Part 2

Is it the song of a meadow lark Off the brown, sere salt marshes, Or the eager patches in dooryards Of yellow and pale lilac crocuses; Or else the suburban street golden with sunlight, And the bare branches of elm trees Twined in the delicate sky? Or is it the merry piping Of a distant hurdy-gurdy?-- That makes me so weary and faint with desire For strange lands and new scents; For the rough-rhythmed clank Of train couplings at night, And the stormy, gay-tinted sunrises That shade with purple the contours Of far-off, unfamiliar hills.

NIGHT PIECE

A silver web has the moon spun, A silver web upon all the sky, Where the frail stars quiver, every one Like tangled gnats that hum and die.

The moon has tangled the dull night In her silver skein and set alight Each dew-damp branch with milky flame. And huge the moon broods on the night.

My soul is caught in the web of the moon, Like a shrilling gnat in a spider's web. Importunate memories shrill in my ears Like the gnats that die in the spider web.

Lovely as death, in the moon's shroud, Were town streets, grey houses, dim, Full of strange peace in the silent night. As we walked our footsteps clattered loud. We felt the night as a troubled song ... Oh, the triumphing sense of life a-throb. Behind those walls, in those dark streets, Like the sound of a river, swift, unseen, Flowing in darkness. Oh, the hoarse Half-heard murmur swirling beneath The snowy beauty of moonlight....

And that other night, When the river rippled with faint spears Of street lights vaguely reflected. Grey The evening, like an opal; low, A grey moon shrouded in sea fog: Air pregnant with spring; rasp of my steps Beside the lapping water; within The dark. Down the worn out years a sob Of broken loves; old pain Of dead farewells; and one face Fading into grey....

A silver web has the moon spun, A silver web over all the sky. In her flooding glory, one by one, Like gnats in a web the stars die.

* * * * *

ROBERT HILLYER

FOUR SONNETS FROM A SONNET-SEQUENCE

I

Quickly and pleasantly the seasons blow Over the meadows of eternity, As wave on wave the pulsings of the sea Merge and are lost, each in the other's flow. Time is no lover; it is only he That is the one unconquerable foe, He is the sudden tempest none can know, Winged with swift winds the none may hope to flee.

Fair child of loveliness, these endless fears Are nought to us; let us be gods of stone, And set our images beyond the years On some high mount where we can be alone. And thou shalt ever be as now thou art, And I shall watch thee with untroubled heart.

II

Then judge me as thou wilt, I cannot flee, I cannot turn away from thee forever, For there are bonds that wisdom cannot sever And slaves with souls far freer than the free. Such strong desires the universal Giver With unknown plan has buried deep in me That the exquisite joy of watching thee Has dominated all my life's endeavor.

Thou weariest of having me so near, I feel the scorn thou hast within thy heart, And yet thy face has never seemed so dear As now, when I am minded to depart. Though thou shouldst drive me hence, I love thee so That I would watch thee when thou dost not know.

III

Fly, joyous wind, through all the wakened earth Now when the portals of the dawn outpour A myriad wonders from the radiant store Of spring's deep passion and loud-ringing mirth. Cry to the world that I despair no more, Heart greets my heart and hope has proved its worth; Fly where the legions of the sun have birth, Chant everywhere and everywhere adore.

Circle the basking hills in fragrant flight, Shout Rapture! Rapture! if sweet sorrow passes, And whisper low in intimate delight My love-song to the undulating grasses. Grief is no more, love rises with the spring, O fly, free wind, and Rapture! Rapture! sing.

IV

Long after both of us are scattered dust And some strange souls perchance shall read of thee, Finding the yearnings that have crushed from me These poor confessions of my love and trust, I know how misinterpreted will be These lines, for men will laugh, or more unjust, Thinking not once of love, but only lust, Will stain the vesture of our memory.

And yet a few there may be who will feel My deep devotion and my true desires, And know that these unhappy words reveal Only new images in changeless fires; And they perchance will linger with a sigh To think that beauty such as thine must die.

A SEA GULL

Grey wings, O grey wings against a cloud, Over the rough waves flashing, Whose was the scream, startling and loud, Keen through the skies,--was it thine, Over the moaning wind and the whine Of the wide seas dashing? Whose was the scream that I heard In the midst of the hurrying air? Was it thine, lost bird, Or the voice of an old despair Chanting from years long dead, Inexorable spirit flying On tempest wings that passed and fled Through the storm crying?

DOMESDAY

The garlands and the songs of May Shall welcome in the Judgment Day; About the basking country-side Blossom the souls of them that died. O Dead awake! Arise in bloom Upon the joyous dawn of doom.

They rise up from the bleeding earth In gracious legions of re-birth, Each as a flower or a tree Of verdant immortality. And hosts of glad-voiced angels sing In the rippling groves of spring.

From the grave of youth there grows A passionately-petaled rose, Where the virgin whitely lies A lily fair as Paradise. And in that old oak's leafy glee Some gouty sire makes sport of me.

O Dead of yore and yesterday All hail the resurrecting May! Beside you in the flowering grass The feet of youth and love shall pass, And we that greet you with a smile Shall join you in a little while.

TO A PASSEPIED BY SCARLATTI

Strange little tune so thin and rare Like scents of roses of long ago, Quavering lightly upon the strings Of a violin, and dying there With a dancing flutter of delicate wings; Thy courtly joy and thy gentle woe, Thy gracious gladness and plaintive fears Are lost in the clamorous age we know, And pale like a moon in the lurid day; A phantom of music, strangely fled From the princely halls of the quiet dead, Down the long lanes of the vanished years Echoing frailly and far away.

ELEGY FOR ANTINOUS

Come, let us hasten hence and weep no more, The sinking sea flows on its tranquil ways, Night looms serenely at the eastern door And trails the last cloud into lifeless haze. Antinous is dead, we kneel before The portals of our past in vain, nor raise The laughing phantoms of our yesterdays Upon this desolate and empty shore.

Now deepening pools of shadow overflow Into the sea of dark; a far-off bell Sobs with a sweet vibration long and slow A last farewell, forevermore, farewell; And will He wake and hear? We cannot tell; And will He answer? Ah, we do not know.

SONG

O crimson rose, O crimson rose, Crushed lightly in two little hands; A child's soft kiss was in your heart, A child's warm breath was in your soul.

The child is gone, O crimson rose, And stained and hardened are the hands, And who shall find your golden heart And who shall kiss your withered soul?

Happy are you, O crimson rose, But I have stains upon my hands; You died with kisses in your heart, I live with sorrow in my soul.

"MY PEACE I LEAVE WITH YOU"

He pondered long, and watched the darkening space Close the red portals whence the hours had run, As like young wistful angels, one by one, The stars cast timid flowers about His face. "Yea, now another scarlet day is done!" He cried in anguish, and with sudden grace Stretched forth His arms, as though He would erase The few, dim embers of the scattered sun.

"The scarlet day is done, and soon the light Will wake again my desecrated skies. Oh, that another dawn might never rise!-- My foolish children!" Through the vast of night The young stars shivered in a silver horde Before the Infinite Sorrow of their Lord.

THE RECOMPENSE

When the last song is sung, and the last spark Of light dies out forever, and the dark, The voiceless dark eternal shrouds the earth; When the last cries of pain and shouts of mirth Sink in the desolate silences of space; Where then shall flower the beauty of your face, O Love the laughing, Youth the rose-in-hand, In what unknown and undiscovered land Shall flower then the beauty of your face?

I know not but I know that all returns At last unchanged, and to the heart that yearns Shall be repaid all loneliness and loss. Sometime with shadowy sails shall fly across The shoreless ocean of infinity A ship from out the past, and the great sea Of life shall bear you from the strange worlds over The waves, and back again to the old lover.

Yes, in some future far beyond surmise You will dream here with half-remembering eyes, And I shall write these words, content awhile In the slow round of time to see you smile.

* * * * *

R. S. MITCHELL

POPPY SONG

I

Footsteps soft as fall the rose's Petals on a dewy lawn, Shaken when the wind uncloses Golden gateways for the dawn;

Laughter light as is the swallows' Chatter in the evening sky, Wafted upward from the hollows Where the limpid waters lie;

Weeping faint as is the willow's By the margin of the lake, Trembling into tiny billows That the silent teardrops make;

Phantoms fitful and uncertain As the pearly autumn rain, Sweeping on in cloudy curtain Down the wide way of the plain.

II

Oh, unhappy now to waken When the dream had scarce begun! Out of gentle twilight taken Into realms of burning sun:

Oh, unhappy now to find me Lost 'neath heavens hot with noon; All that fairy land behind me; Poppy fields and rising moon!

Drawbridge and portcullis screeching, Bugles braying soon and late; Who are they that come beseeching, Calling at my castle gate?

Drive them hence, for they encumber Days and nights with waking pain; Tell them that I lie and slumber Under poppies, wet with rain.

Who art thou that bendest praying Over me with clasped palms; Dim through surging darkness, saying Words of prayer and murmured psalms?

Who art thou that kneelest weeping By the border of my bed? Cease thou, for I was but sleeping-- Dreaming, only, and not dead!

III

Phantoms flitting and uncertain Sweeping round the endless plain; Autumn twilight's dusky curtain, Drowsy poppies, drenched with rain.

LOVE DREAM

Strange that on warp and woof of dreams Fancy should weave the web of truth, And yet this fairy figment seems Part of a half-forgotten youth Stolen from days I thought were sped Out of the world beyond the dead.

Smiled she not when at the edge Of evening we walked alone Plucking spring's blossoms from the hedge That she might wear them as her own, Or do I hold a hopeless tryst Here with a shadow, made of mist?

Now as will crumpled rose leaves, pent By fingers we can never know, Rouse with the richness of their scent, Thoughts of a summer long ago, All the expanse of land and sea Speaks with a thousand tongues to me.

'Twas from coast we watched slow form, Out of the frosty ocean's breath, The blue-gray ramparts of the storm Flashing with signal fires of death, Whilst with a murmur, far and wide, Swept in the low wind with the tide.

Then, at last, when lips were dumb With fear of parting, did we wend Along the meadow lanes that come From nowhere, and in nothing end, And, smiling, kiss, though ill at ease, Under the rustling orchard trees.

But will the promise given keep? Can the heart love still when 'tis dead? What if the spirit, waked from sleep, Never recall the words it said? Dwell in a dreamland, or else be Lost in life's eternity?

THE ISLAND OF DEATH

There is an island in a silent sea That rises--four, rough, rugged walls--on high Above the ocean in calm majesty. A mountain of despair against the sky! About its summit soaring seagulls fly, Or rest them in its lofty cypress trees, And greet the black barge bearing those who die Upon our earth to everlasting ease And pleasant lives that know not man's eternities.

White halls and palaces their dwellings stand; These shadowy souls are all unknown to graves And live, faint phantoms in a fairy land Of dreams and idleness. They hear the waves Sing, and the winds come calling from the caves Of night beyond the ocean, and the cry Of screaming gulls; stare at each ship that braves This wilderness of waters, and glides by In awe-struck silence, ever fearing to draw nigh.

The sun, descending, sows the sea with gold, And showers splendour through the fading skies, Whilst from the murky waters they behold The moon, a shape of silver, slow arise. And every evening, as the daylight dies, There comes that bark of death, whose white sail seems An angel in the dark. A while it lies Below them in the harbour, then there gleams A new shape on the stairs up to that land of dreams.

FROM THE ARABIAN NIGHTS

Then, as the whispering evening crossed the sea, Sweeping the waters with her veil of grey, Wave-worn and weary of the ocean, we Beheld the enchanted island far away-- Half hidden in the twilight low it lay On the horizon like a lazy cloud, Its coasts encompassed with long lines of spray. We spread the sails and swiftly the ship plowed The purple path ahead until the surf sang loud.

Between the cliffs, by the faint stars, we found A gloomy gate, and boldly sailing in, Watched the dark mountains slowly closing round, And heard faint echoes of the ocean's din Melting like spirits' voices, fleet and thin; When of a sudden, as we faltered nigh, Out of the hills where only night had been A mist of minarets and towers high, Rose like the yellow light of morning in the sky.

Gazing we drifted toward that golden bloom Of palaces whose light glowed on our sail; There we floated wrapped in wild perfume; Then music burst upon us in a gale; Grave, deep-toned trumpets and the lyre's long wail, And farther, the faint sound of singing men. We grasped our oars--but slowly, as will pale The morning star, the vision faded, then The empty dark swept in and all was night again!

THRENODY

Have you forgotten me, O my beloved? Have you deserted me Now in the autumn?

See where the swallows fly South o'er the ocean: Soon will the winter wind Sweep the AEgean.

Up from the vineyard comes Music of laughter; Far through the valleys they Gather the harvest.

Westward the evening star Sinks in the mountains; Pale 'neath the rising moon Lies Mytilene.

Here where the headland looks Wide o'er the water, I have brought laurel leaves, Decking your barrow.

Why do I linger now Vainly lamenting? O it is lonely, love,-- Lonely in Lesbos!

HELEN

Again the voices of the hunting horns And the new moon, low lying on the hills, Tell that the summer night is on its way.-- O languid heart, shalt thou much longer watch This pale procession of the silent hours Melt into shadows of unending years? Much longer feed on yearning and despair And all the anguish of departed time? Tomorrow is as yesterday; today No nearer than the morning when there stood In Leda's palace, asking for my hand, Tall Menelaus with his yellow hair; No nearer now than the first time these hands Dared linger in caress upon the curls Of him whose dark eyes laughed their love to mine. 'Tis only as if one short, restless sleep Lay over the wide chasm of the years Beyond which loom lost faith and ruined Troy. The night wind brings, as twenty summers since, The silver-breasted swallows from the Nile To quiet Sparta, nestled in her hills, Locked inland from the voices of the sea; And far across the porticos I hear The ivory shuttle singing in the loom 'Midst maidens' chatter, as in olden days; And men still murmur as they pass me by: "Lo, look on her, the wonder of the world, Beauteous Helen, Lacedaemon's Queen!" I watch them gaze intently on my face As they would keep it in their memory Forever, and the very while they gaze I see the flame of Troy gleam in their eyes.

I think sometimes I have already passed Into the kingdom of untroubled death, And wandering lonely amongst them I knew In Hellas or that land beyond the seas, Behold each shadow as it passes by Shrink half involuntarily, and turn, And veil its face and vanish in the gloom. Whilst out of that dim distance whence my steps Are moving and to which they shall return After an interval of endless years, There comes a voice that calls me from afar: "Art thou not Helen, dowered of the gods With all that man can covet? Wert thou not Created the most beautiful of earth, And is not beauty wisdom, wisdom power? What hast thou done with their almighty gift?" And then, ere I would answer, silence falls Around me, and the dark divides, and I See the blue twilight on the Spartan hills.

LARGO

Thou only from this sorrow wert relief, Inviolate death, grave deity of rest, Wherein all things past somehow seem the best That ever could have come to be. Proud grief Her lustrous torch hath lighted in this brief Dim time before the dark, when the wide west Fades where illimitable skies suggest Days vanished in the beauty of belief.

As one unto a battle come, that stands Aloof awhile, beholding friend and foe Clashing in conflict, till his soul commands He, too, prest on whither the bugles blow, Lifting his eyes sees over wasted lands Life's dust and shadow drifting to and fro.

LAZARUS

At morn we passed a hall where song And dance had been and wine flowed free, And where, 'mid wrecks of revelry, Had lain the feasters all night long.

They saw us through the mist of dawn, And, turning, called us to their feast-- The sound of lutes and cymbals ceased-- But one He fixed His gaze upon.

In whose wide eyes there seemed to be-- Behind the laughing, wine-flushed face And tilted ivy-crown's gay grace-- Faint glimpses of Eternity.

Then sad, the Master bowed His head, And, through the rosy twilight, dim, Walked up and softly spake to him: "Art thou not he that late was dead?"

The drinker raised his cup on high, And murmured: "Priest of Nazareth, I am he thou didst raise from death-- Lo, thus I wait again to die!"

A CRUCIFIX

This was the cross of God on which men's eyes Dwelt with the love of dead divinity, As they who by the desolate orient sea In battle made their sainted sacrifice, Dreaming their boundless striving should devise A symbol whereby men might know that he Who wins his way on earth to victory, Thus in his consummated sorrow dies.

All things are sacred to that tender sight: Time's ancient altars whence strange incense curled Innocent to the unknown gods; the light Of love is thine; faith's banner is unfurled, Even where the farthest watchmen, through the night, Call on the cloud-wrapped ramparts of the world.

NEITH

Somehow the spirit of that day-- Rain-clouded streets and brooding air-- Determined me to live and dare, Living, to laugh the world away.

As in a crystal dreamers see Out of unwinding mists arise The splendors of some paradise Woven of gold and ivory;

Deep in the globe of thought I saw Dawn from tempestuous dust that form Toward which the endless ages storm Uproarious--to break with awe.

Of all things ignorant, yet wise, Sitting enthroned at life's last goal, Dividing body from the soul, Looking at each with flameless eyes.

Immutable, unknown, unsung, Through triumph and delight unearned, Through sorrow undeserved, I learned Salvation from thy wordless tongue.

Then flying the embracing gloom Of burnt-out days and parched desire, I built my soul an altar fire Of laughter in the face of doom.

A FAREWELL

Nay: by this desolate sea our troubled ways Shall separate forever; swift hath sped The hour of youth, and yet to hang the head, Lamenting lost things of departed days, Were only from that shadowland to raise A wraith, that whispering of the quiet dead, Would mimic the strange life of love; instead, Let us relent and hail the past with praise.

Go, then; and should inevitable fate Lead us at last beyond the world of men Where laurel and applause content no more, Whither the soul takes silence for its mate, There might we meet, and, smiling, once again Clasp hands and part upon some windy shore.

* * * * *

WILLIAM A. NORRIS

OF TOO MUCH SONG

Sedges, have you sung too much, Sedges gray along the shore? Can this autumn tempest touch Answering chords in you no more? Is the summer all forgot?-- Now the ice is dark and strong That has bound you to the spot-- Did you die of too much song?

Something in me is a harp Played by every wanton breeze. Moaning soft and piping sharp Are its wondrous melodies. Is the playing over-fast Though the answer now is strong? Like the sedges at the last Will it die of too much song?

[WHEREVER MY DREAMS GO]

Wherever my dreams go, you are always there, And you and I have gone to many a land, Seeing high hills at dawn and desert sand, Temples and mosques and people bowed in prayer. We too have prayed in many places where Beauty has come as I have clasped your hand, And through long silence learned to understand The dumb sweet language of your eyes and hair.

We have been lovers in all fair romances Beyond the rising or the sunken sun. There have been foes to meet, and I have done Great deeds beneath the splendor of your glances.... And yet I dreamed alone; you could not guess What joy you brought into my loneliness.

[OUT OF THE LITTLENESS]

Out of the littleness that wraps my days, The oppressive mist of gray and common things, Sometimes my dream on its audacious wings, Dripping with golden fire, above the haze, Flashes and veers against the sudden blaze Of sunlight. There no other wings may gleam But only yours, companioning my dream In its strange flight up new and radiant ways.

And once, I thought, in a far solitude, The black waves moaned and broke unutterably On a stern cliff where hand in hand we stood. There were none near us when the dark had gone,-- Only the clean wind of a sailless sea, And you and I alone in the great dawn.

NAHANT

Last night the sea was an enchanted moan And a pale pathway that the moonlight made. All night it sorrowed in the dark alone, Groping with ghostly fingers, half afraid, Up the great rocks and sobbing back again, Weary of search, yet still unsatisfied. It seemed to have the voice of all dead men And all fair women who had ever died.

But now the sun has risen, and the spray Leaps into sudden light along the shore. Each little wave has caught a golden ray-- As if the dawn had never come before. Beyond the cliffs brown fishing boats go by Under the reach of the wide laughing sky.

QUI SUB LUNA ERRANT