Part 2

Yes, and the pallor of old grief, Too lowly even for scorning, Is warmed into a breathing rose, A rose for my adorning.

VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER.

I love my little gowns; I love my little shoes, All standing still below them, Set quietly by twos.

All day I wear them careless, But when I put them by They look so dear and different, And yet I don’t know why.

My oldest one of all,— Worn out; and then the best; But that I have not worn enough To love it, like the rest.

The dimity for Sunday, The blue one and the wool, Now that I see them hanging up, Are somehow beautiful.

Of all the white, with ribbons Gray-green, if I could choose; The fichu that helps everything Be gay; and then, my shoes.

My shoes that skip and saunter, And one that will untie:— They look so funny and so young, I hate to put them by.

I wonder,—if some day ... All this will be the Past?— Poor Hop-the-brook and Dance-with-me, They cannot always last!

THE TOP OF THE MORNING.

My days are strung in amber Till I am sad again: My days are full of sunlight Beyond all sun or rain.

My heart is full of tidings From every wind that blows; And I cannot say, ‘Good-day to you,’ But everybody knows!

FORETHOUGHT.

I did not keep the Rose he brought, After its day; Although it lived a longer time Than other roses may.

I let it go the way of all, For this one fear: Because it might persuade my heart That he was growing dear.

But now my heart is well assured; And I still sing; And no one here would ever know That I miss anything!

UNSAID.

Ah lad, if I could only say The smiles are not for you! But since your eyes are turned this way, What is there I can do? It’s one I see beyond, beyond, My heart is leaning to.

I know, I know, the whole hour long I have been dull and sad, And answered not the word at all I meant to answer, lad; Because my wits were gone astray With all the heart I had.

And now the latest ones are come, And he is coming too; And I would keep the starlight back, But oh, it will shine through! And since you never turn to see, You take it all to you.

DANCE-TIME.

It’s I live in a very wise Town, As all wise people know: They read, they write, they read all day As orchard-trees do grow.

Said I,—I was a young thing then, And a foolish young thing, too,— ‘I will not spend my little life thus; There’s much I’d rather do.

‘For I would rather look at you This way, with happy looks, Than lose the stars from my two eyes With poring over books.

‘I’d rather far be red and white For stupid folks to see Than write nine books for little dull worms To eat them, leisurely.

‘And I would rather have it said When all my days are through, “O she was good to see and hear And say Good-morning to!”

‘When learning makes you white and red And fresh as west-winds blow, I may spend sun and candle-light To learn what they all know.

‘But O, the wise in this wise Town, They have no longer prime. And there are fewer wise men, now, Than once upon a time!’

THE ENCHANTED SHEEP-FOLD.

The hills far-off were blue, blue, The hills at hand were brown; And all the herd-bells called to me As I came by the down.

The briars turned to roses—roses Ever we stayed to pull A white little rose, and a red little rose, And a lock of silver wool.

Nobody heeded,—none, none; And when True Love came by, They thought him nought but the shepherd boy. Nobody knew but I!

The trees were feathered like birds, birds; Birds were in every tree. Yet nobody heeded, nobody heard, Nobody knew, save we.

And he is fairer than all,—all. How could a heart go wrong? For his eyes I knew, and his knew mine, Like an old, old song.

YES, LOVE IS BLIND.

Truly, Love is blind. All my wish and will, That he takes for me: Sure Love cannot see, That he thinks so, still!

Truly, Love is blind; But he hears, instead. He hath such fine ears, Far away he hears Little words unsaid.

Truly, Love is blind; For the merest touch, Hover of a breath, Smiling underneath, He will take for much.

Blind, and without fear! Even so, I find He would have me here Always, very near. Truly, Love is blind.

THE MORNING WAS SO BRIGHT.

The morning was so bright to see, I thought that he would come, Though he is far away from me While I bide on at home.

The morning was so wide, so blue; The tide ran in to greet:— It could not be, I knew, I knew, But O, the wind was sweet!

There was a ripple on the pond; The road had one refrain; And something called me, just beyond The turn of every lane.

The trees were trying not to sing; They beckoned on and on: The day went by with promising, And now the day is gone.

The after-glow, it fades away With my own Star above;— And all the day, and all the day, I looked for my true love.

THE TWO.

And if they faltered in their speech, They knew not; for their eyes Grew like with gazing, each on each, Like deep of sea and skies.

AFTER-THOUGHT.

‘But I was happy then, How happy was I then!’ The sorry saying you may hear Upon the lips of men.

To know when you are happy, You would not call it wise; Yet, for the seeing happiness, How tears will clear the eyes!

They laugh best who laugh last, Says Pride that fears a fall. But O, who will not laugh at first May never laugh at all!

OTHERS.

NEAR AND FAR.

Near and far, near and far, All the lights were keeping Quiet watch with lamp and star, While the roads were sleeping.

And I saw, far and near: Starlight overhead; While a woman’s shadow, here, Made to-morrow’s bread.

Near and far; and I forgot Stars must needs be small: Lamp and shadow, knowing not, Did so fold them all.

FRIENDS ALL.

Little Kathleen, when I was ill, Offered the mass for me; And burned a holy candle, too As white as wax could be. Little Kathleen, I think of her,— It may be once a year,— When houses sweeten with the fir And bells ring out good cheer!

Hejà! But it is good to live And walk brown earth once more; And good to hear your fingers knock At some familiar door.— And O, to see them all again, To see them,—though they say, ‘And did you take a journey, then? And were you long away?’ _O, did you take a journey, then? And were you long away?_

VANTAGE.

The wisest finding that I have Is very young, no doubt. Yet many a man must needs grow old Before he finds it out.

How happily it comes about— And I was never told!— That we must all be young awhile, Before we can be old.

A SONG OF SOLOMON.

King Solomon was the wisest man Of all that have been kings. He built an House unto the Lord: And he sang of creeping things.

Of creeping things, of things that fly, Or swim within the seas; Of the little weed along the wall; And of the Cedar-trees.

And happier he, without mistake, Than all men since alive. God’s House he built; and he did make A thousand songs and five.

COUNSEL TO BEGGARS.

O, came you by the same road too, The road that called to me? And fellow-farers, will you learn What shelter there may be?

There’s daybreak there to fill your heart Red wine for half the way; And gold there is of sunset, then, To last another day.

(And fill your pockets with the same Altho’ your need be small. Take all the bounty while you may, To have some wherewithal.)

And if you see the new moon, I bid you tell the news, And lend the slender silverness For other poor to use.

And if your heart be sudden light, And yet you know not why, I counsel you to hold the joy; Let pride of woe go by.

And if your feet be wearied out, And you would rest therefore, Seek out some house; but look you leave Your sandals at the door.

For you shall find—tho’ sad to find Where houses be so few— Your too-much sorrow irks a friend, If ever it irkèd you!

Take heart. And if the open air No shelter seem to be, Yet there you shall—and only there— Have all that you can see.

THE TWA CHEERLESS.

Eh, is there nothing doing? Then give your soul good heed; And show yourself the miracles That you would like to read, As long as you’re in need.

And then suppose I sing myself —And if you will, give ear,— The very song I never heard, But I would like to hear: And this, man, will be cheer!

THE WALK.

We left the house, for we were sad, To talk of all the griefs we had;

And little did we talk at first, Leaving to silence all the worst.

The rain it rained and star was none; The wet made two lights out of one.

And broken paths of shining yet Made on before us, through the wet.

The more we walked and still would walk, The less did seem the need of talk.

The more we walked from light to light, The wiser grew the troubled night.

The tacit lamps proved something clear As often as one stayed to hear:

And better ways, and endless clews Dawned with the lengthening avenues.

Till where the street-ends met the square, We found a thousand tulips there,

Sleeping as flowers sleep o’nights, Beneath a thousand city-lights.

And then the Bridge from shore to shore Solved everything forevermore,

So clearly, you could leave the Why, Contented, to some by-and-by.

And time, and grief, were worn away Till there was nothing left, to say.

REFRAINS.

‘I love all the world to-day!’ _That is very young._ ‘So I sing, the while I may.’ _All the songs are sung._ ‘God would never say me nay.’ _Heed the foolish tongue!_

‘There’s a singing in the tree,’— _All the songs are sung._ ‘Nightingales! Oh, could it be?’ _Heed the foolish tongue!_ ‘And the new moon smiles at me.’ _Ah, the moon is young!_

OUTSIDE THE MUSIC.

Now they come, and now they stop, Now they all go in. Now the coaches drive away; And now it must begin.

All their faces looked the same, Every time before. If I heard it, I should know More and more and more.

If I heard it, I would sing, When I went away. I would sing it till I grew Beautiful, some day.

O, I hear a whiff of it; There’s another one;— And the coaches driving up, After it’s begun!

THE FAIREST.

The fairest thing that men have made, My lad, it is a Ship, O, beautiful beyond the white Wild bird she would outstrip! So beautiful, so beautiful, A heart must leap to bless, And after her the wake of foam Stay white with happiness.

And fairer than all things beside, My maid,—a Violin; Nay, aught that will give out again The music hid within. Or pipe or string or hollow shell, It breaks enchanted sleep, To win awhile the faëry heart Of air that none may keep.

But all of you who may not go To sail upon the sea,— Who wait upon another’s whim For hope of melody,— Oh, bless your hunger and your thirst, And give your spirit wings To speed beyond a narrow door The heart that sails and sings!

THE CHILD AND THE ANGEL.

Oh, is it you at evening, And near enough to speak? And early in the morning, Your breath upon my cheek?

And when the city noises Turn into clouds that sing, Is it your veil around me, Of hush, and wondering?

And is it you, at sunset, Who beckon me apart Till I am something golden, With petals in my heart?

Ah, Dearness, somewhere over! A happy child is this That with shut eyes uplifted, Waits for you with a kiss.

READING FOR THE POOR.

Young Pity passed us in the street. Her eyes were like a brook; And golden leaf and shadow bird Darkened and lit her look.

Her hair was like the meadow-marsh That reaches to the sea; And on her cheek a wild-rose glowed, The timely rose for me!

Young Pity never knew the word She gave to men in need, All clear and simple, in her face, For working ones to read.

THE BLIND ONE.

O hide your eyes, my maiden, And tell your heart to hush; For love is very bright to see, And louder than a thrush. And all adream you wander Alone in crowded ways, Where eyes of all the fools and wise Do follow, wide agaze!

Yet all in vain, my maiden, To shadow eyes like these; They shine behind your fingers Like starlight through the trees. So dream and shine among us, Unwitting of the boon,— How all the eyes, of fools and wise, Are grateful to the Moon.

HOLIDAY.

When I am far from joy of this, In yon thick world of men, O, save me—save me, world of blue!— That I shall thirst for then.

And when the little strength is spent And little hope burns low, Blow softly on that tortured flame, —Fresh air from long ago!

THE FOOL.

O what a Fool am I!—Again, again, To give for asking: yet again to trust The needy love in women and in men, Until again my faith is turned to dust By one more thrust.

How you must smile apart who make my hands Ever to bleed where they were reached to bless; —Wonder how any wit that understands Should ever try too near, with gentle stress, Your sullenness!

Laugh, stare, deny. Because I shall be true,— The only triumph slain by no surprise: True, true, to that forlornest truth in you. The wan, beleaguered thing behind your eyes, Starving on lies.

Build by my faith; I am a steadfast tool: When I am dark, begone into the sun. I cry, ‘Ah Lord, how good to be a Fool:— A lonely game indeed, but now all done; —And I have won!’

DRUDGE.

I waited long until the sky Should give me of its blue To weave and wear, and share, and weave The very stars into. The days they went, the years they went, And left my hands instead Another thing for wonderment, —The mending, and the bread.

Ah me, and one must set a hand To burnish up the task, And hush and hush the old demand A wakeful heart will ask. But with a star’s clear eye on me, O, I can hear it said, ‘What souls there be, that only see The mending, and the bread!’

THE YOUNGEST DRYAD.

What were you seeking? For my heart Woke at your step and heard; The farthest wakeful leaf of me, And the hidden nest of the midmost tree Hushed with its hidden bird. Ah, but the rune imprisoned me Till you should speak one word.

Why did you think the spell that drew Fell from the cedar there? You questioned pine and sister pine, Lingered near ash and wild-grape vine, —Doubted the maidenhair; Ever you missed these eyes of mine Too like the twilight air.

The Sun may call the dew to him, The waters call the deer; But O, my roots bind every limb To hold me hid, apart and dim And silent, and so near;— And every leaf of me abrim— With that you shall not hear.

COME BUY!

The flowers knew her through the frost, Their own true-lover. Rose crowding rose, the color crossed; The silver breath could hover Near and far, poor lover!

They wondered at her through the pane, And through December. And then she went her way again, —Eyes trying to remember. Have your day, December!

PRINCE CHARLIE.

O had you died upon the field That was so grim to plough, The tears had blinded every eye That sharpens on you now.

For death had been a glorious gift, With all you had to give, And kinder than we stay-at-homes; But ah, you had to live!

THE MEETING.

‘Good-morning to you, then.’ (O stricken heart of her! Silence, silence, breathe for me A little breath of myrrh.)

‘And so good-by again; Good-by, if you must go.’ (Go after, little shade of me, And tell her that I know.)

THE COBBLER.

A little cloud in a golden veil At setting of the sun: And I a cobbler working—working; Work is never done.

A little cloud in a golden veil; And I am mending shoes, Never a feathered sandal thing Such as a cloud may use.

A little cloud in a golden veil, Along the bright highway: And but for her, to-morrow were Another yesterday.

And this will stay, tho’ she melt away After the moon sets sail. For no man’s sky is always gray, —Cloud in a golden veil.

MIRACLE.

Love came by in bitter need. Oh, but I was sad! Love stood by in bitter need, And I nothing had.

Empty were the hands I held Silently to Love. Empty, as my heart of words, Stared the sky above.

Lo, Love took—and thankfully— All my wish for true; Then my hands gave back to me, Full of kisses too.

OPEN HOUSE.

My home is not so great; But open heart I keep. The sorrows come to me, That they may sleep.

The little bread I have I share, and gladly pray To-morrow may give more, To give away.

Yes, in the dark sometimes The childish fear will haunt: How long, how long, before I die of want?

But all the bread I have, I share, and ever say, To-morrow shall bring more To give away.

O SLEEP, SLEEP, SLEEP!

Do not dream of me. Nay, without mistake, Even for love’s sake And all heedfully; Do not dream of me.

All day long am I Leal to all you ask: Wish and care and task, Every need come nigh;— Still to serve and try.

But with my Good-night, O unrippled sleep! What is here, should keep This bewildered light From its skyward right?

Let me feel no need; Not a love that clings. Let me have my wings; Love my wings indeed: Give my wings godspeed!

Do not dream of me. Waking, I’ll be human;— Call it child or woman. Sleeping, I would be Only Something Free.

THE CLOUD.

The islands called me far away, The valleys called me home. The rivers with a silver voice Drew on my heart to come.

The paths reached tendrils to my hair From every vine and tree. There was no refuge anywhere Until I came to thee.

There is a northern cloud I know, Along a mountain crest. And as she folds her wings of mist, So I could make my rest.

There is no chain to bind her so Unto that purple height; And she will shine and wander, slow, Slow, with a cloud’s delight.

Would she begone? She melts away, A heavenly joyous thing. Yet day will find the mountain white, White-folded with her wing.

As you may see, but half aware If it be late or soon, Soft breathing on the day-time air, The fair forgotten Moon.

And though love cannot bind me, Love, —Ah no!—yet I could stay Maybe, with wings forever spread, —Forever, and a day.

THE RAVENS.

My eyes are blind with dust; My limbs are dull with pain: But my body shall up and after me, Again—again—again.

They hover and wheel above. Where I creep on, they fly; And with their call and vaunt of life, They tempt my soul to die.

And the numbness of my heart, The length I have to go, The dimness of my starving sight, They know, they know, they know!

But the little spark I hold Shall light me farther on After the gleam—like a far-off stream,— Until that, too, is gone.

_Mirage—mirage—mirage!_ But I say, I will not die For the hoarse Despairs that wait, that poise, —And I creep while they do fly.

No wonder they stoop so low; And no wonder they should scoff With Ah and Ah!—and beak and claw, As they let me beat them off.

For there is no path to see. But after the vanished flag My soul has gone; and after me, Body must strive and lag.

Up with you,—follow; come— Whither my face is set. They would have us dead: but I have said, Not yet,—not yet,—not yet!

NEIGHBORS.

‘Who found for you the waters that soothed your heart-break first?’ ‘Oh, who but these, my Sorrow, my Hunger and my Thirst!’

‘Who made your eyes the wiser to hail the farthest star?’ ‘Who but my Dark I thanked not,—the Dark where no lamps are!’

‘And I come singing, Neighbor, to tell you, where you grieve. And though my song bled, bled afresh,—yet would you not believe.’

THE MORNING SOUL.

O little cripple, with the lovely eyes, What have we done to thee?— For all our wisdom, putting out thy gleam, Crying, ‘Thou seest not, it is a dream!’ Against thy cry, ‘I see.’

O little cripple with the lovely eyes, What have we now to show? With vext perpetual ways past finding out, Teaching thee well the hundred things of doubt, Who saidest once, ‘I know.’

O little cripple with the lovely eyes, That music of the Sphere We only sought to bind for thee secure Some day, if it were true, for thee too sure Rejoicing with, ‘I hear!’

O little cripple with the lovely eyes, Flower of the broken stalk, Have pity on our need, for it is sore,— Of thee, thee only,—thee to go before; Rise up, rise up, and walk!

THE HILL-TOP.

‘Look down upon thy grief.’—O heart of mine, That path alone climbed here!

‘Look down upon thy fear.’—O heart of mine, That cloud-shadow, my fear!

‘Look down on thy desire.’—And could it shine, That sorry fallen ember?

‘Ah, in the valley yonder, child of mine, Wilt thou remember?’

THE DOVES.

The doves fly out, the doves fly in, Brighter than cloud above, From thee to me, and again to thee, Out of my heart, O Love.

My heart is troubled and hushed with wings From the deep, beneath, above; And the hovering flight of more white things Than Earth hath the gladness of.

After one call they follow, all;— Thy call to me, O Love: Lightning out of the blue, but mine In the likeness of the Dove.

FOUND.

O, when I saw your eyes, So old it was, so new, the hushed surprise: After a long, long search, it came to be, Home folded me.

And looking up, I saw The far, first stars like tapers to my awe, In the dim hands of hid, benignant Powers, At search long hours.

And did they hear us call, That they have found us children after all? And did you know, O Wonderful and Dear, That I was here?

ALL HAIL.

O, Blessed of the dark, we meet along an unknown sky; And here within the light of you, how beautiful am I!

The other worlds are dim around, beneficent with night. But I—I turn my face to you, and have no other sight.