Part 1
POEMS
⁂
JOSEPHINE
DASKAM
POEMS
BY
JOSEPHINE DASKAM
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
MDCCCCIII
COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1903
D. B. UPDIKE, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, BOSTON
TO
M. A. J.,
_the first and cordial critic of many of these verses, it gives me great pleasure to dedicate this collection of them_.
J. D. B.
CONTENTS
PAGE
MOTHERHOOD 1
THE SLEEPY SONG 3
THE GOLDEN DAYS 5
THE VIGIL 6
THE SEA MAN 8
THE SONS OF SLEEP 12
FOUR SONGS:
I. THE PEASANT GIRL 14
II. AN INTERLUDE 15
III. HEART’S SEASONS 16
IV. OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY 17
THE SAILOR’S SONG 18
QUATRAIN 19
THE OLD COUNTRY 20
THE LITTLE BLIND BEGGAR 22
THE STRANGER CHILD 24
SONGS OF ISEULT DESERTED 26
THE OLD CAPTIVE 28
SONG TO OPHELIA 31
A CHRISTMAS HYMN FOR CHILDREN 32
THE GYPSY MAID 34
THREE SONGS:
I. THE SAILOR 36
II. THE HUNTER 37
III. THE PRINCE 38
THE LITTLE DEAD CHILD 39
AT PARTING 42
THE NIXY 43
A JAPANESE FAN 44
TWO SONNETS FROM THE HEBREW
I. THE PREPARATION 45
II. THE INCARNATION 46
ODE: WRITTEN FOR THE TWENTY-SECOND OF FEBRUARY 47
THE DEATH SONG 50
SEVEN CHILD SONGS
I. DO YOU KNOW? 53
II. THE SECRET PLAYMATE 55
III. LONELINESS 56
IV. DREAMS 57
V. THE SHADOW 58
VI. HEAVEN 60
VII. THE PEAR TREE 61
INSCRIPTIONS:
FOR A CHILD’S PLATE 62
FOR HIS CUP 62
FOR HIS CHAIR 62
FOR HIS BED 63
THE WANDERERS 64
MOTHERHOOD
The night throbs on: but let me pray, dear Lord! Crush off his name a moment from my mouth. To thee my eyes would turn, but they go back, Back to my arm beside me where he lay-- So little, Lord, so little and so warm!
I cannot think that thou hadst need of him! He is so little, Lord, he cannot sing, He cannot praise thee; all his lips had learned Was to hold fast my kisses in the night.
Give him to me--he is not happy there! He had not felt his life: his lovely eyes Just knew me for his mother, and he died.
Hast thou an angel there to mother him? I say he loves me best--if he forgets, If thou allow it that my child forgets And runs not out to meet me when I come--
What are my curses to thee? Thou hast heard The curse of Abel’s mother, and since then We have not ceased to threaten at thy throne, To threat and pray thee that thou hold them still In memory of us.
See thou tend him well, Thou God of all the mothers! If he lack One of his kisses--Ah, my heart, my heart, Do angels kiss in heaven? Give him back!
Forgive me, Lord, but I am sick with grief, And tired of tears and cold to comforting. Thou art wise I know, and tender, aye, and good. Thou hast my child and he is safe in thee, And I believe--
Ah, God, my child shall go Orphaned among the angels! All alone, So little and alone! He knows not thee, He only knows his mother--give him back!
THE SLEEPY SONG
As soon as the fire burns red and low, And the house up-stairs is still, She sings me a queer little sleepy song, Of sheep that go over the hill.
The good little sheep run quick and soft, Their colors are gray and white: They follow their leader nose to tail, For they must be home by night.
And one slips over and one comes next, And one runs after behind, The gray one’s nose at the white one’s tail, The top of the hill they find.
And when they get to the top of the hill They quietly slip away, But one runs over and one comes next-- Their colors are white and gray.
And over they go, and over they go, And over the top of the hill, The good little sheep run quick and soft, And the house up-stairs is still.
And one slips over and one comes next, The good little, gray little sheep! I watch how the fire burns red and low, And she says that I fall asleep.
THE GOLDEN DAYS
I wonder where the Fairy-book can be, The book from which she read to you and me, While the warm sunlight shifted down the tree?
_And the brown eyes turned downward to the leaf, Tear-spotted by two tiny people’s grief, When Death bound one more princess in his sheaf._
I wonder where the Rocking-horse has run That carried us before the day was done, To all the lands that lie beneath the sun?
_And the dear lips of her we loved so well Kissed us more sweetly than our tongue could tell, When the too daring riders swayed and fell._
I wonder where the crimson peaches grow We caught together when she threw them, so, And ran with her to hide them, laughing low?
_And her light feet were swifter yet than ours, And her soft cheeks were like two rosy flowers-- Ah, Time and Death, ye two malignant powers!_
THE VIGIL
Nay, Lord, I pray thee call not me to fight! I have crept out of day to bless the night. _Hush, Son, and gather courage for the light!_
But see, I weary ere I have begun! Give thou the battle to some worthier one! _When have I offered thee to choose, my Son?_
Look how my eyes with loneliness are wet! But give me once warm arms and lips close met. _Into the desert, Son, thy way is set!_
Nay, then, thou leanest on a broken reed! Music and mirth and fire and friends I need. _They walk alone whom I have called to lead!_
How shall I lead who only know to stray? Am I to shepherd them, who lose the way? _Yet I require them of thee in that day!_
What if I will not? Let me be as these That laugh and breed and die and have good ease! _Nay, Son, the eye once bared forever sees!_
* * * * *
This only, Lord: what shall my gladness be Who fight disheartened in life’s phantom sea? _To make the bridge whereon they cross to me!_
What am I, Lord, that I should strive with fate? Bring on the dawn, before it be too late! _My Son, the dawn shall come, and thou wilt wait!_
* * * * *
Yea, Lord, and I lie broken in thy hand. Heat me white hot, to forge as thou hast planned. _Fear not, my Son, but I shall understand!_
Melt out my yielded soul in one red stream, Perchance through thy white furnace hope may gleam-- _My Son, a rest thou hast not dared to dream!_
THE SEA MAN
It was the burgher’s daughter, As fair as maid could be, That loved too well the stranger, A man from off the sea.
“_My mother she was a sea maid; My father he loved no shore. Thou must bury me under billows, Or thou ne’er shall see me more!_”
She’s kissed him lip and forehead; She’s given him her vow: “Five-fathom sea shall cover thee, But only love me now!”
* * * * *
For seven years her sleep is sweet Against the sea man’s heart. “But now hath come my time to die, And now we twain must part.
“Farewell, my little daughter! Farewell, my bonny son! Last night the waves did call my name; My life on land is done.”
She holds him close and closer; The bitter tears fall down. “Remember now thy maiden vow, Or woe betide this town!
“_Remember the oath ye gave me, Nor bury me but in sea, For the ocean will come to seek its own If ye cheat my waves of me!_”
Now come her haughty sisters; Now comes her father stern. “This deed brings little honor For all the world to learn.
“Our fathers lie in holy ground; Their tombs are carven well; A heathen stranger cast a-sea Were too much shame to tell!”
They’ve buried him in the minster high That stands beside her door, But the winds o’ the air have drowned the prayer, And the sea foams up the shore.
* * * * *
“Mother, I hear the billows roll, I hear them hiss and moan!” “Nay, little son, their fury’s done, ’Tis but the wind alone.”
“Mother, I smell the salt sea wind, I taste the salt sea spray!” “Nay, daughter mine, some dream is thine, I’ll sing thy fear away.”
“Mother, we cannot hear thy voice! The sea rolls loud and high! It rushes up the minster street And flings the church door by!”
The waves pour out the windows wide, They’ve washed the altar bare, They’ve torn the flowers from the stranger’s tomb, And heaped wet sea-weed there!
* * * * *
It was the burgher’s daughter That made her prayer in vain, For all that drownèd city Was never seen again.
For all its goodly gardens, For all its towers so high, Five-fathom sea rolls over it And shuts it from the sky.
_Then bury the sea man deeply, Five fathom out from shore, Lest the ocean come in to find him, And ye see the sun no more!_
THE SONS OF SLEEP
Now the wayfaring, now the restless earth, Descrying on her dim and trackless verge The dear, awaited dawning of the night, Moves slowly in a languor of desire, And drifts into the haven of her sleep.
Like dropping of the sweet and gradual rain, Full flooding all the parchèd doors of growth, The multitudinous lips of all the flowers, The whispering insistence of dry leaves, All cool and rill-like flowing, falls our sleep.
As the long thunderous surge of ocean waves That lull eternally the listening shore, Slow sweeping in from vast and caverned depths, Comes the white tide that washes loose our souls, To drown them tenderly in depths of sleep.
Soft stealing like the swathed and plumèd dusk, Enwrapped in shadows, shod with silences, Unceasing, unresisted, unobserved, Embosoming the lapsed and languid earth, Slips o’er the sons of men close-feathered sleep.
By day they walk diverse and isolate, Sunken in self they skulk their separate ways, Poor fugitives of fate, awhirl in time, Groping for fellow-hands they dare not grasp, Grudging the thriftless hours they yield to sleep.
But now, relaxed and drifting with that stream Whereon they taste soft moments of the voyage Whose unknown port no seaman of us all Evaded ever, these swift, swarming souls As one glad band of brothers sink in sleep.
Surely the great and tireless Heart of all, Grievèd by day for their perversity, Joys in them as they lie, breast soft on breast, Hand locked in hand, a fathom deep in dreams, And brims anew the cooling wells of sleep!
FOUR SONGS
I. THE PEASANT GIRL
Beyond the sea he goes, beyond the sea. Does he look back to Arcady and me? And yet, how could it be? How should he mate with such a maid as I? Ah, let him go--good-by!
Beyond my sight he goes, beyond my sight. Does he look back and say, “My sweet, good-night”? And yet, is love so light? How should he know the pain I could not tell? Ah, let him go--farewell!
Beyond my prayer he goes, beyond my prayer. Does he look back from out the great world there? And yet, how could I dare? How should he know if love be wrong or right? Ah, let him go--good-night!
II. AN INTERLUDE
I was within her heart that one short year (But that is long ago and far away!). Her soul’s sweet spring, The while she waited for that greater thing, Should blow to blossom all the buds of May.
I was within her heart that one short year (But that is hidden, lost, and gone away!). She was not mine, But ere the glorious harvest moon could shine There beamed on me the crescent moon of May.
I was within her heart that one short year (But that has faded faint and soft away!). Though the year’s night Draws on, and all about the snow falls white, Across my heart there blows a breath of May.
III. HEART’S SEASONS
When Love went holidaying Among the autumn leaves, They bloomed in sweet betraying, The purple clouds, soft straying, Held daylight back, delaying To gild the glowing sheaves-- When Love went holidaying Among the autumn leaves.
When Grief came on a-sighing Behind the flowers of spring, They withered to their dying, The homing birds, slow flying, Sang wintry songs, denying The joy that June should bring-- When Grief came on a-sighing Behind the flowers of spring.
IV. OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY
“Over the hills,” he said, “and far away!” Ah me! to go, to leave it all and go! To toss my life as east wind tosses spray, To clean forget that this land ever lay Within my sight, that wearied of it so!
“Over the hills,” he said, “and far away!” Could he have felt my heart leap up and sing! I knew the primrose path my feet would stray, I guessed the lovely glow of the new day That lies beyond the mountain’s purple wing.
“Over the hills,” he said, “and far away!” He took my heart and wandered on alone; Doubtless some other strolls with him to-day, A lightsome comrade on his happy way, That way across the hills I have not known!
THE SAILOR’S SONG
O the wind’s to the West and the sails are filling free! Take your head from my breast: you must say good-by to me. You’d my heart in both your hands, but you did not hold it fast, And the mill cannot grind with the water that is past.
O it’s I must away, and it’s you must bide at home! I am sped like the spray, I am fickle as the foam: It was sweet, my dear, ’twas sweet, but ’twas all too sweet to last, For the mill cannot grind with the water that is past.
We have clasped, we have kissed, but you would not give me more: I must win what we missed on some other, farther shore. You can never hold the gray gull that swings about the mast, And the mill cannot grind with the water that is past.
You will mourn, you will mate, but ’twill never be with me: I am off to my fate, and it lies across the sea. For it’s God alone that knows where my anchor will be cast, And the mill cannot grind with the water that is past.
QUATRAIN
In a wide chamber from the rest apart, I spread the purple daïs of my heart: An unfilled throne, with steps by men untrod, Too high it was for them--too low for God.
THE OLD COUNTRY
_Where’s the land o’ Dreamland?_ How should I know? On the moon’s farther side, Where the drift clouds ride, And the stars hang low.
_What’s the look o’ Dreamland?_ How should I see? All the air’s silver-gray, Glinted with star spray, Here and there a tree.
_What’s the sound o’ Dreamland?_ How should I hear? Bell tones from far below, Night’s haunting cockcrow, Olden songs and dear.
_What’s the speech o’ Dreamland?_ How should I say? Great eyes that fill the heart, Soft hands that clasp and part, Calls from far away.
_Where’s the gate o’ Dreamland?_ How should I tell? Sudden you stand before, Slip through the quiet door-- Ah, but all’s well!
THE LITTLE BLIND BEGGAR
At the gate of the world where the travel flows, And the folk stream by full-tide, A little blind Beggar sits in the sun And shoots afar and awide.
He fits the arrow and twangs the bow And low in his throat laughs he, For well he knows he will hit his mark Though never a face he see.
And never his stock of arrows fails, For the pain of the wound is sweet, And the stricken folk bring the arrows back To pile at the Beggar’s feet.
So he fits the arrows and twangs the bow, And laughs till his fingers shake, For well he knows he can never miss, But somewhere a heart must ache.
Now they who are struck, they keep still tongue, But they carry the arrows back, And they who are spared they sound abroad The songs of the pain they lack.
But still or singing, and grave or gay, Through the gate of the world they go, And the little blind Beggar sits in the sun And laughs as he lays them low.
THE STRANGER CHILD
Now the night is dark, Now the house is still; Comes a little stranger child Toiling up the hill.
Listens at the door, Peers within the pane, Reaches for the broken latch Rusted with the rain.
Murmurs in the dark, Sobs beneath his breath, Whispers to the empty rooms, Quiet, now, for death.
Wanders through the lane Where the rosebush grew, Tries to reach the cobwebbed sill Drenched and dark with dew.
Calls--and calls in vain! For the man, alone, Dies before a dying fire, Hears no human tone.
Only his soul’s voice Calls the dull roll through; Good so often long to wait, Ill so quick to do.
Only his soul’s eyes, Shamed and tired of all, Watch the red life ebb and flow, Watch the last sands fall.
And the little child, Clinging to the sill, Weeps and stretches tiny hands, Weak for good or ill.
Slow the dying coal Drops from out the fire; Slowly sinks the house of clay, Empty of desire.
Through the creaking blind Slips the spirit now, Shudders at the stranger child, “Thou? my lost youth, _thou_?”
SONGS OF ISEULT DESERTED
I
I do not pray for thee, most dear of all, That ever in soft ways thy feet may fall, For well I know that wheresoe’er thou art Thy feet must tread forever on my heart!
I pray thee only to walk gently, sweet, Nor press too sharply with too cruel feet: Remember thou how soft the way must be, How soft--and ah, how sad--and pity me!
II
Should we have loved if we had known That love would bring one day such pain? I cannot tell--I only kiss The pillow where your head has lain.
Should we have loved if we had known That love would go to come no more? I cannot tell--I only stand And sob before a fast-closed door.
III
Since you are gone, all dull my life has grown, Idle among my empty days I stand: They pass and pass, and leave me here alone-- Ah, sweet, your hand that burned upon my hand!
Since you are gone, gone are the joys I knew, Slowly from out the sky the long night slips: And my arms ache with emptiness of you-- Ah, sweet, your lips that trembled on my lips!
Since you are gone, the world is grown too wide, With cruel miles that hold us two apart: I sit and watch the white road weary-eyed-- Ah, sweet, your heart that beat against my heart!
THE OLD CAPTIVE
To hear once more the thunder of the surf, To breathe once more the salt and stinging wind, To set my cheek once more against the wave, To look once more across the billowy Sea!
Chained in the pen of silent heavy hills, I dream hot nights of that sweet long ago, When I leaped down the beach in the dim dawn, And plunged to meet the sun--and knew the Sea!
_And they drove in the boats with a shout and a song, And they spread wide the nets in the face o’ the wind, And the ship strained and dipped like a swooping bird, And we rushed onward, mad for the open Sea!_
Never to feed my eyes on strange dim coasts, Never to touch a branch washed in by the tide, Never to gaze on dark and silent men From some far isle in the mysterious Sea!
Never to see the white sails gleam and fade, Nor watch black masts against the setting sun, Never to glide within some wondrous port, Nor breathe spice winds blown soft across the Sea!
Never to feel the great sail fill and stretch, Nor plough white fiery trails beneath the stars, Nor float below some tow’ring rosy berg, Nor ride the sheer gulfs of the stormy Sea!
_And they rushed down to the beach to drag us in, And they pulled hard at the rough and glistening rope, And the glad keel rubbed harsh on the shelly sand, And their arms strained us, home from the terrible Sea!_
Though in my life I lost thee, tired and dead, Me they shall bring to thee, O long desired! Me they shall lay at sunset on the sand, Where the strong tide swings outward to the Sea.
Me like a cradled child the waves shall rock, Rock ’neath the moon, and sink to those dim caves, Those wide green glooms, those clear and pallid depths, The silence and the strange flowers of the Sea.
_And they shall bear me down with a glorious song, And they shall shout to the crash and boom of the surf, And they shall thrill to the whip and sting of the spray, While the great waves ride triumphing out to Sea!_
Where the pale light strains down through undreamed deeps To glimmer o’er the vast unpeopled plains, The ancient treasure piles of dead kings’ fleets, The mighty bones long bleached beneath the Sea,
There where cool corals and still seaweeds twine, There on the solemn level ocean floor, Till God’s great arm shall terribly plough the deep, I shall lie long and rest beneath the Sea.
SONG TO OPHELIA
Unto thy grass-hidden charms Nature worketh no alarms; Changeth all thy breath to dew, And thine eyes to violets blue, Weaveth all thy waving hair Into beams to light the air! _Thus the song--and yet he saith_ “_Ah! how sad a thing is Death!_”
Over thy earth-covered breast Springtime snow doth lightly rest; Never hath been spun a sheet For thy purity more meet; Lovelier the earth shall be Now that it doth prison thee! _Thus the song--and yet he saith_ “_Ah! how sad a thing is Death!_”
A CHRISTMAS HYMN FOR CHILDREN
Our bells ring out to all the earth, _In excelsis gloria!_ But none for Thee made chimes of mirth On that great morning of Thy birth.
Our coats they lack not silk nor fur, _In excelsis gloria!_ Not such Thy Blessed Mother’s were; Full simple garments covered Her.
Our churches rise up goodly high, _In excelsis gloria!_ Low in a stall Thyself did lie, With hornèd oxen standing by.
Incense we breathe and scent of wine, _In excelsis gloria!_ Around Thee rose the breath of kine, Thy only drink Her breast divine.
We take us to a happy tree, _In excelsis gloria!_ The seed was sown that day for Thee That blossomed but at Calvary.
Teach us to feed Thy poor with meat, _In excelsis gloria!_ Who turnest not when we entreat, Who givest us Thy Bread to eat. Amen.
THE GYPSY MAID
She met them on the forest edge, A maid all brown and slim, She beckoned them to leave the path That girt the forest rim.
At first they shake their heads at her, At last they follow meek, She smiles at them with crimson lips, And sweet her bright eyes speak.
They go as in a faëry dream, The forest shuts them round, Save for the leaves that whisper low They hear no earthly sound.