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THE SINGING LEAVES A BOOK OF SONGS AND SPELLS BY JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY

‘_Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field. Let us lodge in the villages._’

[Illustration: [Logo]]

BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY =The Riverside Press Cambridge=

_Published November, 1903_

TENTH IMPRESSION

Thanks are due to the editors of Harper’s Monthly, Scribner’s Magazine, and other periodicals, for their courteous permission to reprint many of the following poems.

THE SINGING LEAVES

DEDICATION.

Whosoever cares to look In my little Book, If he care to look again, Let him so; and then, Should there be a very few Glad to say Amen To old wonders ever new, —Why, it is for You.

SONGS AND SPELLS.

THE HOUSE AND THE ROAD PAGE 3 CHARM TO BE SAID IN THE SUN 4 BEFORE MEAT 6 SAD TRUTH 7 GLAD TRUTH 8 THE BIRD IN THE HAND 9 WAKING 10 THE MAGIC 12 ROAD-SONGS. I. AND II. 14, 15 THE CEDARS 16 ALMS 17 THE INN 18 SINS 19 THE WATCHER 20 TO SAD-HEART 21 SONG AND NEED 22 HERE’S APRIL 25 THE COMING 26 MUSIC 27 EVER THE SAME 28 MAYBE 29 THE SONG OUTSIDE 30 THE PASSERS-BY 32

THE LITTLE PAST. JOURNEY 35 SUNSET 37 THE BUSY CHILD 38 CONCERNING LOVE 40 COW-BELLS 41 WIND 42 THE MYSTIC 43 THE MASTERPIECE 44 LATE 46 CAKES AND ALE 47 EARLY 48

THE YOUNG THINGS. THE SAPLING 51 THE HERO 52 NESTS 53 SIDE-STREETS 55 THE FIR-TREE 56 EARLY-HEART 57 BEAUTIFUL 58 AFTER ALL 59 VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER 60 THE TOP OF THE MORNING 62 FORETHOUGHT 63 UNSAID 64 DANCE-TIME 65 THE ENCHANTED SHEEP-FOLD 67 YES, LOVE IS BLIND 69 THE MORNING WAS SO BRIGHT 71 THE TWO 73 AFTER-THOUGHT 74

OTHERS. NEAR AND FAR 77 FRIENDS ALL 78 VANTAGE 79 A SONG OF SOLOMON 80 COUNSEL TO BEGGARS 81 THE TWA CHEERLESS 83 THE WALK 84 REFRAINS 86 OUTSIDE THE MUSIC 87 THE FAIREST 88 THE CHILD AND THE ANGEL 90 READING FOR THE POOR 91 THE BLIND ONE 92 HOLIDAY 93 THE FOOL 94 DRUDGE 96 THE YOUNGEST DRYAD 97 COME BUY! 99 PRINCE CHARLIE 100 THE MEETING 101 THE COBBLER 102 MIRACLE 103 OPEN HOUSE 104 O SLEEP, SLEEP, SLEEP! 105 THE CLOUD 107 THE RAVENS 109 NEIGHBORS 111 THE MORNING SOUL 112 THE HILL-TOP 114 THE DOVES 115 FOUND 116 ALL HAIL 117 THE ANOINTED 119

EPILOGUE. _TO THE EVENING STAR_ 123 _TO HER BOOK_ 124

SONGS AND SPELLS.

THE HOUSE AND THE ROAD.

The little Road says Go, The little House says Stay: And O, it’s bonny here at home, But I must go away.

The little Road, like me, Would seek and turn and know; And forth I must, to learn the things The little Road would show!

And go I must, my dears, And journey while I may, Though heart be sore for the little House That had no word but Stay.

Maybe, no other way Your child could ever know Why a little House would have you stay, When a little Road says, Go.

CHARM: TO BE SAID IN THE SUN.

I reach my arms up, to the sky, And golden vine on vine Of sunlight showered wild and high, Around my brows I twine.

I wreathe, I wind it everywhere, The burning radiancy Of brightness that no eye may dare, To be the strength of me.

Come, redness of the crystalline, Come green, come hither blue And violet—all alive within, For I have need of you.

Come honey-hue and flush of gold, And through the pallor run, With pulse on pulse of manifold New largess of the Sun!

O steep the silence till it sing! O glories from the height, Come down, where I am garlanding With light, a child of light!

BEFORE MEAT.

Hunger of the world, When we ask a grace, Be remembered here with us, By the vacant place.

Thirst, with nought to drink, Sorrow more than mine, May God someday make you laugh, With water turned to wine.

SAD TRUTH.

Truth I tell with heavy heart, To another one, Give me sweetness for your smart, When sad time is done.

Then may I be clear again, Love without disguise; Since I have to bear, till then, Dark of hostile eyes.

_Bitter shall be sweet some day. Ah, but that is far away! I must bind my heart and say: Bitter now, but sweet some day._

GLAD TRUTH.

Beautiful, that did come true, Beautiful, so it was you! If forgiveness be for us That we ever doubted thus, Then forgive us radiantly, All our doubts that are to be. Now that we lay hold of you, Nearer than we hoped or knew, Dearer than we looked to find, Beautiful, forgive the blind.

THE BIRD IN THE HAND.

Yesterday has flown away Far beyond the sun. And of morrows, who can say, Till another one?

Only Now is all my own, And my heart knows how: O wild wings for a sky unknown, Mine, mine—now!

WAKING.

Early in the morning, Early in the dew, Singing from the mountains Where the dreams withdrew, Lingered one I knew.

‘Soul, art thou so shining? What is there to tell? Whither hast thou journeyed?’ And the answer fell, ‘Early to the well.

‘Early, early, early, To the farthest light; Drinking, singing, bathing In the cool, the might, Whence I have my sight.

‘There I found my sandals Gladdened with a wing; And my fair apparel Woven out of Spring. Therefore do I sing.’

And the golden voices Warming with the sun, Dimmed the silver voices, Fading, one by one. And the dream was done.

THE MAGIC.

You who saw through my disguise Though I came so poor, Let me bless your true two eyes And your open door. Yes, I am a wonder-child; Hark and tell it not.— With the journey and the cold I had half forgot.

Take the charmèd seeds I lay In your open hand: Some would cast them all away, You will understand. Trust the bud to come to flower, Trust the flower for fruit. Listen in the winter-time For a cricket lute.

Here are blessings all from me —Though they look like tears— For your blessed eyes that see And your heart that hears. I am higher than I seem, Fair as I would be: O, I bless your heart that hears, And your eyes that see!

They were ragged gifts I showed, But you took the sense Of the bird-nest from the road, And the lucky pence. And for all the charms I leave Every time I pass, Simple folk will only see Cobwebs on the grass!

ROAD-SONG.

At home the waters in the grass Went singing happy words; But here, they flicker through my hands As silent as the birds.

I see a Rose. But once they grew All thronging, thronging,—wild, And white, and red, before I came To be a human child.

II.

While I am resting by the road So dully here apart, Far-off my Angel laughs, maybe, Where God shines round her heart.

O, she is laughing, as I think, Because they cannot know The parching wonder of the noon With all our ways below.

They cannot know. But now and then. They may let fall a song Blown like a feather down to me, Because the road is long.

THE CEDARS.

All down the years the fragrance came, The mingled fragrance, with a flame, Of Cedars breathing in the sun, The Cedar-trees of Lebanon.

O thirst of song in bitter air, And hope, wing-hurt from iron care, What balm of myrrh and honey, won From far-off trees of Lebanon!

Not from these eyelids yet, have I Ever beheld that early sky. Why do they call me through the sun?— Even the trees of Lebanon?

ALMS.

I met Poor Sorrow on the way As I came down the years; I gave him everything I had And looked at him through tears.

‘But Sorrow, give me here again Some little sign to show; For I have given all I own; Yet have I far to go.’

Then Sorrow charmed my eyes for me And hallowed them thus far: ‘Look deep enough in every dark, And you shall see the star.’

THE INN.

When I come back to sorrow, The place seems very old. Full well I know the lodging, The meagreness, the cold; And everything is told.

The common daily portion, No ampler and no less; And sorry worn the cup is And full of humbleness: A soul can say but, ‘Yes.’

The earthen wares are many, But never are they new. The one-time guest departed The same gray service knew, There is no change for you.

SINS.

A lie, it may be black or white; I care not for the lie: My grief is for the tortured breath Of Truth that cannot die.

And cruelty, what that may be, What creature understands? But O, the glazing eyes of Love, Stabbed through the open hands!

THE WATCHER.

My neighbor’s grief is dark to me. I gaze and dread, without; And marvel how he lives to bear The blackness, and the doubt.

And yet, by all lost ways of grief That I have had to plod, I know how small a rift lets through A little gleam of God.

TO SAD-HEART.

I have a word for you, For you, Sad-Heart, And pray you keep it till the dawn come true, And sorrow part.

I never bid you doff A single care: But ever till to-morrow, O, put off— Put off Despair!

SONG AND NEED.

Heart said, ‘If I had wings, Such wings as hath the lark, Even as that freedom sings Beyond the dark, I too, if I could fly From chains that weigh and cling Ah, but then I could sing,— Could I!

‘O dayspring of desire! Mid-ocean of delight Before the dawn of fire On dawn of sight! My joy, could it undo All that despair has done, I could find out the Sun, —I too.’

But ah, how vain to long For glory of the lark, Who hast more need of song Down in thy dark; Where chains may always irk, And every day’s rebuff Leave thee scarce breath enough, To work!

Nay, never to assuage Our need, is joy begun, But follows some poor wage Full hardly won. Never vain wish shall bring The music from the dumb. Needs must—ere song will come— We sing!

To him who hath, late, soon, To him shall it be given. Make to thyself some boon, Some little heaven: Some feigning, through that mirk, The blue of upper skies; And sing—with blindfold eyes— At work!

HERE’S APRIL.

Wearied one, Rest a little in the sun. Here is April come behind you With a blessing on your head: Rains unshed, And her loving hands that blind you While she queries, ‘Who am I?’ Of the darkened eye. O, I heard the winter pass! Came a sigh from waking grass That should wake a daffodilly. April, and up-rising now,—and every kind of lily!

THE COMING.

Low in the west, the early star Is hazed with fires of Spring. Low in the east, the golden moon Comes slowly westering.

The last-year leaves, they breathe and stir With hope beyond their ken. O golden fear!—that men must hear All hearts wake up again.

MUSIC.

‘O Heart of all things, Heart’s Desire come true, That nothing may undo! How long have I been stricken dim with fear, Hungry and cold and lost, till I should hear You,—you.

‘Now fold me in, O Beautiful, most dear! And now that you are here, Where were you, Dearness,—lost and far apart? So far!’—‘Nay, all the time, O little heart, So near.’

EVER THE SAME.

King Solomon walked a thousand times Forth of his garden-close; And saw there spring no goodlier thing, Be sure, than the same little rose.

Under the sun was nothing new, Or now, I well suppose. But what new thing could you find to sing More rare than the same little rose?

Nothing is new; save I, save you, And every new heart that grows, On the same Earth met, that nurtures yet Breath of the same little rose.

MAYBE.

Heigh-ho! The same old road it is, And weary dull am I, With the same old road and the same old song I hum and know not why.

But over yon, the city smoke Goes after one gray dove, With a flock of gold and silver wings Along the sun, above.

And of the miry pools below, The sparrows make the best; And windows all, with dazzled eyes, They stare into the west.

And I, I hum the same old song Though no one could say why. Maybe so, my singing knows Even more than I.

THE SONG OUTSIDE.

When will you come, you maiden by the window, Come out and leave your little window, there? Why will you bind your heart up every morning, As every morning you bind your hair? Your vine astir would wake a cloud of swallows; The sower’s forth and every worker follows; The world goes forth, to earn, to seek, to share! Why is it, little face behind a window, You do not dare, You do not dare?

Then will you come, you maiden by the window, To hear the heart of twilight in the air? And will you heed the breathing of the wayside, And all the wise, wide singing everywhere?— And you and more than you, and more than neighbor, —With care and bloom, despair and wrinkled labor, It folds, it holds them all, till they are fair; —Fairer than you, my maiden by the window, And unaware, —All unaware!

THE PASSERS-BY.

Though the dawn bring grayest thread That my Fates have spun; Though I lift not up my head, Sorrow may not shun The glory of the Sun.

Yea, and though the gold sands run Fleet through afternoon, Shadow, that will speed the Sun, Brings me yet as soon The glory of the Moon.

Blessèd Ones, and shining boon Over all our wars! Blessed we, by night or noon, That no anguish mars The glory of the Stars.

THE LITTLE PAST.

JOURNEY.

I never saw the hills so far And blue, the way the pictures are;

And flowers, flowers growing thick, But not a one for me to pick!

The land was running from the train All blurry through the window-pane;

And then it all looked flat and still, When up there jumped a little hill!

I saw the windows and the spires, And sparrows sitting on the wires;

And fences running up and down; And then we cut straight through a town.

I saw a Valley, like a cup; And ponds that twinkled, and dried up.

I counted meadows that were burnt; And there were trees, and then there weren’t!

We crossed the bridges with a roar, Then hummed the way we went before.

And tunnels made it dark and light Like open-work of day and night;

Until I saw the chimneys rise, And lights and lights and lights, like eyes.

And when they took me through the door, I heard it all begin to roar.—

I thought, as far as I could see, That everybody wanted me!

SUNSET.

Those islands far away are mine, Beyond the cloudy strip; And something beautiful, besides:— I think it is a ship.

THE BUSY CHILD.

I have so many things to do, I don’t know when I shall be through.

To-day I had to watch the rain Come sliding down the window-pane.

And I was humming all the time, Around my head, a kind of rhyme;

And blowing softly on the glass To see the dimness come and pass.

I made a picture, with my breath Rubbed out to show the underneath.

I built a city on the floor; And then I went and was a War.

And I escaped from square to square That’s greenest on the carpet there,

Until at last I came to Us; But it was very dangerous:

Because if I had stepped outside, I made believe I should have died!

And now I have the boat to mend, And all our supper to pretend.

I am so busy, every day, I haven’t any time to play.

CONCERNING LOVE.

I wish she would not ask me if I love the Kitten more than her. Of course I love her. But I love the Kitten too: and It has fur.

COW-BELLS.

O what is there behind the hills, That all of the bells must know?— Over in all the light that fills The Valley with that glow?

I followed a bell, and it all came true: Some down, and a yellow-bird; And Cedars—oh!—and specked with blue; And everything else I heard:

Only whatever it is, behind The bell with the farthest call; The one I follow and never find, —The loveliest one of all.

WIND.

I let them call it just the Wind And tell me not to grieve: But I know all it left behind, And more than they believe.

I know about the far-off lands Where people never sleep; They hide their faces in their hands, And rock and weep and weep.

And I too little, all alone, To go and find them yet:— But oh, I hear!—When I am grown, I never will forget.

THE MYSTIC.

People say to me, ‘A Penny for your thought!’ And I can’t remember thinking; And I should think I ought. I wasn’t sleeping, either: I know that, because I saw things out of both my eyes. I wonder where I was.

Now I’m back, I see them Sitting all around; And the noise together Makes a purring sound. But I know something more Than just awhile ago. I know something more!— I wonder what I know.

THE MASTERPIECE.

My mother cut it out for me And started it so I could see; And then she turned some edges in And let me take it to begin. I made it. But I did not know How very hard it is to sew. I took a long time for that stitch, And now it’s there, I don’t know which Is better. But not one is small, And they are not alike at all. That side was very hard to fix; And then the needle always pricks, But you must hold it and take care, Because the point is always there. And knots keep coming, by and by; And then, no matter how you try, The thread comes out of its old eye.

· · · · ·

But someway, now I have it done,— I think it is a pretty one.

LATE.

My father brought somebody up, To show us all asleep. They came as softly up the stairs As you could creep.

They whispered in the doorway there And looked at us awhile. I had my eyes shut up, but I Could feel him smile.

I shut my eyes up close, and lay As still as I could keep; Because I knew he wanted us To be asleep.

CAKES AND ALE.

I’m always glad when Andrew comes. If only I am there, He stays awhile and talks to me As if he did not care.

He took me to some Music once, When it was all for me: And O, I had a splendid time! And he said, so did he.

It lasts, as if the Music still Went round and round the sky:— He said he had a good time, too; And I said, so did I!

EARLY.

I like to lie and wait to see My mother braid her hair. It is as long as it can be, And yet she doesn’t care. I love my mother’s hair.

And then the way her fingers go; They look so quick and white,— In and out, and to and fro, And braiding in the light, And it is always right.

So then she winds it, shiny brown, Around her head into a crown, Just like the day before. And then she looks and pats it down, And looks a minute more; While I stay here all still and cool. O, isn’t morning beautiful?

THE YOUNG THINGS.

THE SAPLING.

When I was but a sprig of May, With wonders to command, Above all else I loved most well What none could understand; And dear were things far-off—far-off, but nothing near at hand.

O, now it was the sunset isle Beyond the weather-vane; And now it was the chime I heard From belfry-towers of Spain; But never yet the little leaf that tapped my window-pane.

Heigh-ho, the wistful things unseen That reach, as I did then, To guess, and wear the heart of youth With eager Why and When! And never eye takes heed of them, in all the world of men.

THE HERO.

I saw the river going, All silver to the brim, Along the southern meadows That were a home to him.

I sang, ‘O River, bear him My dream, a silver swan. ’Tis only he, all day, all day, That I do think upon.’

And oh, my foolish heart forgot, So rapt in heart’s desire, The years he has been sleeping, Beneath a far-off spire.

NESTS.

O Sparrow, sparrow, did you ever try To build a nest high up where no birds are, And close unto a star, Where it might cling and hear the wind go by? For that did I!

And far and far I flew along the quest, For shelter, and I passed the summer rain, I saw the daylight wane; I found among the stars no place of rest, And built no nest.

Down to the Earth again with baffled wings, The warm green earth where such as we must stay. But all the livelong day, High over heaven my dream nest clings and swings, And my heart sings, Sparrow!

SIDE STREETS.

Some days the faces in the street Are clouded all, and dull; And near or far, not one I see To call it beautiful.

O heavy, heavy is my heart; And is the spirit blind? That I am stricken with a doubt, Because of human kind.

Until I rest my looks upon Some cart-horse standing by, With patient forehead, weary mane, And unreproachful eye.

And kiss him on the brow I do!— Because I have a mind To thank him just that he will be So beautiful, and kind.

THE FIR-TREE.

The winds have blown more bitter Each darkening day of fall; High over all the house-tops The stars are far and small. I wonder, will my fir-tree Be green in spite of all?

O grief is colder—colder Than wind from any part; And tears of grief are bitter tears, And doubt’s a sorer smart! But I promised to my fir-tree To keep the fragrant heart.

EARLY-HEART.

‘Early-Heart tends no geese like ours; Every one is a swan, Fit to sing with a nightingale, Or say to a goose, Begone!’

‘Alack, poor souls,’ quoth Early-Heart, ‘Then yours be only geese? Nor only so; but your sheep are sheep; And mine have a golden fleece!’

Quoth Early-Heart, ‘And if mine be swans, Right true you say, hereby. So take your little and leave my much; For the lad in luck am I!’

Waddle and quack, and bleat and baa, They quacked and they baa’d, ’tis true. But Early-Heart followed a white, white flock, And the hills were far and blue.

BEAUTIFUL.

I have no word to tell you The beauty of her face; From her, a wedding garment Would win a grace.

And as the glow of moonrise Will make the east divine, Doth Soul, the radiant dweller, Her face outshine.

AFTER ALL.

I would not now give up one hurt, In this far light of morning; Each one a rose, a blood-red rose, A rose for my adorning.