Part 6

There was before us on the ground, Eyes upon us, not a sound, Sat a neighbor’s truant child of seven years; Her lap was full of sunny gold, But her eyes in the sun, her eyes were old, Were sober, seeming laden --And such a little maiden-- Unawares but laden With some dead woman’s tears. _Fol de rol de raly O! A child of seven years!_

Some woman who had watched and wept But had not any speech Watched and wept now within that little breast, Caught and caressed Those little hands and would have kept Beyond their reach The anguish in that orchard, The apple-bough unblessed, The brightness that had tortured The heart within the breast.... And we beheld, and see it even now, A bent and withered apple-bough, Of beauty dispossessed, Which bore its poison long ago. Oh, why we pluck it still we may not know, But only that it leaves no rest To the heart within the breast. _Fol de rol de raly O! This heart within the breast!_

Abashed and parting on our ways, We saw that woman’s poor dead hand, Ghostly making, its demand, Fall pitiful and sad, ... We saw the child, forgetful of our gaze, Laughing like any child that plays, And laughs in any land, Lean and touch a toy she had Half hidden in her hand, We saw her pat and poise and raise-- An apple in her hand! _Fol de rol de raly O! The apple in her hand!_

_Yale Review_ _Witter Bynner_

ABLUTION

Thus drowsy Atthis, laughing at my door: “Sappho, I vow that I will kiss no more Thy lips, and every loveliness, if thou Shouldst still refuse to bare thy beauty now!

“O from thy bed unloosen every charm Of all thy strength beloved in limb and arm; And doff thy robe and bathe thee as the white Lily that leaves the river for the light;

“And Cleis on thee, at thy glowing call, A shimmering robe of saffron shall let fall; And we, thy girl friends, in a vestal throng, Shall wreathe thy hair while thirsting for thy song.”

_Smart Set_ _John Myers O’Hara_

PILGRIMAGE

I will tread on the golden grass of my bright field, When the passion-star has paled, when the night has fled; I will tread on the golden grass of my bright field, In the glow of the early day when the east is red.

In my bright field a broken beech-tree leans; And a giant boulder stands by a black-burned wood; And a rough-built, falling wall and a rotting door Sear, like a scar, the spot where a house once stood.

My eyes are mute on the white edge of the dawn, My feet fall swift and bare upon the way.... The long soft hills grow black against the sky, The great wood moves, unfolds; the high trees sway.

The worn road stretches thin, and the low hedge stirs, And a strong old bridge looms frail o’er a ghostly stream; And a white flower turns and breathes, and turns again.... Does it live, as I live? Does it wake, as I waked, from a dream?

(How merciless is the dawn! how poignant the hush in my soul! How changeless the changing sky! how fearful that wild bird’s call! I hear the quick suck of his wing, the push of his breast--he is gone! How swift is an æon of time! how endless, beginningless, all!)

I tread on the golden grass of my bright field; The sun’s on a hundred hills; the night has fled; I tread on the golden grass of my bright field In the glow of the early day; and the east is red.

_The Forum_ _Laura Campbell_

BALLAD OF TWO SEAS

“Wherefore, thy woe these many years, O hermit by the sea? What is the grief the winds awake, And the waters cry to thee?”

“It was in piracy we sailed, Great galleons to strip. On a far day, on a far sea, We took her father’s ship.

“Red-sided rocked the Rey del Sur Whenas its deck we won. I slew before her eyes divine Her father and his son.

“There was no sin I had not sinned, On deep sea and ashore; But when I looked in those great eyes Villain was I no more.

“I, captain, claimed her as my prize, Though maids in common were. Alone ’mid that fell company I cast my lot with her.

“They put us in an open boat With four days’ food and drink; Then slipped those traitor topsails down Beyond the ocean’s brink.

“Night came, and morn, but rose no sail On that horizon verge; I took the oars and set our prow Against the lessening surge.

“It was scant provender we had, Though she was unaware; Right soon I feared, and by deceit I gave her all my share.

“She would not speak; she scarce would look; Her pain was past my cure. Red-scuppered in our hells of dream Wallowed the Rey del Sur.

“On a far day, on a far sea, Our shallop southward crept; With weary arms and splitten lips I labored--and she wept.

“Dawn upon dawn, dark upon dark, Nor ever land nor wind! The nights were chill, the stars were keen, The sun swung hot and blind.

“Our drink and food were long since gone.... We laid us down to die.... Then came a booming of the surf, And palm trees met mine eye.

“I steered us through the broken reef; Fainting, I won to shore; I gazed upon her changèd face, But she on mine no more.

“Below the palms I buried her Whose bale star I had been. And since, by this bleak coast of snows, I sorrow for my sin.

“There was no other of our kind That had her heavenly face. On a far Day, by a far Sea, I trust to know her grace.”

_Smart Set_ _George Sterling_

EROS TURANNOS

She fears him, and will always ask What fated her to choose him; She meets in his engaging mask All reasons to refuse him; But what she meets and what she fears Are less than are the downward years, Drawn slowly to the foamless weirs Of age, were she to lose him.

Between a blurred sagacity That once had power to sound him, And Love, that will not let him be The seeker that she found him, Her pride assuages her, almost, As if it were alone the cost. He sees that he will not be lost, And waits, and looks around him.

A sense of ocean and old trees Envelops and allures him; Tradition, touching all he sees Beguiles and reassures him; And all her doubts of what he says Are dimmed with what she knows of days, Till even prejudice delays, And fades--and she secures him.

The falling leaf inaugurates The reign of her confusion; The pounding wave reverberates The crash of her illusion; And home, where passion lived and died Becomes a place where she can hide,-- While all the town and harbor side Vibrate with her seclusion.

We tell you, tapping on our brows, The story as it should be,-- As if the story of a house Were told, or ever could be; We’ll have no kindly veil between Her visions and those we have seen,-- As if we guessed what hers have been Or what they are, or would be.

Meanwhile, we do no harm; for they That with a god have striven, Not hearing much of what we say, Take what the god has given; Though like waves breaking it may be, Or like a changed familiar tree, Or like a stairway to the sea, Where down the blind are driven.

_Poetry: A Magazine of Verse_ _Edwin Arlington Robinson_

THE SHROUD

Death, I say, my heart is bowed Unto thine,--O mother! This red gown will make a shroud Good as any other!

(I, that would not wait to wear My own bridal things, In a dress dark as my hair Made my answerings.

I, to-night, that till he came Could not, could not wait, In a gown as bright as flame Held for them the gate.)

Death, I say, my heart is bowed Unto thine,--O mother! This red gown will make a shroud Good as any other!

_The Forum_ _Edna St. Vincent Millay_

THE MOTHER

Never again to feel that little kiss-- That hungry kiss--that heavy little head, Pressing and groping, eager to be fed. My breast is burning with the weight of this-- My arms are empty and my heart is dead.

Through the long nights never to hear the cry-- The little cry that called me from my sleep; Always from now a vigil black to keep; Always awake and listening to lie, While over my seared heart the ashes heap.

Ah, God!--there is no God. There is no rest, No rest. No pity. No release from pain. How could God give those little hands again? How could God cool the throbbing of my breast? Oh--little hands ... that in the dust have lain!

_The Masses_ _Lydia Gibson_

A HANDFUL OF DUST

I stooped to the silent earth and lifted a handful of her dust. Was it a handful of humanity I held? Was it the crumbled and blown beauty of a woman or a babe? For over the hills of earth blows the dust of the withered generations; And not a water-drop in the sea but was once a blood-drop or a tear, And not an atom of sap in leaf or bud but was once the love-sap in a human being; And not a lump of soil but was once the rosy curve of lip or breast or cheek. Handful of dust, you stagger me; I did not dream the world was so full of the dead, And the air I breathe so rich with the bewildering past. Kiss of what girls is on the wind? Whisper of what lips is in the cup of my hand? Cry of what deaths is in the break of the wave tossed by the sea? I am enfolded in an air of rushing wings; I am engulfed in clouds of love-lives gone. Who leans yonder? Helen of Greece? Who walks with me? Isolde? The trees are shaking down the blossoms from Juliet’s breast, And the bee drinks honey from the lips of David.

Come, girl, my comrade; Stand close, sun-tanned one, with your bright eyes lifted. Behold this dust! This is you: this of the earth under our feet is you. Raised by what miracle? Shaped by what magic? Breathed into by what god?

And a hundred years hence one like myself may come, And stoop, and take a handful of the yielding earth, And never dream that in his palm Lies she that laughed and ran and lived beside this sea On an afternoon a hundred years before.

Listen to the dust in this hand. Who is trying to speak to us?

_Century_ _James Oppenheim_

A LYNMOUTH WIDOW

He was straight and strong, and his eyes were blue As the summer meeting of sky and sea, And the ruddy cliffs have a colder hue Than flushed his cheek when he married me.

We passed the porch where the swallows breed, We left the little brown church behind, And I leaned on his arm though I had no need, Only to feel him so strong and kind.

One thing I never can quite forget-- It grips my throat when I try to pray-- The keen salt smell of a drying net That hung on the churchyard wall that day.

He would have taken a long, long grave-- A long, long grave, for he stood so tall.... Oh, God--the crash of the breaking wave, And the smell of the nets on the churchyard wall!

_The Bellman_ _Amelia Josephine Burr_

THE GIFT OF GOD

Blessed with a joy that only she Of all alive shall ever know, She wears a proud humility For what it was that willed it so,-- That her degree should be so great Among the favored of the Lord That she may scarcely bear the weight Of her bewildering reward.

As one apart, immune, alone, Or featured for the shining ones, And like to none that she has known Of other women’s other sons,-- The firm fruition of her need, He shines anointed; and he blurs Her vision, till it seems indeed A sacrilege to call him hers.

She fears a little for so much Of what is best, and hardly dares To think of him as one to touch With aches, indignities, and cares; She sees him rather at the goal, Still shining; and her dream foretells The proper shining of a soul Where nothing ordinary dwells.

Perchance a canvass of the town Would find him far from flags and shouts, And leave him only the renown Of many smiles and many doubts; Perchance the crude and common tongue Would havoc strangely with his worth; But she, with innocence unstung, Would read his name around the earth.

And others, knowing how this youth Would shine, if love could make him great, When caught and tortured for the truth Would only writhe and hesitate; While she, arranging for his days What centuries could not fulfil, Transmutes him with her faith and praise, And has him shining where she will.

She crowns him with her gratefulness, And says again that life is good; And should the gift of God be less In him than in her motherhood, His fame, though vague, will not be small, As upward through her dream he fares, Half clouded with a crimson fall Of roses thrown on marble stairs.

_Scribner’s_ _Edwin Arlington Robinson_

SONNET XXIX

In the fair picture of my life’s estate Which long ago my yearning fancy drew From hints of poets, prophets, lords of fate, What place is there, belovèd one, for you? How in this edifice of the soaring dome, Noble, harmonious, lifted towards the stars, Shall I carve forth a niche to be the home Of you and of my love that round you wars? Ah, folly his, who builds him such a house Too early, by impatient visions led, Ere he can know what blood shall stain his brows, And from what troubled streams his heart is fed. Now must he labor, in late night, alone To wreck,--and then rebuild it, stone by stone.

_The Forum_ _Arthur Davison Ficke_

ROMANCE

The last farewells were said, friends hurried ashore,-- The screw threshed foam, and jarred; the pier slid by; Hands went to ears to still the siren’s roar, Handkerchiefs waved, and there was call and cry; Over it all, austere and pure and high, Glittering snow and gold, the towers looked down,-- Serene and cold, regardless of the town.

The wind blew north; and gravely on it came The trolling of the Metropolitan bells, First the four chimes, softly as puffs of flame, Then the deep five ... Slow, gentle gleaming swells Came glancing in the sun, with ocean smells, Up from the harbor and the further sea; Over the stern poised white gulls, giddily.

Over the stern they poised and dipped and glanced, Now dull in shade, now shining in bright sun, And one youth watched them as they whirled and danced, And noticed how they circled, one by one; To have those wings, that freedom,--God, what fun!-- And watching them he felt youth in him, strong, Wings in his blood, and in his heart a song.

Autumn! Already now the keen wind nipped, The skies arched cold bright blue, the leaves were turning; Whitely over the waves the cold squalls whipped; Scarlet and pale, the maple trees were burning, Tossing in gusts, and whirling and returning, On Staten Island, wonderfully afire; In bacchic song they flamed, with mad desire.

Autumn! bringing to old adventures death, Sadness at all things past, things passing still, Touching all earth with strange and mystic breath, Veiling all earth in fire ere winter kill; Even this youth felt now his deep heart fill With a grey tide of mystery and sadness, Poignant sorrow for all past hours of gladness....

Those times--would others come as keen as they? Was life to come as living as life past?-- Ah, he was youth, life could not say him nay,-- The blood sang swift in him, doubt could not last; Let all life dead beneath his feet be cast And he would trample it, divinely singing: Life lay before, more rapturous music bringing!

More lusts, more shining eyes, more dizzy laughter, More, madder music, flute and violin, With drums before and roses showered after, Always in new bliss drowning his old sin; Sin?--Was it that?--And straight in merry din Of song and shout and laugh this thought was lost; It was no sin to live, whate’er the cost!...

High overhead the Brooklyn bridges passed, Span upon span and rumorous with cars, Their shadows on the deck a moment cast, With dizzy thunder from their traffic’s wars; Those grey stone piers would soon be crowned with stars,-- Even now their brows were soft with waning sun; The homeward march of armies was begun.

Good-bye, old bridges! And New York, good-bye! Northward the engines took him; now no more His gaze hung here; he watched the western sky Blazing with vision-isles and faery shore; Northward the vibrant ship beneath him bore; The Sound spread out before them, wide and blue, Clean came the wind whereon the sea-gulls flew....

Soft fields, the flaming trees, a twilight farm ... New York was gone. He drew deep breaths of air, Keen as keen fire it was; then slow and calm, He turned to walk ... when lo, a girl came there, Deep sunset in her eyes and on her hair, Her white dress clinging to her knees, one hand Rising to shade her blue eyes; as she scanned

The swiftly gliding shore, the passing ships, The bell-buoys, bobbing and tolling in the tide.... A moment, breath hung lifeless on his lips, His heart froze quiet; no one was at her side; Faintly, he smiled; he thought her eyes replied, Remote lights meeting in them,--quickening; He passed, and all his body seemed to sing....

He passed, then turned; and, as he turned, she turned,-- Her eyes met his eyes shyly, then again She looked away, and all her soft face burned, And all her virgin heart was big with pain. From the saloon below came soft a strain Of some new rag-time, bidding feet to move, Imploring hands to cling, young hearts to love....

Sweetly it came, seductive, soft bizarre, Huddled and breathless now, now note by note Crying its separate pain ... now near, now far ... Mingled with all the throbbing of the boat. How beautiful! the first star came, to float Impalpable in dusk, low in the east; It seemed to sing on when the music ceased.

Herald of love, lo, love itself it seemed, Singing into the twilight of her soul.... How beautiful!... across dark waters gleamed Red lights and green, she heard a bell-buoy toll Suddenly caught in the after-wash’s roll; A smell of autumn fires came down the wind; Beauty so keen it seemed it must have sinned....

What was this night, what did it bring to her, What flower unfolded in its darkness now? She was this night; she felt her deep soul stir, The slow strange stir of blossoms in the bough.... How beautiful! She watched the forefoot plough Sheer through the foaming black, the white waves gliding Dizzily past, now swelling, now subsiding....

O Youth, O music, O sweet wizardry Of young life sung like fire through beating veins! O covering darkness and persuasive sea! O night of stars, of blisses and of pains! But most, O Youth, that but an hour remains,-- Be fierce, be sweet with us before you go; For, knowing you, the best of life we know.

Enchanted so she watched dark waters slipping Swiftly and dizzily past the sheer black side, Watched the fierce wind in sudden flurries whipping The torn spray from the waves, against the tide; High among stars she saw the mast-head glide,-- Steadily now, now swinging slowly, slightly, There the high mast-head lantern burning brightly....

O Youth, O music, O sweet wizardy,-- O covering darkness of mysterious night!-- She turned; along the dark deck, quietly, He came again; an open door shed light Strongly across him for a space, then fright Suddenly set her wild heart beating, beating,-- Suddenly set her endlessly repeating

“I mustn’t speak! I mustn’t speak!”--And then He stood beside her, close and warm and strong, And she knew sudden the beauty that’s in men, And all her blood flew musical with song.... “--Beautiful, isn’t it?--Have you known it long?”-- Calmly he looked at her, and gently spoke. She nodded, lightly; then the warm words broke

Easily, quickly, fervently from her heart, All the restraint of all her youth was gone, She felt a thousand warm new instincts start Out of her soul, birds taking wing with dawn, Singing their hearts out ... With a deep breath drawn, “Yes! I’ve known it for years, and loved it, too; Beautiful!--This--is this the first for you?”

They talked, in low tones; and the sound of sea, Falling of foam and swish of dropping spray, Encircled them with song, incessantly;-- They felt alone, the world seemed far away. They two! they two! so seemed the night to say; A darkness and a stealing fragrance came Spreading through all their souls, silent as flame....

O beauty of being a living thing, she thought,-- Of drawing breath beneath these stars, this sky!-- O beautiful fire that from his eyes she caught, That made her breath rise quick, her lips burn dry! What was this thing? Dread came, she scarce knew why,-- Impulsively she went; yet she had given Her word to dine with him, her earth was heaven.

He watched her go, and smiled,--her white dress blowing, Softly in dark,--so young, so sweet, so brave! She was so pure! by God, there was no knowing,-- And he had half a mind, still, to behave.... No, though: far better take what fortune gave,-- Dance to the music that was played for him; Smiling he mused of her, his eyes grew dim,--

And he could feel her warmness by his side, And all his body flushed with sweet desire To take her shining loveliness for bride, To kiss, to fuse with her in single fire.... O youth, O young heart musical as a lyre! O covering darkness of mysterious night! He knew these things; his heart was filled with light....

What was one more? Pah, how he scorned this qualm! Innocent? Such girls seem--but never are. No, he was not her first.... And cold and calm He turned and sought the brightly-lighted bar.... The music rose, through shut doors, faint and far, Wailful.... Down in her stateroom mirror there A young girl eyed herself, with frightened stare.

II

She eyed herself with quick breath, frightened stare, The fingers of one hand caught at her throat, And half unconsciously she smoothed her hair.... The music called to her, bizarre, remote.... On a vast hurrying tide she seemed afloat, Hurrying through a darkness downward ever, Starless, along some subterranean river....

Where was she going? Where was the current taking? Vaguely she knew that it would lead to pain, To a dark endless pain her deep heart breaking, To a grey world forever dulled with rain.... And yet she knew this would not come again, And all the sweet bliss came imploring, pleading, Melting her soul, bruising her heart to bleeding....