Chapter 2

She only comes when night is near, And stands a moment quietly Beside her window, in the dusk-- She lives across the court from me-- And though I cannot see her eyes Because she is too far away, I somehow feel that they are kind, And very soft, and widely gray!

Her hands are only dim white blurs, That rest against the window pane; And yet I know that they are firm, And cool and sweet as April rain. And, oh, I cannot help but wish As, through the dark, I go to bed, That they might rest a moment like A little prayer upon my head!

She only comes when night is near, I do not know who she can be; I never see her anywhere But just across the court from me.... I am so small the curtains hide The wistful smiles that I have smiled, And yet I, somehow, think she feels The love of me--a lonely child.

TO A PORCELAIN PUPPY DOG

Oh, pudgy porcelain puppy dog from far-away Japan, I saw you in a shop to-day where lonesomely you sat Upon a velvet cushion that was colored gold and purple, Between a bowl of goldfish, and a sleeping wooden cat.

I wonder what you thought about as stolidly you sat there, A grin of faint derision on your pudgy porcelain face; I wonder if you dreamed about some cherry blossom tea house, And if the goldfish bored you in their painted Chinese case?

I wonder if you dreamed about the laughter of the geishas As languidly they danced across the shining lacquered floor, I wonder if your thoughts were with a purple clump of iris That bloomed, all through the summer, by the little tea house door?

I wonder if you hated us who passed, you by unheeding, You who had known the temples of another, older land? And, oh, I wonder if you knew when I had paused beside you To pat you, porcelain puppy dog, that I could understand?

COLORS

I love color. I love flaming reds, And vivid greens, And royal flaunting purples. I love the startled rose of the sun at dawning, And the blazing orange of it at twilight.

I love color. I love the drowsy blue of the fringed gentian, And the yellow of the goldenrod, And the rich russet of the leaves That turn at autumn-time.... I love rainbows, And prisms, And the tinsel glitter Of every shop-window.

I love color. And yet today, I saw a brown little bird Perched on the dull-gray fence Of a weed-filled city yard. And as I watched him The little bird Threw back his head Defiantly, almost, And sang a song That was full of gay ripples, And poignant sweetness, And half-hidden melody.

1 love color.... I love crimson, and azure, And the glowing purity of white. And yet today, I saw a living bit of brown, A vague oasis on a streak of gray, That brought heaven Very near to me.

POSSESSION (A TENEMENT MOTHER SPEAKS)

Y' ain't as pretty as some babies are-- But, oh, yer mine! Yer lil' fingers sorter seem t' twine Aroun' my soul. Yer eyes are bright, t' me, as any star, Yer hair's like gol'.

Some people say yer hair is sandy-red, An' that yer eyes is sorter wan an' pale, An' that yer lil' body looks, well, frail.... Y' ain't been fed Like rich folks children are.... It takes fresh air Ter keep a baby fat an' strong an' pink! It takes more care, 'N I have time ter give.... An' yet, if God'll only let yer live--

When yer first came, An' when I seen yer face, deep down inside My heart I felt--well, sorter broke an' tore, 'Cause when yer came ter me I like ter died, An' I had lost my job, there at th' store. I looked at you, an' oh, it wasn't pride I felt, but bitterness an' shame!

An' then yer gropin' fingers touched my hand, As helpless as a snow-flake in the air, Yer didn't know, yer couldn't understand, ('Cause yer was new t' this cold-hearted land), That life ain't fair! Yer didn't know if I was good, 'r bad, 'R much ter see-- Y' only knew that I belonged, an' oh, Yer trusted me!

Somehow, right there, I didn't stop ter think That yer was white an' thin--instead o' pink, An' that yer lips, an' not yer eyes, was blue... I got t' thinkin' how, when work was through I'd sing t' yer, an' rock yer off t' rest. I got t' thinkin' that I had been blessed, More than th' richest girl I'd ever knew! An' oh, I held yer tight against my breast, An', lookin' far ahead, I dreamed an' planned That I would work th' fingers off my hand Fer you! An' mother-love swept on me like a tide, An', oh, I cried!

Some people say yer hair is sandy-red, But they don't know; They say yer eyes is sorter pale an' weak, But it ain't so! It's jus' because yer never been well fed, An' never had a lil' cribby bed; It's jus' because yer never had a peek At th' blue sky-- That's why!

Yer ain't so pretty as some babies are, But, oh, t' me yer like a silver star That, through th' darkest night can smile an' shine.... Yer ain't as pretty as some babies are, But, God, yer mine!

LIGHTS OF THE CITY

He was young, And his mind Was filled with the science of economics That he had studied in college. And as we talked about the food riots, And high prices, And jobless men, He said: "It's all stupid and wrong, "This newspaper talk! "Folk have no business to starve. "The price of labor always advances, "Proportionally, "With the price of food!"

"Any man," he said, A moment later, "Can earn at least two dollars a day "By working on a railroad, "Or in the street cleaning department! "What if potatoes DO cost "Eight cents a pound? "Wages are high, too.... "People have no reason to starve."

I listened to him prayerfully (More or less), For I had never been to college, And I didn't know much about economics.

But-- As I walked to the window, And looked out over the veiled, mysterious lights Of the city, I couldn't help thinking Of a little baby That I had seen a few days ago; A baby of the slums--thin, and joyless, And old of face, But with eyes Like the eyes of the Christ Child.. .. A baby--crying for bread--

And.... I wondered....

STEEL

They think that we're just animals, almost, We men who work with steel. A lady visitor was here th' other day, She looked at me, an' I could hear her say, "My, what a life! I s'pose his only boast "Is muscles!" She's wrong. We feel A certain pride, a certain sort o' joy, When some great blazin' mass is tamed an' turned Into an engine wheel. Our hands get burned, An' sometimes half our hair is scorched away-- But, well, it's fun! Perhaps you've seen a boy, Who did hard work he loved, an' called it play? Know what I mean? Well, that's the way we feel, We men who work with steel.

A lady visitor was here th' other day; She held her skirts right dainty in her hand, An' as she passed me by, I heard her say, "I wonder what he THINKS--or if his head "Is just a piece o' metal, too!" She said It laughin'-like. She didn't understand, She couldn't know that we have dreams as grand, As any SHE could have. We wonder where Th' rivets that we make are goin' to, An' if th' engine wheels we turn, will go Through tropic heat, or if they'll plow through snow; An' as we watch, we sorter grow to care About th' steel. Why it's as shiny blue As j'ew'ls! An' every bit is, well, a part Of life to us. Sometimes my very heart Thanks God that I've a man-sized job to do!

MUSIC OF THE SLUMS

I. THE VIOLIN-MAKER

Over a slum his sign swings out, Over a street where the city's shout Is deadened into a sob of pain-- Where even joy has a minor strain.

"Violins made," read the sign. It swings Over a street where sorrow sings; Over a street where people give Their right to laugh for a chance to live.

He works alone with his head bent low And all the sorrow and all the woe, And all the pride of a banished race, Stare from the eyes that light his face.

But he never sighs and his slender hand, Fastens the cat-gut, strand by strand-- Fastens it tight, but tenderly As if he dreams of some melody.

Some melody of his yesterday.... Will it, I wonder, find its way Out to the world, when fingers creep Over the strings that lie asleep?

Or will the city's misery Mould the song in a tragic key-- Making its sweetest, faintest breath Thrill with sorrow, and throb with death?

Maker of music--who can know Where the work of his hand shall go? Maybe its slightest phrase will bring, Comfort to ease the suffering--

Maybe his dreams will have their part Buried deep in the music's heart.... Out of a chain of dreary days, Joy may come as some master plays!

Over a slum his sign hangs out, Over a street where dread meets doubt-- "Violins made," reads the sign. It swings Over a street where sorrow sings.

II. THE PARK BAND

(Side by side and silent--eagerly they stand-- Souls look out of tired eyes, hands are clasped together, Through the thrilling softness of the late spring weather, All a city slum is out to listen to the band.)

Young love and Maytime, hear the joyous strain, Listen to a serenade written long ago! You will recognize the song--you who care must know Fear that blends with happiness, joy that touches pain.

Rabbi with the grizzled beard hear adventure's story! Hear the tale the music tells, thrilling with ro- mance, Hear the clatter of a sword, hear a broken lance Falling from some hero's hand, red with blood- stained glory.

(Tenements on either side, light-flecked in the gloam- ing, Tenements on either side, stark and tall and gray-- Ah, the folk who line your halls wander far away, All a crowded city slum is a-gypsie roaming!)

Woman with the brooding gaze, hear the lilting laughter Of the children that you loved, feel their soft- lipped kisses; Think of all the little joys that a hard world misses- What though bitter loneliness always follows after?

Gangster with the shifty eyes, listen to the sighing Of the hymn tune that you heard at your mother's knee; Listen to the restless ghost of the used-to-be, Listen to a wistful ghost's empty-hearted crying.

(Tenements on either side--menacing they stand-- Light-flecked in the softness of the late spring weather.... But young love and broken life are standing close together, And all a city slum is out to listen to the band.)

III. THE ORGAN MAN

He's very old, his music box is old and rusty, too, And half the notes of it are harsh, and half of them are slow; One wonders if the coat he wears could ever have been new-- And if the tune he plays was quite forgotten long ago.

He finds a sunny place to stand, and lifts his bleary eyes, And smiles a bit--a toothless smile half touched, perhaps, with fear; And though he cannot see them he is looking at the skies, As if he prays, but silently, for hope and faith and cheer.

The foreign women pass him by, their tarnished coins held tight, They toss their heads and will not hear his music's wistful hum-- But through each alley way and street, like moths that seek the light, With eager eyes and laughing lips the little chil- dren come.

He plays his ancient, shaky song, his mouth moves to its sway, He does not know the tune of it is old and out of key; For, through his eyes, a soul stares out that wanders far away, In some fair land of youth and love--some land that used to be.

The little children cluster close, bareheaded, bare of limb-- They hold their ragged frocks and dance, they do not care--or know, That they are like a garden place, a fragrant dream to him, Or that the tune he plays was quite forgotten long ago.

"BE OF GOOD CHEER!"

Temptation came to me today, And oh, I felt that I must stray Down primrose paths, forgetting all.... The city's fevered, siren call Spoke to my soul, its whispered cry Said, "Live, for Youth, too soon, will die!"

So all alone, when work was done, I sought the park. The setting sun Had left a bit of warmth for me-- I found a bench beneath a tree, And sat and thought. My life is hard, Sometimes my heart seems battle-scarred, With longings keen, and bitter fears, And want, and suffering, and tears.

Temptation spoke, and Youth spoke back; The night seemed cold and grimly black, And every light was like a star That cleft the sky--they were so far, So very far away! And I Was lonely, there, beneath the sky....

There used to be a little farm A tiny place, remote from harm; There used to be a mother frail And sweet, with hair as silver-pale As the faint moon. She heard me say The words when first I learned to pray....

Above me in the silent trees, I heard the rustles of the breeze, It sounded like her step, as light As dreams across an endless night. My mother-- Ah, the name so sweet, Brought memories on noiseless feet, And softly in the darkness, there, I breathed my little childhood prayer....

Do prayers have answers? As I prayed A Presence came, and gently laid A Hand upon my arm. I knew That Someone kind, and good, and true Was very near. Upon my soul A peace swept down, and left it whole. I felt a calm steal over me, The same that stilled the troubled sea Where Jesus walked. My fears were laid, Temptation left me unafraid. And as I smiled, there in the park, A voice spoke through the fragrant dark. "Be of good cheer!" the words rang out Like music through the city's shout.

And all the lights that I could see Were stars of home, agleam for me!

FROM MY ROOM

I love you, dear.... Here, alone in my room tonight, it is all that matters, Out through my window, vaguely hushed, the city clatters, Telling ever its tale of woe and mirth, Sighing ever its song of death and birth, Singing ever its potent, mad refrain, Swept with tears and the bitter weight of pain.

Here in my room I kneel, alone, to pray, But there seems very little, dear, to say Even to God. So, kneeling by my bed, I think dim thoughts, and dream long dreams instead. Wide-eyed I kneel and watch the candle flame, Making swift shadows on the wall; your name Throbs in my heart, and makes my pulse to thrill-- Wide-eyed I kneel, with soul a-light, until Somewhere a clock starts chiming.... It is late.... Out through the dark wan tenderness and hate Press pale kisses upon the city's lips-- Dawn comes creeping, the weary nighttime slips Furtively by, like some hurt thief with plunder.... Dear, I cross to my window, and I wonder Whether you are asleep, or if you lie, Sleepless beneath the smoke-hung purple sky....

Down in the streets the tired city vaguely clatters, Here alone in my room I stand, and nothing matters, Only.... I love you!

THE BALCONY SCENES

The stage is set, like a garden, And the lights are flickering and low; And a Romeo with fat legs, Is telling a Juliet with dyed hair and tired, disillusioned eyes, That love--real love--is the only thing in the world.

And up in the balcony of the theatre Where the seats cost twenty-five cents, A slim little girl in a shiny serge frock, And a boy with a wistful mouth Are holding hands. And as they listen, breathlessly, to the studied voice of the actor, Their fingers are all a-thrill, With the music of the ages.

A BOWERY PAWN-SHOP

A dusty, musty little shop set in a dingy street, A doorsill old and scarred and worn by many tired feet, A row of cases, vaguely glassed, a safe against the wall, And, oh, the ache of many hearts--the fabric of it all!

A violin with broken strings that fingers have caressed, A diamond-set betrothal ring that lover's lips have pressed, A high shell comb, a spangled fan, a filmy bit of lace, A heart-shaped locket, ribbon-tied, that frames a laughing face.

A pair of blankets folded up, an overcoat, a shawl, A tall old clock that might have chimed in some wainscoted hall, And in the farthest corner, where the purple shadows lie, The echo of a woman's sob, the phantom of a sigh.

Ah, wedding-rings--a score of them--not many of them new, A grim revolver laid beside a baby's tiny shoe, A satin coat, a ragged gown, a gold-clasped book of verse, A necklace of bedraggled pearls, an empty silver purse.

A dreary weary little shop set in a sunless place. A little shop where love has met with sorrow and disgrace.... A row of cases, double-locked, a safe against the wall; And, oh, the ache of countless hearts that lies behind it all!

SPRING IN THE CITY

I saw a crocus blooming in the park, I felt a hint of magic in the air, I heard faint music sighing everywhere, And so, as all the world, grew softly dark--

I found again the hope that never dies, And hungrily, with out-flung arms, I came Once more to you. And when you spoke my name I read springtime eternal in your eyes!

ROSE PETALS IN THE EARLY RAIN, FORGOTTEN DREAMS, AND A TORN SKETCH BOOK!

LI'L EMPTY CLOSET

There's a li'l empty closet in a li'l empty room, Where th' shadows lie like dust upon th' floor; It uster be HIS closet not s' very long ago-- That's why I don't go near it any more. Every li'l hook is empty, 'ceptin' one, an' from it hangs (Th' whitest li'l ghost that ever grew In a heart that's near ter breakin' with it's agony o' grief! ) An empty flannel nightie piped with blue.

Jus' a li'l flannel nightie that was shrunken in th' wash, In spots th' blue has ran inter th' white; But I've seen him in it, sleepy, when I tucked th' covers in, An' kissed him, soft, an took away th' light. Jus' a li'l flannel nightie, hangin' empty on a hook, As if it was ashamed--or in disgrace-- Jus' a li'l flannel nightie an' it ain't no use no more, But I couldn't bear t' take it from its place!

Jus' a li'l empty closet in a li'l empty room, Where th' shadows lie like dust upon th' floor-- It uster be his closet, where I'd put his clothes away, That's why I hate ter go there any more. But I've left his li'l nightie hangin' on a single hook, I sorter had ter leave it there, I guess; Ah, that li'l empty closet in that li'l empty room Is crowded--crowded ful o' loneliness!

TWO LULLABYS

I. To A DREAM BABY

Oh, little child whose face I cannot see, I feel your presence very near tonight, I feel the warmth of you creep close to me... The grey moths drift across the candlelight, And tiny shadows sway across the floor, Like wistful elves who do a fairy dance; The wind is tapping softly at the door, And rain is beating, like a silver lance, Against the tightly curtained window pane. Oh, little child whose face I cannot see, The loneliness, the twilight, and the rain, Have brought your dearness very close to me. And though I rock with empty arms, I sing A lullaby that I have made to croon Into your drowsy shadow ear--a song About the star sheep and the shepherd moon!

II. POPPY LAND

Sleep, little tired eyes, close to the heart of me, Sleep while the sun trembles low in the west; You who are dream of my dreams, and a part of me-- Sleep with your head lying warm on my breast.

Dear, there's a land that is filled with red flowers, Poppies, they call them, that sway in the breeze; Sometimes their petals, in soft scarlet showers, Fall in warm drifts that are high as your knees.... Dear, in your dreams you will laugh as you roll through them, Waving your arms in an effort to creep; Gently they nod as the wind sings its soul through them, Sleep, little tired eyes, sleep....

Dear, in this land there's a sky like a feather, Blue in some places, or white as a star; And there's a fragrance--a plant that's called heather Grows in the spot where the butterflies are. Dear, there are pastures as gay as glad laughter, Dotted with hundreds of woolly white sheep, Dear, you can pat them, for they'll follow after You, as you sleep....

Dream, little tired eyes, close to the breast of me, Wander in fields where red flowers are gloaming; All of my heart wanders with you, the rest of me Watches your dreaming....

I DREAMED YOUR FACE

I dreamed your face, one night, when Heaven seemed resting, Against the troubled fever of the earth; I dreamed that vivid throated birds were nesting, In trees that shook with elfin-hearted mirth. I dreamed that star-like purple flowers were springing A-throb with perfume all about the place, And that there was a far-off sound of singing-- And then--I dreamed your face!

I dreamed your face, and then I waked from dreaming, (The creeping dawn seemed very cold and bare!) The rising sun seemed pallid in its beaming, Because its coming did not find you there! And I--I rose despondent in the morning, As one whose burning thirst has not been slaked; I dreamed your face, a wonder world adorning, And then--I waked.

And so I went upon a quest to find you, A quest that led through many bitter years; I journeyed far with strands of love to bind you, And found, not you, but bitterness and tears-- So I returned, discouraged, through the gloaming, My shoulders bowed with weariness unguessed; I came back, unsuccessful, from my roaming-- My sorry quest!