Part 1
POEMS
[Illustration:
ALBERT HERTER
THE SONG OF THE WHEAT]
[Illustration:
POEMS BY MARIE VAN VORST
DODD MEAD & COMPANY]
_Copyright, 1903_, BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
_First Edition published March, 1903_
UNIVERSITY PRESS · JOHN WILSON AND SON · CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
I INSCRIBE MY FIRST BOOK OF VERSE
TO THE MEMORY OF
MY BROTHER
JOHN VAN VORST
Thanks are tendered to Scribner’s Magazine and to the Pall Mall Magazine for the courteous permission to reprint verses already published in these periodicals.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE SONG OF THE WHEAT 3
IN THE JOINT OF HIS ARMOUR 13
LAURENS VILLA 21
THE HOST 26
THE PAGAN 31
LYRICS
SING AGAIN 39
FOREST LOVERS 41
LIKE TO A SONGLESS BIRD 43
THREE YEARS 45
THE WIND UPON A SUMMER DAY 46
ON THE NORMAN CLIFFS 47
MID-WINTER 48
MARE PLACIDO 49
IN THE GREENWOOD 50
EVENING TIME 51
IN THE WINDOW 53
THE GLASS 55
THREE DAYS MORE 56
LOVE’S PARADOX 58
VITA, VITA! 59
THE SLEEP 60
THE REWARD 61
LES REVENANTS 63
THE BOON 65
THE SIGN 66
SONGS
THE FIRESIDE 69
LOVE--WHERE YOU GO! 70
COSTANZA SINGS 72
MAY IN FEBRUARY 73
BRIER ROSE 74
THE SLEEPING HEART 75
ABSENCE 76
TO-MORROW 77
OLD TIME MELODY 78
THOUGH ALL BETRAY 79
BREAK THY SLEEP 80
RED ROSES 81
SONG 82
SLUMBER SONG 83
FANTASY 85
ROUNDELS
THE INSPIRATION 89
LUCE ADORABILE 90
TEACH MY SONG 91
THE APOSTROPHE 92
CARRIER DOVES 93
THE NEW FRIEND 94
L’OISEAU DES BOIS 95
GOD’S IS THE NIGHT 96
CHRISTMAS 97
LOVE’S UNIVERSE 98
SUMMER 99
WINTER 100
AMOR IN EXCELSIS 101
THE ROSE 102
WHERE ARE YOU, DEAR? 103
LA MORT EST TOUJOURS FIDÈLE! 104
THE WATCH 105
THE YEAR’S END 106
OUTRE MORT 107
DEAD LOVE 108
SONNETS
VIVA! ANIMA CARISSIMA 111
EXCOMMUNICATE 115
THE CONFESSION 116
THE KINGDOM 117
AMOR VICTRIX 118
SAINT OUEN 119
RENUNCIATION 120
ENVOI 121
THE SONG OF THE WHEAT
THE SONG OF THE WHEAT
I
I sprang from the heart of the earth, From the brown, still heart That gives, though it pulseth not, All things being and birth. This vegetable mould, Black, resisting, and cold, Is pregnant in every part With essence of life. Infused with The Spark, my shell-- Pained with the mighty swell Of being and life that woke-- Travailed: fibres broke. Green shoots slender, Powerful, though most tender, Pushed upward--a crust gave way-- Earth opened ... and I saw day!
II
Myriad forms Pure and new as a thought of God, Rose from the sod, Sprang into life with me, A bending sea Of distant, infinite blue, From East to West, from South to North, Bent over us. We, called forth Up from the heart of the earth, Shook in the east wind’s mirth, Thrilled to the south wind’s kiss. Rain and dew, Storm and sun, Blessed us, made us _this_, And we grew.
III
Oh days In early summer, when all things breathe With delight in being! Golden haze Covers valleys and distant heath. The wind, these times, Faints with its burden from Southern Climes Of odours, subtler than balm or myrrh. Then we stir And surge like fair seas to and fro. When through our green blades the light winds sweep, Between our thin stalks straight and tall, You may see, a-tremble, like flames that blow, The Scarlet Flowers of Sleep. Low down they grow,-- Fine as a film, Red and soft as Love’s lips glow, Red as jewels the gods let fall.
IV
Oh days, When the sun, red through the haze, Burns bronze to gold! No breeze wakes, Sleek cows stand in orchard shade; And the little sound that ebb tide makes At the foot of the cliffs is low and sweet As sighs half-breathed, as lips that meet. In this ripening time We wait so still, that we scarce are stirred By the flight of a startled bird From its nest, in the furrows made. Summer’s power Changes our hue from royal green To golden, hour by hour.
V
Oh days Full of sweet noises! Songs of birds, And gentle sound of lowing herds. When all around-- From farther fields and orchard trees-- Comes the drowsy hum of bees.
VI
Bend the ear To our sibilant whispering! This is the full of the year. The Golden Mene, when the rich earth bears In plenty and fulness and mankind shares In the good of her, Oh hear, the wind wakes; and we sing!
VII
See the forms, Big and sturdy and strong and brown! The sinewy arms, The naked chest, where the shirt falls down, The blue veins swollen, the sweat of toil, The sweat of brow and the earth-cast look, The coarse shoes, red with the furrow’s toil, The knotted hands.... The Field is the book These fingers turn, and these eyes pursue. The sudden hail, the deadly dew, The blight of the boll and the dry, parched days Are the lines that mark their tragedies! These are the Workers--! Their hands have made The great earth fertile from sea to sea. Silently They bend to their labour, knowing not What they shall reap that their hands have sown! “Man may not live by bread alone;” They ask but this, “and receive a stone!”
VIII
From the faint, gray dawn to the late night’s shade The open air is their dwelling-place. The sweetest and best that their lives have known Is the mild, soft air in the summer-time, When they learn the noon by the village chime And pause to rest for an hour’s space.
IX
Misery, Is in the hut for the worker there; What for his eyes to see?-- Children, that dumbly ask for things He knows not of, nor they know who plead! More than a garment for nakedness, Or warmth from woe that the winter brings, Or bread--that, God! is a want indeed!
X
“Life for life,” the Prophet says, The fulness of days shall come and the reapers reap. The white blade seethes like a wind, and we Tremble at death in the blade’s cold kiss. Distant, infinite blue From East to West, from South to North, Bends over us. We, called forth Up from the heart of the earth, Mother that gave us birth, Lie on her heart again. Sun and dew, Wind and rain, Pass over us.
XI
On the bare, brown land, In level, close-bound sheaves, we stand; And this is the end, Till the fine, dry film from the blade’s unfurled And we go forth, From East to West, from South to North Bread--for the world.
IN THE JOINT OF HIS ARMOUR
I
Then said the king:--“Stand here, Sir Guldemar, Beside me, where the arras falleth close. Now, down this marble stair the princess goes. And thou shalt mark her, hidden here with me:-- And thou shalt tell me, on thine honour’s oath, If any woman is as fair as she. (Giving thy guerdon, no fear hanging loath!”)
II
“For, when thou sayest,--‘_She’s_ more fair Than the queen’s sister!’--straight that woman shall, Guldemar, to thy have and hold befall. The hour thou didst so knightly lift thy lance To shield our life, we gave our royal word-- For Guldemar! the fairest in all France!” ... (Guldemar stood beside his king and heard.)
III
He held his head-gear downward in his hands; The white plume kissed along the gleaming steel Of his gray armour, close from head to heel. High around his throat’s column, lay the fine, Steel, tinkling little links, that rose and fell To mark his breath. (Nor did the king divine The hot heart beating in the mailèd shell!)
IV
“To women he is as the heart of ice,” The women laughed: and held it for a wage That none could Baron Guldemar engage In sport of love, or earnest: his straight gaze Was like the falcon’s on the hand held high, Above the hunter and the under-maze, Toward a goal cloud hidden in the sky.
V
“The king” (he said) “is as God’s bread,--above The hope of any save the lips absolved: Yet my lips touch his garment! If involved My heart, Sire, can I find another fair But her I love? Even though the king’s sister Were born of Venus? My liege lord must spare My finding any beauty like to _Her_.”
VI
And the king smiled as one in kindly wise Surprising a dear secret. “Friend,” (he said,) “Fear not to say thy ladye’s lips are red And her eyes heaven! We demand the truth From a brave knight, who knows not how to lie! He shall wed but perfection, by God’s Ruth, Whose voice cried,--‘I, and not the king, shall die!’”
VII
(And Guldemar) “My liege,” (here his head bowed,) “Or the king’s sister, or the fairer she, That woman, my dear lord will give to me?” ... “By the cross!” swore the monarch; “though she prove Ice! Though her hate thy passion’s warmth excels.” Said Guldemar: “_And if I have her love?_” The king: “Ourself shall ring the marriage bells.”
VIII
The knight had thrown his gauntlets to the ground. His silken sleeves clung down unto his wrists. The foremost in the wars and in the lists His breast blazed with the stars of victory. He wore a signet such as nobles wear; He wore, beneath his mail, where none could see, A bright chain woven of his ladye’s hair!
IX
“Hark!” said the king, “the princess comes! And hark, Those are her pages singing!” Guldemar, His soul high lifted, trembling like a star, Flashed his quick speech like light upon the king. “Sire, what if my life were wholly given To love a woman with a marriage ring? Her hell and mine, another’s rightful heaven!”
X
“The holy cross,” the king said, “and our word Are linkèd promise! This same night shall stir A great host for the holy sepulchre. The man who keeps thy souls and loves apart,-- As a cursed spirit, banished from a shrine, Must bind the crusade cross upon his heart, And wind a pilgrim way from thee and thine.”
XI
Guldemar heard. There went a tinkling Like little heavenly bells, and soft singing, A pleasant smell like violet-woods in spring Was wafted from the princess’ silks astir. First came the mincing pages, finely dressed, Then walking all alone the king’s sister, And in her beauty one forgot the rest.
XII
And every knight and every troubadour Had given to Isobel great beauty’s palm. Only the queen her sister, pale and calm, Could claim a beauty near to Isobel’s. She came entrancing down the marble stair, Her glad wide eyes as blue as asphodels, And the imprisoned sunlight in her hair.
XIII
The king and knight the arras held apart. “Now by God’s rood,” the king cried, “if there is A fairer woman in my court than _this_, To-night thine arms clasp her,--or Isobel!” Guldemar bent his bright bold look serene, Upon his liege--and held his body well-- “Sire,” he said, “one is more fair--the queen.”
XIV
The monarch dropped the arras and stood close, His eyes on Guldemar’s, and pride, and hate,-- Sudden for love and gifts,--rode hot, elate. Guldemar’s sword and gloves lay on the floor. The king snapped his own sword in two, then pale Cursed Guldemar, ... who felt the chain he wore Prick him to fire beneath his coat of mail.
XV
Without, the stony courts rang with the feet Of steel-shod men, and horses’ clanging shoe. And yellow torches flashed their brilliance through Dim corridor, and winding way remote. High in the belfry rang a faint peal sweet, As silver bells spelt out a marriage note. The red cross blazed on breast and banner white. Shouted the warder at the castle moat-- “To arms! The king rides to the wars to-night!”
LAURENS VILLA
“There is no happiness!” I cried. “Hush, hush!” she laughed, lying by my side. “I think I am too blest! The gods Will smite me with their jealous rods Upon thy breast!”... “Sweetheart,” (she said,) “Art not content?” I hid my head In silence: whilst she laughed; all slow Saying,--“Oh, Love, since thou _must_ know! When Laurens died, thy sword that let His life out, with his red blood wet Let in the light to me!”... I turned And kissed her, till the fires burned In flame to Eros. And she slept Until the hushed white morning crept And with unprisoned sunlight came To wake with matin sword of flame.
Half sleeping, I essayed to find Her lips: and with warm hands to bind Her fast with her bright hair; then watch The mellowing of the eaves and thatch Under the morning.... She was cold. I clasped within my trembling hold Beauty’s bright lamp extinguishèd! Her lily limbs and flower head Were as the unsunned dawn is cold, And white as was the pleated heavy fold Of her close-clinging linen gown. Her eyelids safely folded down Over the azure shining thro’ That mocked the heavenly sky, with blue! The fine red lip-line parted, showing Her small white teeth; and golden, glowing The splendid masses of her hair Wantoned their glory everywhere! Smiling she lay, her arms thrown wide As she would clasp on every side Happiness...! This when morning came To wake us with its sword of flame!
God knoweth how I listened, close To her lips’ lovely parting rose, Lest one fine breath should stir ... and bid The uplifting of a heavy lid, Or wake again that silent heart Whence fell the linen folds apart ... Under the pulseless hills of snow Where strayed the blue veins to and fro No breath should ever stir again! And then my grief broke forth like rain. Rang through the tomb-like house and shook The white doves in their rose-vine nook. None else to pain or grieve was there In the still villa anywhere. I lay until the dying day Pale as my cheeks, and cold and grey, Stole mourning o’er the horizon. And then, I feared to stay alone With Germaine, who lay there and smiled So still and gladly as a child In first sleep, whilst my tears had made Rivers upon her breast and head And she cared nothing! So I took My cloak and garment, from the hook Where hung her clothes. I wept, again Touching and kissing them. “Germaine!” I cried, and summoned thus the dead. I took the linen off the bed And laid one line of winding shroud Over my love: and weeping loud I looked where she lay smiling, glad, From head to feet, twilight yclad, Then I crept out--a grey old man.
* * * * *
They hold me under curse and ban, I “killed this woman as she lay In my embrace!” This thing they say! But Germaine, could she speak, would still Their lisping lies...! “If love can kill” (Germaine would tell them) “why then he Killed me, forsooth, with loving me....”
Little it matters! I shall sleep In sleep like hers; but not so deep, _For love was earth’s last gift to her_! The little cotton dress she wore With ribbons, hangs against the door ... In the white villa, ... still it is!... Only the doves were witnesses.
THE HOST
I had my enemy within my house. My enemy--my arch, arch enemy. I bound my handkerchief about his brows, For he was wan and cried--“A Boon!” to me.
Standing upon the threshold--wan, distraught, His eyes filmed with the mist of sickness dim; “He does not know it is my house!” (I thought) “_Salve!_” I cried, and ran to welcome him.
He could not see nor hear; I spread my bed, Thereon I made him lie all weakly down. Blood ran into his eyes, from his rent head Cut deep between the eyebrow and the crown.
Quickly I ministered what grace I could: Washed out the wound and bound it up with care; Smoothing his kerchief as his mother would; Laying my fingers gently through his hair.
From out my store I fetched a brimming cup Of fragrant wine, and held it to his lip, Lifting all tenderly his hurt head up. Lest he should know me,--let the curtain slip
Between our faces. Long he drank, and deep, And muttered thanks to God, and stretched out wide His great form on my bed, thus fell asleep Safe as the child his mother guards beside.
And there, within my walls, he lay at last, My enemy--my arch, arch enemy! I let my crimson passion loose, and cast Curses for all the wrongs he’d done to me.
Crouching low at the bedfoot, still, oh, still As Fate relentless, long I watched him lie Curtained within the shadows red, until He seemed to lie there murdered bloodily.
Like deadly grave-robed figures, one by one, A cold procession passed before my gaze, The high bold-handed evils he had done To me, to mine, the ruin of our days.
I felt my hand close on my unsheathed sword-- “The prayers of all your yesterdays” (I cried) “Must gain you pardon of the gracious Lord!” And he, unshriven, by my hot hate had died--
Had I not heard wild cries without my door, The acclamations of the multitude. My enemy stirred not in his stupor I drew the bedshades close, and waiting stood.
Then they were all about me in the place, Strange, furious faces, peering everywhere Seeking the hated stranger, whose foul trace Had left their village desolate as here.
“Show us Pasquale, show the devil hound,” And twenty eyes flashed sharper than the blade. They shrieked his name until I thought no swound Was proof against the riot that they made.
I saw the naked unsheathed swords, I saw (My enemy--my arch, arch enemy!) Minions of justice, armed with hate and Law And my guest was asleep.... “Myself am he”
(I said before the swords their home could find). “Draw me without,” I prayed, “I would not fall Here where my children sleep.” And they were kind And dragged me far without my own portal.
Ere they could send my soul to hell unshriven Pasquale’s men came riding bright as day More time new sins to make, to cry to heaven, They bought Pasquale ... I write as I lay.
They say I shall not see another dawn But I have had the sacred Eucharist And write this for true knights to dream upon.
_That day of his sore need, with broken brows And sightless eyes blinded with bloody mist Helpless, whilst his pursuers hounded on I had my enemy within my house._
THE PAGAN
I
Oh the dream, Warm, wild, beautiful,--born of midsummer. No, it was April gave it; no, it was May! It was the whole round year, Days, months, filled with it, Hours Eden inspired. Moments astral born, Life Fused, swathed, held in its mystery, Perfect content in the present, Ecstasy at the thought of a future. Oh the dream.... Hush, I will sing of it....
II
I was a child, knee-deep in the rugged daisies; Small head level with bright bold heads tossed free. Brown eyes following farm and meadow mazes: Little heart one with nature, flower, and tree; Friend with the birds.... Then childhood passed, on a sudden as pure dawn’s haze is Kissed to glorious morning, and all eyes see, Standing young as the June, little heart’s pulse set free Throbbed to the song that the soul of the whole world’s lays is:-- A child in the home-land meadows, Belovèd, I dreamed of thee.
III
Once I walked in the heather, Cliffs sheer downward touched the breast of the sea. Meadows ’round me stretched and kissed together, Met in oceans of gold grain feather Mad with poppies, red as blood may be. Summer’s glory to glory ran;--nor sense knew whether It were godliest born, the blue of the sea Or the whispering ocean of fields, as shoreless! Then the tether Of time slipped loose, and Future showed to me, Cliff-high,--sea-girt,--there in the Norman weather All of my youth Belovèd, I dreamed of thee.
IV
It was in the heart of winter cold, When the moon is old, And snow on the lea. I leaned from my window And heard the sea Ring like brass, when deep is tolled The _bourdon_ of Christ’s nativity. The Christmas world its page unrolled For my pagan eyes to see. Sheep held close in their sparkling fold, And the ice-mailed tree Glistened, ... as tho’ God leaned, and set Crystal tapers, with diamond fret; A holy festal tree made it, Whose candles the moon lit! I smelled frankincense, from censers gold Shadow-swung to a litany Glorious!...
Then wild, and bold, A Christmas storm swept over me. I leaned out from my parapet, Cliff-high tower, that keeps the sea:-- Arms and breast on the sill icy, Warm arms aching to clasp and fold One who close on my breast should be!
Pagan, thus in the Night Holy, Breaking form of the ancient mould, I saw God’s one star poise, and swim Over the birth of Love, in Him, But Belovèd ... I dreamed of thee.
[Illustration: LYRICS]
LYRICS
SING AGAIN
You sang me a song, ’Twas the close of the year, Sing again! I do not remember the name Or the words, ’Tis the same You listen to hear When the window is open in spring And the air’s full of birds; One calls from the branch some rare thing And one sings on the wing The refrain.
You sang me a song, My heart thrilled to hear. The refrain Has run like a fillet of gold Through the woof Of the cold, Dark days of this year. To-night there’s a year at its start, The birds are aloof: But your eyes hold the sun for my part And the Spring’s in your heart, Sing again!
FOREST LOVERS
Of poplar, birch, and balsam boughs, Red cedar-walled, I’ll build my house; Its pillars silver-boled shall be, With rafters of the hemlock tree; Upon the ground the dried ferns spread, And slippery pine shall make our bed;
And all night long the lapping sound Of waves shall fill our faerie swound; Nor native creatures, small and shy, Shall fright us, as they hurry by, Nor phantom rustle of the trees Disturb our loving mysteries.
With the first flying birds to nest We’ll stretch our happy limbs to rest, And lip to lip, and palm to palm, Drift dreamward in the deep wood’s calm, Whilst thro’ the windy rafter bars Pale out the lanterns of the stars.
Thus love shall hold us (as Love said), And holy be the forest bed, The fresh, wild odours everywhere Rise on the censers of the air, And in the soft dark Love shall find New vows, our lips and souls to bind.
When the white-vestured dawn shall move, We’ll wake, as we have slept--with love, And sinless as the forest-born Arise with them to greet the morn.
From every mist-grey tree-top tall The singing, singing dews that fall Shall mingle thro’ veiled vistas dim With whisper of our marriage hymn.
LIKE TO A SONGLESS BIRD
Like to a songless bird that swings On a high branch, and thrills to hear How the deep-hearted forest rings With melody enchanting clear,
And vainly swells his throat to wake A song as pure as these that fill The wood, and every echo shake, Whilst he alone is dumb and still.
So, thrilling to the music dear Since the first song woke, low and sweet; To purest sound I bend my ear, And with my heart the rhythms beat;
Until the palpitating Past With melody becometh rife; With parted lips and hands locked fast I hear the songs of Love and Life.
And then I lift my voice to wake A song as pure as these that thrill Through Time. The vaults with music shake And I alone am dumb and still.
THREE YEARS!