Part 1
MUSE AND MINT
BY WALTER S. PERCY
BOSTON SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 1914
COPYRIGHT, 1914 SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY
TO
MY DEAR MOTHER AND WIFE
WHO BEST LOVED MY MUSE AND WHOSE LOVE WAS THE MINT THAT EVER MADE IT AN INSPIRATION AND JOY
MUSE AND MINT
I mused upon the strangeness of all things, So different from the dream Whereof the morning mounted up on wings Above the world agleam With light that trembled into life and love As when a censer swings And joy of promise sings-- “The dream whereof The gleam above The world is love!”
Oh, bitterness to muse and neither find The beauty of the Muse Nor yet the music which the soul divined Ere set the rosy hues In sombre lines that disenchant and fret The heart with growing grief Which struggles for relief-- “O Muse, but let My spirit yet The rue forget!”
As if to answer me a little child, To whom the sunshine’s glint Was gloom forever, on the corner smiled And vended sprigs of mint, As though there were in blindness still a bloom And fragrance which could reach The passer-by and teach-- “In glint or gloom There’s mint in bloom To earth perfume!”
CONTENTS
NATURE
PAGE
FIREFLIES 3
BO-PEEP 5
PEEP-OF-DAWN 6
THE RILLY RIVER 7
CHERRIES 8
A SNOWFLAKE 10
THE BLIZZARD 11
SUGARING OFF 12
THE CHRYSALIS 13
WHEN I SURVEY 14
PAUPACK 19
FIRESIDE
MOTHER 23
CHATTERBOX 24
LITTLE STOCKING 26
ELFIN FACES 28
SWEET ’STEEN 30
BOY 31
A CHILD’S LIFTED CROSS 32
THE BOY MILLIONAIRE 33
A LULLABY 34
THE LAST SONG 35
YOUTH 36
AGE 36
SENTIMENT
A CORONATION 39
I’LL BE WATCHING ON THE SHORE 40
I GIVE THEE MY PROMISE 42
CHAMBERED ROSES 43
TWO FRAMES 44
_Pars Summae_ 45
A VISION 46
THE AFTERMATH 48
PROOF-WORDS 49
MEMORIES
ADIEUS 53
DUST TO DUST 54
LITTLE WORDS 55
A WAYSIDE LIFE 56
O TEAR! 57
THE DEW OF DUST 58
A SMILE 59
PHILOSOPHY
THE HILL-TOPS 63
THE MAN WHO BEARS THE HOD 64
JOG ALONG! 65
THE FAMILY TREE 66
REPLEVIN 68
HOMILIES
WHAT IS TRUTH? 71
FRIENDSHIP 72
THOUGHT 73
WHEN I’M NO MORE 74
THE BLAZED TRAIL 75
GRIEF AND JOY 76
HOPE 77
SOWING AND REAPING 78
HOPE ON! 79
HEARTED GOOD 80
COUNTRY
AMERICA 83
THE ALTAR OF COUNTRY 85
THE STARS OF DESTINY 86
LAST OF THE GRAND ARMY 87
_Vincit Omnia Jus_ 90
THE FLYING JACK 92
HUMOR
SAP’S A-BILIN’ 97
JUST MUD 98
KNOCKIN’ ROUND 99
THE SNAIL AND STAR 100
THE OLD SOR’L HOSS 102
NICODEMUS BOGGS 103
SACRED
WHAT IS FAITH? 107
A FORGIVENESS 109
THE GOOD SAMARITAN 111
SHEPHERD OF ISRAEL 113
THE LADDER OF CLOUD 114
THE RISEN CHRIST MEANS VICTORY 116
THE EVERLASTING ARMS 117
HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP 118
THE GLORY DWELLS 119
THE LIGHT OF LIFE 120
DESIGN 121
SONG
GOLDEN HOPE 125
THE COMING CROWNING 126
THE LIVING CUP 128
THE SINGERS 129
THE CROWN OF THORNS 131
SONG ALONG 133
_Ecce Homo!_ 134
THE LOVE THAT WASHED HIS FEET 136
MISCELLANEOUS
THE SHUT AND OPEN HAND 141
THE MAN-BIRD 144
THE PHANTOM CAVALRY 146
THOU CALLEST ME BROTHER 149
THE SINGING DEATH 150
THE OLD MOON IN THE ARMS OF THE NEW 152
NATURE
FIREFLIES
The murky night hung dank and dark The Summer shower after; A distant dog’s staccato bark Disturbed the strollers’ laughter; The mournful whip-poor-will’s lament, The frogs’ and crickets’ chorus A weird, sepulchral feeling lent To meadow-lot and morass.
A thousand insect-lanterns flashed Their phosphorescent signals Of living sparks that dot-and-dashed Out swift electric riddles; For scarcely was the eye upon A single tiny glowlight When wink, it flitted and was gone Like prankish imp on show-night!
And while one guessed its next surprise Afar from where it dwindled A myriad others to the eyes All intercrossed and kindled Until the ghostly gloom became Illumined with manœuvres As though of fairies fanning flame Within a park of lovers.
And thus does fancy people night With fugitive creations Of phantom-folk whose fitful light Yet feeds our inspirations And teaches us there is no dark But fellowships the presence Of every soul that sheds its spark Of humble incandescence.
BO-PEEP
Everywhere I ramble In the ides of May, Through the boughs and bramble The wood-nymphs play. Where the sunshine dapples Shadows all a-creep Beneath the budding apples, Dances Bo-Peep.
Over where the mosses Make a coverlet Which the Spring embosses With a green fret, From the long hibernal Dreaminess of sleep Wakes with dimples vernal Little Bo-Peep.
Violets and bluets Mischievously peek; Monks like pigmy druids Play at hide-and-seek; O’er each stump a picket Spies with cunning deep, And in every thicket Beckons Bo-Peep.
PEEP-OF-DAWN
The tallyho of slumber’s on The last relay of dreams; Posthaste it rides with ribbons drawn O’er curvetting gray teams. The wayside house just left behind Was Where-the-Cock-Crew Inn; The road ahead with rose is lined And known as Work-to-Win.
Intoxicated senses sink In visions of delight; And Venus’ eye begins to wink Where it outrides the night. Sly fingers lift the window-shades, But ere espied are gone; And on the drowsy milking-maids Tiptoes the Peep-of-Dawn.
Dame Nature in abandon lies With skirts in disarray, And overtaken with surprise Is kissed by stealthy Day; The coverts rub their eyes and wake, And dreaming Love anon Goes forth on Rosy Road to make A tryst with Peep-of-Dawn.
THE RILLY RIVER
The cold and turbid flood of Spring Has melted to the Summer shallow, And now the vivid greeneries cling Along the margin lush and fallow, And where were sombre deeps and chills Are silver trills of rippling rills.
The loiterer upon the bridge Which o’er the eddying river poises Salutes the island’s sandy ridge That reappears; the eye rejoices In all the old familiar frills And saucy spills of rippling rills.
The rod and reel the rapture feel And from the boat take finny chances, But less for luck than with the keel To be a part of runic dances; For thus the river’s music thrills Like joy that fills the rippling rills.
CHERRIES
Cherries! Cherries! Cherries! The robins are excited and delighted To change the fare at last; For ’twas bugs and grubs and slugs Over two months past. Now it’s cherries till the berries Ripen full and fast.
Cherries! Cherries! Cherries! The robins are excited and affrighted; There’s a man up the tree In a big wig and rig That would scare a chickadee-- But a robin--see him bobbin’ In a solemn colloquy!
Cherries! Cherries! Cherries! The scare-crow is indicted and requited With a pocketful of eggs Baby-blue, with ’em too Gettin’ ready bill and legs For the Summer that’s a comer When the cherry-season begs.
Cherries! Cherries! Cherries! The robins are excited and delighted-- Not the redbreast but the kind That eclipse with cherry lips And are not a whit behind Robin Jerries stealin’ cherries When the dummy’s but a blind.
A SNOWFLAKE
Million-needled star of hoar, Parachuting little kite Sailing by my cottage-door, Flurried, jostled, fairy-light-- Whither, whither, whence and why Comest thou of crystal From the welkin, hasting by Like a lost epistle?
Softly did the snowflake sigh “Read me as I rest awhile!” So I read the whence and why; For the snowflake is a smile, Melting Heaven-dew congealed Lest we miss its beauty, Love in miracle revealed On the wings of duty!
THE BLIZZARD
The whited pumice of the storm Is over house and hill Or drifted into shroudlike form About the ruined mill.
The fences hide beneath the drifts; The snowy terraces Ascend to where the hemlock lifts Its virgin-broidered dress.
The trackless highway challenges The sweltered caravan Of traffic and in fastnesses Of chalk imprisons man.
The wind-wolves howl at cottage-door Or down the chimney leap; The windows all are rimed with hoar Where frozen fingers creep.
The house-frame groans at blast and frost Like quarry of the pack O’ertaken, but though torn and tossed Still stout of heart and back;
Still stout of heart like us secure By ruddy fire warm, Too humbly thankful to be poor While sheltered from the storm.
SUGARING OFF
Essence of all that’s sweet, what joy To watch thy amber flow And sip thy nectar till it cloy Or waxen it on snow!
What joy to watch the trickling veins Of our old maple-friend And know the vernal Odin reigns As heir of Winter’s end!
Drink to the earnest of the Spring, The ichor of the bud, To all the rising hopes that sing Of life and loverhood!
Drink to the sweetness in thee hid By softer airs distilled; Let Nature sugar off and bid Her kindlier cup be filled!
THE CHRYSALIS
Come out of your Winter shell, old grub Of horns and crusty twist, And with your fellows elbows rub More like a humanist! A spiral armor’s very well For its eccentric curve, But not a gloomy hermit-cell Of cynical reserve.
Come out of your Winter shell, old slug Of dormant sense and soul! You’re far too round and hard and smug; Your Summer self unroll And show you’ve got some nature left That sprouts an airy wing; The man of humus is bereft Who can’t respond to Spring.
Come out of your Winter shell, old worm Of wrapped-up gossamer, If you would burst your scaly derm And let the spirit stir; For after all, for better things A man created is Than lying with imprisoned wings A half-dead chrysalis.
WHEN I SURVEY
’Tis midnight and I am in the country! The world is still and all the lights are out Save for the ones which stud the firmament With diamond clusters everywhere about.
Like royal David pondering the Heaven I stand uncovered, torn and battle-spent And from my flocking meditations driven By spectral bears and lions; but not as he Victorious, for the raveners I smote Were modern pride and doubt which stalked my faith For its ewe-lamb of trust and by the throat Dragged it away from me to bleating death.
My staff is broken and the scroll I read A thousand nights like this lies crumpled where I flung it as with fevered brow I fled In mocking disillusion and despair From burnt-out wicks still sputtering in the oil Of self-illumination with the quizz
“What am I? What the infinite I AM?”
God! If the answer were in spirit-toil Or as the echo of Whatever IS!
The stars smile down on me undimmed and calm. My soul! Have I so many years been blind To all the glories wheeling o’er my head And starry with the challenge of my quest?
Orion jewel-girdled and behind Coursing his dogs, in mighty combat strange With red-eyed Taurus!
And the Charioteer Flashing toward the goal in full career! The thrice-immortal Twins the chase abreast, Cheering the race but keeping out of range Of Ursa’s long, lean paws where his huge frame Looms in the Polar Circle!
Farther south The Lion’s crouching form, with gleaming eyes And shadowy mouth!
The Plowman of the skies, Proud of Arcturus’ fame!
And Hercules Setting his giant heel upon the fang Of the unwieldy Dragon; while beyond The Serpent’s Crown makes mockery of the deed!
Far over by a handful of degrees Imperial Vega rides the horizon, Harped on by Lyra, as when morning sang The genesis of systems God-decreed.
Already shines afar the Northern Cross Where else were only dreariness and dark, Like flaming symbol of a holy Cause Which bore its ensign up the Winter arc And more divinely glowed with sacred fire Than the tiaraed Lady of the Chair With dazzling looks, or than her daughter whom Impetuous Perseus, thinking her so fair, Delivered by the right of passion from The Beast with jaws of grossness open wide.
Nor would I miss the Eagle, argus-eyed And swift on wings of night.
What! Call this Night, With thousand thousand suns in timeless space So vast that distance gives no parallax And centuries untold would pass ere light From the remotest wanderer could burn!
So vast yon fires are a hundred-fold More luminous than ours to them in turn, And it in lost direction would dissolve From Earth’s own lode-star here yclept the Pole!
So vast that hosts so numberless revolve In unison as no assembled whole Of man’s most perfect mechanism moves, Yet by the which he boasts perpetual noon As though the elements he late improves And plays them in a more triumphant tune.
What! Call this Night and our small dial Day Because by it we see ourselves and then As mere automatons! Such is the way Of over-conscious men; why, even I An hour since called light a flickering lamp, Philosophy the palimpsest of pedants, The universe a papier-mache script, While on it egotism’s ink was still too damp And speculation dript.
But as I mount the Great Highway of Pearl Which turns to diamonds where its steeds strike hoof And chariot-wheels o’er the arena whirl Until the course is flashing flint and fire-- How my soul thrills with this real vision of The truth no lips can utter--with desire To feel, not name, the Maker!
Night is Day To eyes which earth’s diurnal sun had blinded But now see glory, majesty, design, Love eternal-minded, Will divine, Swinging out censers, filling space with throne-rooms, Ordering the times of destiny, Making music and revealing purpose Perfect but unthinkable, yet in man Tuning a chord of nature in response To fugitive notes of a melodious plan, To stray scintillas of a Master-spell, That we might have sufficient just of sense To throb with feeling of theophany, Just awe enough of the Ineffable Out of our pinpoint nothingness to cry
“What is man that Thou art mindful of him? And what is he that he should give a Name Which we with lips vainglorious can laud, A shape of Person to the Great I AM Before we deign to worship Him as GOD?”
PAUPACK
Whither waters, gently flowing In thy rocky channel-race, Yet anon more noisy growing O’er the stones which stay thy pace-- Gentle waters, whither going?
Laughing louder as they hurried, Making music as they ran, Deeper still the rock they furrowed And a stolen run began Half in cliffs and chasms buried.
Through the narrows flung they churning, Leaped they in a mad cascade And a bedded boulder spurning They a misty iris made, Spray to fitful spectrum turning.
Wildling waters thus romancing Through the gorge in joy’s career, Wooded witchery enhancing, Paupack picturesque and dear, Haste thee onward ever dancing!
Let thy pilgrimage and laughter Quicken an Algonquin vein Till the lure I follow after Flushes every sense again Like the freshet of the water;
Till, O Paupack, each erosion Of my nature is at flood With a primitive emotion, With an impulse of the blood, Singing on towards the ocean!
FIRESIDE
MOTHER
Only one link is to us all A never-failing bond, Only one thought of time’s recall Makes all the world respond. Dear ties there are that knit us close As parent, friend or brother; But God a universal chose In the dear name of “Mother!”
Only one face no stranger is Sometime at every side, Only one love whose holy kiss To few has been denied; And whether we it treasure up Or its affection smother, Yet still the world’s communion-cup Is the dear name of “Mother!”
Only one touch of nature makes Us feel alike at best, Only one gift for our sakes Outbalances the rest; And whether good or evil, we Are human to each other When our most sacred memory Is the dear name of “Mother!”
CHATTERBOX
Miss Chatterbox, come here and tell Me all about the fairies’ spell So new to you but strange to me Till you revive its mystery! I, too, delight in Summer bowers But you bewitch the birds and flowers; I, too, rejoice in sunny nooks But you make music of the brooks!
Miss Chatterbox, the secret share Of all the magic of the air! How comes the woodland’s passing breeze To be the whisper of the trees? How come the echoes through their screen To be the pranks of elves unseen?-- The bushy tails and beadlike eyes The wizard and the kewpie spies?
Miss Chatterbox, the riddle read Of yonder fence-side hearts that bleed, Of yonder riot in the field Where buttercups to daisies yield; Where drowsy sprites sip clover-sweets And bobolink with Cupid meets; Where brownies over on the knoll The puff-balls of the pasture roll.
Miss Chatterbox, how happens it That you in all this witchcraft fit; That in your feet the fairies dance And from your eyes the sun-sprites glance; That in your curls are elfin kinks And in your cheek a cupid winks; The wood-nymphs clap their hands with thine And thou art nature’s countersign?
LITTLE STOCKING
Cunningly, patiently I knit you, Little stocking, Counting the stitches the while; Lovingly in thought I fit you While rocking Back and forth, back and forth, with a smile, On the baby-feet I kiss Or in slumber absent miss, Dreams flocking, little stocking, Like this.
Skilfully, wistfully I weave you, Interlocking The strands in and out and around; Tenderly in mind I leave you, Little stocking, As the woolen thread’s unwound, And I think of baby feet You will cover when complete, Half-mocking, little stocking, So sweet.
Artfully I toe and heel you, Little stocking, Clicking the needle ends; Fondly I fashion and feel you, Heart a-talking
As the tapering fabric spends; Will the baby-feet be true To the dreams I wove in you? Little stocking, little stocking, Adieu!
ELFIN FACES
Round me gather Rosycheeks, Clean and fresh as peaches, Smiling daughters of the Greeks, Golden-tongued with speeches.
“Papa, tell your little girls All about the fairies!” Bless my soul! they all had curls And Cupid-lips like cherries.
Yes, indeed, and starry eyes And merry little dimples Something like a sly surprise Hid in cunning wimples.
Yes, and twinkling baby-feet Dancing midst the flowers, Gathering the honey sweet Through the morning hours.
But at twilight is the time Each becomes a brownie, Murmuring a sleepy rhyme, Growing soft and downy
Till--say, I declare there springs Up from either shoulder Fluffy little angel-wings That at first enfold her,--
Then I have to rub my eyes All alert and scarey, For right out the window flies Every single fairy
And I’m left there all alone, Peering in the corners.
* * * * *
Little elfin-faces gone Leave behind them mourners.
SWEET ’STEEN
Little outgrown pinafore Hanging there behind the door, Seldom seen, Sprigged all over full of buds Like the yesterdays whose suds Only partly washed you out-- What d’you mean By reviving such a time Like a phantom put to rout Till it runs to rue and rhyme?
Ah, ’tis sad to think of it-- Missy that you used to fit Till between Top and bottom was a glance, Now is wearing styles of France; For alas, she’s grown to be Sweet sixteen, With young ladyship’s conceit And its sprouting vanity-- Sixteen, pinafore, and sweet!
BOY
Boy, thou art the work of ages, Disporting by creation’s glades and streams-- Laughing at the sages And filling all the pages Of time eternal with thy hopes and dreams!
Boy, thou art the work of nature, Commingling of earth and air and fire-- In consciousness and feature A juvenescent creature With active mind and limbs that never tire.
Boy, thou art the work of gladness And meant to fill the world with lusty shout, With laughter, not with sadness, With goodness, not with badness, With eager confidence and not with doubt!
Boy, thou art the work of Heaven, A thought to give the world a bonnie heir-- A living joyous leaven, A spirit nobly driven To try the future and divinely dare!
A CHILD’S LIFTED CROSS
How are we taught by childhood’s simple plea Our greatest need and poor deformity When such a child each vesper hour could pray, “Lord, make me well and take my cross away!
“That I may share in joy and love return, That I may live to labor and to learn And that to-morrow may redeem to-day, Lord, make me well and take my cross away!”
The help came down not as the cry went up, Not as the thirst the giving of the cup; Poor little one, if only we could say God made him well and took his cross away!