Part 3

Because his sweetly serious eyes Looked into mine no more; Because no more in childish-wise He brought his gathered store

Of dandelions to my bed, And violets and grass,-- Deeming I would be comforted That Spring had come to pass.

And now these unused toys and I Have little dread or care For any season that drifts by The silences we share;

And sometimes, when we think to pray, Across the vacant years We see God watching him at play And pitying our tears.

THE WINDOW OF DREAMS

It was quite dark within the room Wherein the Lady Alice sat; One had not seen, who looked thereat, The gathered dust upon her loom, There was such gloom.

And though the hangings on the wall Were wrought so well and cunningly That many had come far to see Their glory once (for they were all Of cardinal,

And gold, and silk, and curious glass) The ladies with the long red hair Thereon, the strong men fighting there, The little river edged with grass,-- Were now, alas,

As if they had been always gray. Likewise the lily, whose perfume Had once been over all the room, In which dark corner now it lay,-- What man might say?

She did not see these things, or know That they had changed since she had seen. She liked it best to sit between Two little firs (they used to grow, Once, long ago!)

That stood each in an earthen pot Upon the window's either side. They had been green before they died, But like the rest fell out their lot,-- To be forgot.

Yet what cared she for such as these, Whose window was toward the sun At sun-rising? There was not one Of them so strong and sure to please, Or bring her ease,

As what she saw when she looked through Her window just before the dawn. These were the sights she gazed upon: _Sir John, whose silken pennon flew,_ _Yellow and blue,_

_And proud to be upon his lance;_ _The horse he rode being gray and white;_ _A few men, unafraid to fight,_ _Followed (there were some men in France_ _Were brave, perchance!)_

_And they were armed with swords and spears;_ _Their horses, too, were mostly gray._ _--They seemed not sad to go away,_ _For they were men had lost their fears_ _With their child-years._

_They had such hope, there was but one_ _Looked back: Sir John had strength to look._ _His men saw not that his lance shook_ _A little, for though night was done,_ _There was no sun._

_And so they rode into the dawn_ _That waited just behind the hill;_ _(In France there were some men to kill!)_ These were the things she looked upon Till they were gone.

* * * * *

The room was dark, and full of fear; And so the Lady Alice stayed Beside the window. Here she prayed Each morning, and when night drew near, Year after year.

Beside her lay some unused things: A trumpet that had long been mute; A vellum book; a little lute That once had ten unrusted strings; And four gold rings;

A piece of faded cloth-of-gold; And three black pennies that were white As silver once:--the great delight She had of all these things of old Was now quite cold.

Only the things that she could see Out of the window gladdened her; After the morning, those things were _A ship that rode triumphantly_ (This sight would be

Plainest a little ere the noon) _On wide blue waters, with the wind_ _Strong from the west that lay behind;_ _Its sail curved like a slender moon,_ _Born into June._

_An empty ship beside the shore_ _Of some unconquered foreign land;_ _Some brave men fighting on the sand_ _As they had never fought before_ _In any war;_

_A few men fleeing to the hills_ (This came a little after noon), _God, but the fight was ended soon!_ _They were not hard to wound and kill!_ _A trumpet shrill_

_Echoes, and many knights pursue!_ _And on the hillside dead men lie,_ _Who learned before they came to die_ _The yellow flags the victors flew_ _Were crossed with blue!_

* * * * *

No wonder that this window-place Could make the Lady Alice glad, When sights like these were what she had! Yet there was one that made her face For a little space

Grow like a face that God has known. I think she was the happiest When the sun dropped into the west; This was the thing she then was shown, And this alone:

_A laden ship that followed fast_ _The way the setting sun had led;_ _In the east wind her great sail spread;_ _A brave knight standing near the mast;_ _The shore at last!_

Of all things, this the best did seem. And now the gathering darkness fell; The morn would bring him, she knew well; She slept; and in her sleep, I deem, She had one dream.

* * * * *

Against the window-side she slept. This window-place was very strange; Since it was made it had known change. Beneath it once no women wept, And no vines crept

And twisted in the broken glass. Some time ago, the little tree That she had planted tenderly Was not much higher than tall grass; But now, alas,

Its branches were the greatest where Her window looked toward the sun. One branch, indeed, its way had won Into her room,--it did not bear Green leaves in here.

Above the window, and inside, Great spider-webs were spun across. Where stone was, there was wet green moss Wherein small creeping things did hide Until they died.

The leaves that looked toward the room Were hardly anything but veins; They had been wasted by the rains, Like some dead naked girl in the gloom Of some old tomb.

But those outside were broad and green, And lived between the sun and shade. A perfect bower they had made,-- Beneath them there should sit some queen, Born to be seen!

* * * * *

It was quite dark within the place Wherein the Lady Alice slept. I heard the girls below who wept, But God did not (of His good grace) Show me her face.

THE RELIEF OF WET WILLOWS

_Now this is the ballad of seven men_ _Who rode to Wet Willows and back again._

It was only an hour before the dawn When they deemed it best to awaken Sir John.

For they knew his sword long years had hung On the wall, unhandled. (Once he was young,--

They did not remember; the tale had been told To them by their fathers, ere they grew old--

And then his sword was a dreaded thing When the men from the North came a-warfaring!)

But the women said that the things they knew Were best made known to their master, too:

How, down at Wet Willows, there lay on the ground Some men who were dead and some who were bound

And unable to succor the women who wept That the North-King had come while their warriors slept.

* * * * *

So it came to pass, with the wind of the dawn, Six men with their armor girded on

Had ridden around to the Eastern gate; It was there that Sir John had told them to wait.

And when he came they were unafraid, And knew no envy for those who stayed

Where the walls of the castle were strong and high; There were none save some women to bid them good-by,

And they saw, as the sky in the East grew gray, That Sir John and his men were some miles on their way.

* * * * *

_These things were heard and seen by the sun_ _When noon at Wet Willows was nearly done._

After the battle, the King from the North Bade his men lead the seven horses forth,

And bind, one on each, the Southern man Who had dared to ride it when day began.

The words that the Northern King had said Sir John and his men heard not, being dead;

(Nor heard they the sobs of the women who knew That Sir John's son's son in the East was true

To the cross that was white on the shield that he had); Nor knew they their home-going horses were glad;

Nor did they remember the trees by the way, Or the streams that they crossed, or the dead leaves that lay

By the roadside. And when the moon rose, red and near, They saw not its splendor; no more did they hear

The wind that was moaning from hill unto hill: Their leader,--his will was his horse's will.

* * * * *

In the Eastern sky faint streaks of gray Were changed to red, and it was day.

The women had waited all night long Where the castle tower was high and strong;

And now, at last, they beheld Sir John, And his men, and the horses they rode upon,

Just crossing the brow of the nearest hill. The women's cries rose loud and shrill,

And in their joy they pitied not, The men Sir John and his men had fought

And slain at Wet Willows. (Sir John was not young They knew well; but the might of his sword as it swung,

In the old fighting days, was a thing they well knew,-- A shield was but glass as it clove its way through!)

* * * * *

So they who had waited and watched and prayed The long night through were no more afraid

To open the gate,--for Sir John and his men Who had fought at Wet Willows were home again.

THE BUILDER

Come and let me make thee glad In this house that I have made! No where (I am unafraid!) Canst thou find its like on Earth: Come, and learn the perfect worth Of the labor I have had.

I have fashioned it for thee, Every room and pictured wall; Every marble pillar tall, Every door and window-place; All were done that thy fair face Might look kindlier on me.

Here, moreover, thou shalt find Strange, delightful, far-brought things: Dulcimers, whose tightened strings, Once, dead women loved to touch; (Deeming they could mimic much Of the music of the wind!)

Heavy candlesticks of brass; Chess-men carved of ivory; Mass-books written perfectly By some patient monk of old; Flagons wrought of thick, red gold, Set with gems and colored glass;

Burnished armor, once some knight (Dead, I deem, long wars ago!) Its great strength was glad to know When his Lady needed him: (Now that both his eyes are dim Both his sword and shield are bright!)

Come, and share these things with me, Men have died to leave to us! We shall find life glorious In this splendid house of love; Come, and claim thy part thereof,-- I have fashioned it for thee!

TE DEUM LAUDAMUS

I will praise God alway for each new year, Knowing that it shall be most worthy of His kindness and His pity and His love I will wait patient, till, from sphere to sphere, Across large times and spaces, ringeth clear The voice of Him who sitteth high above, Saying, "Behold! thou hast had pain enough; Come; for thy Love is waiting for thee here!" I know that it must happen as God saith. I know it well. Yet, also, I know well That where birds sing and yellow wild-flowers dwell, Or where some strange new sunset lingereth, All Earth shall alway of her presence tell Who liveth not for me this side of death.

THE FIRST EDITION OF THIS BOOK CONSISTS OF FIVE HUNDRED COPIES WITH THIRTY-FIVE ADDITIONAL COPIES ON ENGLISH HAND MADE PAPER PRINTED BY THE ROCKWELL AND CHURCHILL PRESS OF BOSTON DURING NOVEMBER 1896