking the voice he used to hear,
Close-crouching at his master’s knees,
Hoping to find again the dear
Familiar hand upon the keys.
 
 
In very truth there was a soul
Behind his brown and faithful eyes.
There live some mortals, on the whole
Less loving, tender, loyal, wise;
And though we give it to decay,
His poor old body, worn and scarred;
Yet He who judges soul and clay
Will give one dog his just reward.
 
 
And that would be to let him come
Toward dim-heard music, far and sweet;
Seeking with eyes rejoiced and dumb;
Seeking with swift, unerring feet,
With love supreme to guide him true,
Across the misty ways of space, —
Until he found the one he knew,
And looked into his master’s face.
 

MIRAGE ⁵

 
I SEE upon the desert’s yellow rim,
Beyond the trodden sand and herbage white
Of level noon intolerably bright,
A purple lure of love divine and dim.
I hasten toward the fronded palm trees slim —
The fountains of the city of delight —
And stand bewildered to my heart’s despite
In empty plains where hot horizons swim.
 
 
Will I who love the vision gain at last
For very love of love the city’s gates?
I, weary, desert-wandering, knowing this:
That waiting me the golden doors are fast,
And fathom-deep in dream the Princess waits,
Her curving mouth uplifted for the kiss.
 

DUSK

 
EARTH’s parchèd lips
Drink coolness once again, for daylight dies.
The young moon dips,
A threaded gleam where sunset languid lies,
And slowly twilight opens starry eyes.
 
 
Low in the West
Day’s fading embers cast a last faint glow
Behind a crest
Where curving hills on primrose paleness show
Sharp-lined in jet. Dusk stillness broods below.
 
 
A first long sigh
Stirs from the broad and dew-wet breast of night.
The leaves reply
With soft small rustling, moths take ghostly flight,
And waking crickets shrill long-drawn delight.