Chapter 3

I had a bit of garden that I tended, It helped me dream, again, my dream of you-- It was a joyous place of colors blended-- A place where pansies and Sweet William grew. And one bright day I hummed as I was planting A border row of flowers slim and fair, And raised my eyes to see pale sunlight slanting Across your hair!

ANSWER

I am myself--you cannot take my dreams And pull the filmy stuff of them apart! I am myself--and life IS what it seems. I am myself, and love is in my heart! You cannot make me think by fast set rule, You cannot laugh beliefs like mine away, Experience MAY be a bitter school, And yet.... The golden sun shines every day, And stars at night lend magic to the sky, And all the world is vividly a-glow, You cannot make me pause to question why For we who dare to dream have learned to know!

THE WORLD IS RIGHT! There is a friendly One Who smiles when we have tried to do our part-- I will not flinch, my journey's just begun.... I AM MYSELF--YOU CANNOT BREAK MY HEART!

A BABY'S HANDS

God made the rivers, the hills, and the seas, God made the flowers, the grass, and the trees; God made the clouds, and the waves, silver-crested, Then God made the hands of a baby--and rested!

How did He make them? Well, nobody knows-- Some say He dreamed of the bud of a rose, And that He woke as the dawn swept away Night in the dancing pink promise of day.

Maybe He thought of the light of a star, (That's why He made them as soft as they are!) Maybe He watched while a new butterfly, Light as a sunbeam, went fluttering by.

Maybe He walked in a garden, dew-kissed, That's why He made them as frail as the mist-- Then as He leaned from His heaven above, God made them strong as His greatest gift--LOVE!

God made the mountains--we wonder at these-- God made the splendor of sunsets and trees; God made vast mines where a world's wealth is piled, Then God made the hands of a baby--and smiled!

ALL ALONG THE BROAD HIGHWAY

All along the broad highway the little dreams were growing, White as hope, and red as life, and bluer than the sea-- All along the broad highway I felt their petals blowing, Like a storm of fragrant snow across the lips of me! So I danced with joyous heart, and bent above them singing. So I skipped along the road and smiled into the skies; ALL ALONG THE BROAD HIGHWAY THE LITTLE DREAMS WERE SPRINGING, FRAGRANT AS THE DEW OF STARS AND GLAD AS BUTTERFLIES!

All along the broad highway I danced and sang unheeding, Till One came with haughty step and traveled by my side; Traveled first beside my path then, suddenly, was leading-- One who drew me after him and murmured, "I AM PRIDE!" All along the broad highway I hurried, ever faster, Faster through the purple dust that blinded like a mist, Blinded me until I felt that only Pride was master, (And I saw the little dreams through clouds of amethyst!)

All along the broad highway I toiled, no longer glancing Anywhere but straight ahead... I had no heart to sing-- All along the broad highway, my feet no longer dancing; Followed I the steps of Pride, and felt the thick dust sting In the tired eyes of me... the eyes too sad for weeping! Still I struggled--struggled on until quite suddenly-- All the strength that kept me up seemed drowsy, almost sleeping-- And I paused with drooping head and lo, Pride went from me!

All along the broad highway the silent dusk was stealing, Quite alone I stood and stared about me in the gloom; And the voice of me was still, and my heart was kneeling Like a weary pilgrim soul in an attic room. And I stretched my empty hands to where the ghostly lighting, Showed a crumpled mist of blue, a heap of white and red-- There along the broad highway like armies after fighting, All the gallant little dreams were lying gaunt and dead!

MY MOTHER

My mother's kinder chubby--she's fat, th' fellers say-- My mother's kinder chubby, but I like her that a-way! 'Cause she's awful sorter jolly, an' she makes th' bestest pies, An' she laughs when I'm a-jokin' 'till th' tears are in her eyes. An' she pats me on th' shoulder when I'm feelin' sad an' blue, An' whispers, "Little feller, yer mother's proud o' you!"

She don't wear silks 'at rustle, like Tommie's mother does, But I like her gingham better 'cause it's--well, just 'cause it's hers! An' she don't look young an' girl-like, an' her hands are sorter red, But, my, they're awful gentle when she tucks you inter bed.... She hasn't got a di'mond like th' lady crost th' street, But she's got two great big dimples, an' her smile is mighty sweet!

My mother's sorter chubby--but say, her step is light-- She's never cross 'r tired--not even when it's night! An' her shoulders JUST as comfy when yer heart is feelin' sore, When you wish you was a baby--an' not a boy no more-- Oh, her arms are cushion tender at th' twilight time o' day, Yes--my mother's sorter chubby--But I like her that a-way!

HEREDITY

You told me, last night, In a strange and sudden burst of confidence; That a New England ancestor of yours, Had burned witches-- And at last I knew....

Why your eyes are always so grim, And why your mouth is cut, In a straight line, And why you can never see beauty and mirth In the sweep of wind over a wheat field, Or in the sunlight on a baby's hair. At last I knew Why you can never see romance In the long gypsie trail, Or magic, In the still purple woods.

I knew why life, To you, Was something to be struggled with, Not a glorious adventure; And why death was the end of things, And not the beginning. And I knew at last, Why you could never understand, That tears may cover laughter, And that laughter may be a veil For tears.

You told me, last night, That an ancestor of yours, Had burned witches, And, oh, as I sat in the candlelight, Watching you, I couldn't help wishing, That somewhere behind you, in the shadows,

There was another ancestor-- A gay cavalier ancestor-- Who rode hard, And fought with his sword, And wore his hat, rakishly, On the back of his head, And knew--love.

APRIL

I had not meant to love again--all that was lost to me, For I had felt love's fear and pain, as well as ecstasy; I closed my heart, and locked the door, and tossed away the key.

All through the winter-time I sat before my flaming fire, And listened to the sleigh-bells chime, and watched the flames leap higher, To grasp at shadows, sombre-hued, with fiendish, red desire.

And then mad April came again--I felt the breezes blowing, And I forgot the fear, the pain.... I only knew that, glowing, In shady nook and garden spot, pale hyacinths were growing.

And when across the perfumed lea (for nothing could defeat him! ) My vagrant love crept back to me... I did not mean to greet him; But April opened up my heart, and, oh, I ran to meet him!

THE DESERT PATH--SEVEN SONNETS

I.

The camel tracks led whitely across the desert sand, And one came riding after with furtive mystery; Ah, one came swiftly riding, a dagger in his hand, And he was bent on plunder--a nomad thief was he! He did not heed the starshine that glimmered from on high, For laden beasts had traveled along the lonely way. He did not see the glory that swept the Eastern sky, For he had far to journey before the dawn of day.

He followed through the desert, and then at last he saw An inn upon the outskirts of some small village place; And there were camels resting before the stable door-- He left his horse, crept nearer, with greed upon his face; And peering o'er the threshold, he saw that gold was piled, With precious stones and incense, before a little Child.

II.

A thief he was by calling, who to the stable came, A thief whose youthful fingers had learned to steal their fill; A thief he was who valued his heritage of shame, YET STANDING BY THAT DOORWAY, HE DID NOT WANT TO KILL! A thief he was, but--watching,--he saw a Baby face, And, bending near, a Mother, whose joy was undefiled; And for one breathless moment across the stable space, The Baby's eyes gazed at him--AND THEN THE BABY SMILED!

A thief he was by calling, but there beside the door He saw a Holy Vision--he knelt and tried to pray-- And something, thrilling, whispered of love forever- more-- And then he rose, half weeping--and it was Christmas Day! A thief he was by calling, who felt the Father's plan, But back across the desert there silent rode a man!

III.

The years are met as milestones upon a winding road, And some slip by like shadows, and some are fair with flowers; And some seem dreary, hopeless--a leaden chain of hours-- And some are like a heart-throb, and some a heavy load, The thief, a thief no longer, a lonely figure strode Heart-weary down life's pathway, through tempest and through showers, But always prayed that somewhere among sweet- scented bowers, A Baby's smile might show him where happiness abode.

For he was often hungry--a thief, reformed, must eat-- And there were folk who shunned him, and turned his plea away; And there were those who scourged him from out the market place-- (They were the ones who told him to earn his bread and meat!) Yet ever he walked onward, and dreamed of some fair day When he would find the Christ-Child with love upon His face!

IV.

Where work lay for the asking it seemed that men MIGHT work, But prejudice was rampant in every shop and field; And, "What if you ARE trying, MY scythe you may not wield!" Men told the thief, who answered--"Indeed, I will not shirk!" And carpenters and builders turned from him with a smirk, And farmers hurried by him to house the harvest's yield. And so he took his dagger, all rusted, and his shield, And sought again the highway where thieves and jackals lurk.

And yet the spark of manhood still flamed within his heart, And still he saw the Baby, beyond the stable door; And oftentimes at even, as crimson daytime died, He knelt, a sorry figure, from all of life apart. And, "Oh, if I could see Him--and feel His love once more, "If I could see Him smiling, I would not steal!" he cried.

V.

It was a glowing ruby that caused the thief to fall, But--he was very hungry, and lonely, too, and cold; And youth lay all behind him, a tattered funeral pall, For he was very tired, and he was growing old. It was a glowing ruby that lay upon the breast Of one who had not earned it, who wore it with a sneer; The thief was very weary, he only longed for rest; He was too wan for caring, he was too numb for fear!

It was a glowing ruby--he held it in his hand-- His hand was thin and withered, it shook beneath the gem; He took the vivid ruby, the ransom of a land, And tied it firmly, tightly, within his garment's hem; And then he shuffled forward, but like a thorn within His soul he bore the torment of bitterness and sin!

VI.

They caught him when the morning had tinged the Eastern skies; The gem was found upon him, as red as guilty blood; He stood, his head sunk forward, with listless, shal- low eyes, And hopelessness submerged him like some unholy flood; A Thief he was by calling. The law? The law was great; What chance had he for pity? His fate was sealed and done; He was unclean, an outcast, a menace to the state; A thing to be avoided, a stain against the sun!

They led him to his hearing, the hall was still and light; A judge was seated higher, who passed him with a glance; And suddenly, forgetting his weariness and fright, The thief cried, leaping forward, "I did not have a chance!" The judgment hall was spacious, and coldly white and wide-- And coldly came the sentence--"He shall be crucified!"

VII.

They nailed him, God's creation, upon a cross of shame; They nailed him up with laughter, they heeded not his tears; And people looking at him were moved to soulless jeers, And agony was on him--a searing, breathless flame! And then, as he hung sobbing, a sudden feeling came Of peace that, reaching toward him across the sound of sneers, Was like a burst of music that one more feels than hears-- For, from somewhere beside him, a Voice had breathed his name.

Ah, he was weak with anguish, and yet he turned his head, And saw a cross beside him, and on the cross a Form; And he forgot the tumult, the horror and the storm-- And someone, down below him, said, "Look, the thief is dead!" But, safe from fear and torture beyond their scornful cries, The thief had gazed at Heaven in Christ's triumphant eyes!

SUMMER SONG

If I might go with my True Love, To some far, dream-swept land, I'd be content to sit all day Upon the silver sand, And watch the sea come creeping in, The sighing, singing sea-- If I might go to some far land, And take True Love with me!

If I could go with my True Love, To some far, lonely place; The world might well be lost, and I Could look upon Love's face. And wealth would seem a little thing, While happiness might be-- If I could go to some far land, And take True Love with me.

Ah, Love would smile, and ruffle up, The hair above my brow; And we would laugh at all that seems So very sober, now. And monkey-folk, and scarlet birds, Would peer from every tree, And try to understand the words My True Love said to me!

If I might go with my True Love, To some far, dream-swept land; I would not miss the world, for I Could always touch Love's hand, And feel the magic of his lips-- Oh, by the singing sea, And Eden-place would bloom a-new For my True Love and me!

COMPREHENSION--A MOTHER'S SONG

I KNOW HOW MARY FELT, THERE IN THE HAY, MY LITTLE SON WAS BORN ON CHRISTMAS DAY!

I know, as she bent tenderly above Him, She did not think of majesty or power, For he was hers--and she was there to love Him! His hands, as pinkly tinted as a flower, Seemed all too small to carve His deathless story-- What though a star gleamed glorious to guide Him? She snatched Him to her breast as if to hide Him From harm, and fear, and even--yes, from glory.

And when the wise men came to give their treasure, She smiled at them as proud as any queen; She scarcely saw the jewels in countless measure, The gold that gleamed; her gaze was far, serene, Upon the hills where shepherds watched, alone. She did not think of crosses or of dying, For He was just a drowsy baby, lying Wrapped in her love--A baby--all her own!

I KNOW HOW MARY FELT, THERE IN THE HAY, MY LITTLE SON WAS BORN ON CHRISTMAS DAY!

SINGING ON THE MARCH

God put a song into my heart one day, A little song as light as ocean form, A little song of love and hope and home, A little song to cheer me on my way.

And though I bowed beneath the load I bore, I found that, when I sang, the way was bright, And that my footsteps swifter grew, and light; And all my life seemed fairer than before.

God has a song that fits in every heart, And though that song may seem a tiny thing, It is your task--so forge ahead, and SING-- And you will find that you have done your part!

EASTER

He came to call last night-- And we began to talk, as young folk will, Half carelessly, and half in awe, of God. It was the springtime, and the night was still And fragrant, all about us. And the sod Was fresh with tender grass, And overhead a crescent moon shone bright. And, "God," he said, "Has built the world on laws, "Like some great watch, and every breathing space "Is measured; and the system has no flaws, "And nothing moves from its appointed place. "God is the Master Scientist," he said, His voice was bold and had a ring of truth-- But God seemed ponderous, and far away....

And then a gentle breeze danced overhead, And caused the timid, new-born leaves to sway, And we began to talk of love, and youth.

And then, I sent him home, and went upstairs, To my still room, and flung the windows wide; And as I knelt to say my evening prayers I saw the stars, far smiling, in the sky. And, all at once, I knew the reason why I worshipped God... knew why He had sent His son to save the world from sin and shame; And, suddenly, like some sweet, healing tide, The meaning of my life swept over me; And, through the dark, my groping soul could see The Christ Who loved us, and was crucified.

And, as I knelt and watched the star's faint shine, I felt God's hand, a moment, touching mine!

RESURRECTION

You took the lilt from my heart of hearts, And the breath of song from my soul; And the mind of me that had once been free And buoyantly young, and whole; Grew calm and still as a barren sea, Where never a star beam shone, A sea where never a ripple danced-- That reflected your face along.

I walked in a daze down well-worn paths-- Paths that your feet had trod; I thought your thoughts and I spoke your tongue, I knelt to your hostile God. And the dreams that had been a part of me, I tossed with a sigh away, And left to rust in the misty dust Of the land called Yesterday.

My hands lay folded in slim repose, Quite as you bade them rest; Folded, meek, o'er the leaden heart That tortured my gypsie breast. And I smiled with my lips--my eyes were numb-- I smiled for I never knew, That the mind of me was a lifeless sea, Reflecting the face of you!

You took the lilt from my carefree life, And the song from my singing heart; But there came a day when the world grew gray, When I knew that we must part.... So I tore you out of your soul-bound shrine-- And, oh, though it caused me pain, I raised my face to the sky and knew That my song would come again!

THE QUEEN

"Barefooted came the beggar maid," So ran the minstrel's lay-- "Barefooted came the beggar maid "Before the King Corpethua." But, oh, her face was like a light, Her hair was black as middle night, And whispers ran from left to right-- "She is more beautiful than day!"

"In robe and crown the king stepped down," So ran the minstrel's lay-- "In robe and crown the king stepped down, "To meet and greet her by the way." And so the beggar maid became, A Queen, but just a queen in name, For, with her gypsie eyes aflame, Her mirror heard her say--

I was a beggar maid, I used to lie Silent and unafraid, beneath the sky, And watch the stars--my little sisters, they, I used to wake at dawning time of day To plunge my body in some mountain stream-- I was a beggar maid! Is this a dream, This golden crown I wear upon my head? This robe of royal purple and of red, This rope of pearls, this ring, these silken shoon?

Not long ago the silver crescent moon Was like a hand that beckoned me to stray, And cities seemed vast centuries away; And as my feet--swift feet, they were, and light-- Carried me through the wonder of the night, I never thought of kings, or kingly power-- My life was all one splendid, singing hour!

I love my king--He raised me from the dust, And looked at me with wonder, and with trust; My hair hung, tangled, to the waist of me, He brushed it from my eyes, that he might see Deep into them! He set me on his steed, He never knew my name, or asked my creed, He just believed in me--and told me so. I love my king, I love him well, but, oh-- Once I wore poppies, red upon my brow, (A crown seems very heavy to me, now,) And once I wore, for all the world to see A gown of rags. (Now, velvets stifle me!) And once my hands (how soft they are!) were strong To toil for me. The days seem very long While I must sit in state above the land-- I love my king... But does he understand? I was a beggar maid, I used to lie Silent and unafraid beneath the sky-- And, now that I am queen, my being longs To hear, once more, the little slumber songs Of night birds nesting in some forest tree-- I want to be myself, again, and free! I want to climb the crest of some great hill, And watch the sunset clouds, again, and thrill Before the color of them! I would stand Alone, once more, and see the wistful land Take on the tint of twilight. I would pray My gypsie prayer, again, at close of day!

I love my king--for he has given me Rare pearls, the treasure of a sighing sea, And rubies, red as sunset clouds a-glow And opals like the wistful winds that blow At twilight-time.

But I would wear, instead, Wild forest flowers, twined about my head-- And I would dance, barefooted, on the sod, An innovation to my pagan God!

Am I a queen? What is this crown I wear? I tear it from my smoothly plaited hair-- I lay my ring, my rope of pearls, aside; Am I a queen--am I a monarch's bride? The soul of me is still a gypsie thing-- I pull them off, the glowing gems, the ring....

I love my king, I love him well--but, oh, GIVE ME MY RAGS, AGAIN, AND LET ME GO!

FRAGMENTS

A WITHERED ROSE

A book of verse, And one withered rose Between two pages....

My love is as faded as the petals, But still faintly fragrant With sweet memories.

ASHES OF LOVE

Dust on the letters you sent me And I did not know that they had been forgotten.

Does it mean that I love again?

IT'S LOTS OF FUN--