Part 3

Ever the witch in a school-girl’s eyes, The toss and the flutter of flaxen hair, The titter, and blush of a rosy cheek, Are calling away from a world of care.

Leading the hours with a hop and a skip, Down through a path where the wind-flowers grow, White are the ribbons tied under her chin, White are the ribbons that flutter and blow.

Ever the ring of a roguish laugh, The swing of a rope, or a bonnet blue, And a bright little band on a dainty hand, Where twinkles a stone of a ruby hue,

Are daring me climb to the highest limb, Or to jump the brook in a wild-fire race, I’m as free and as light as the tail of a kite, And I’ve two pouting lips for a resting place.

A NOCTURNE.

How oft I feast with the dearest ones, now dead, Or stroll the gardens through at night, Indifferent to sleep. ’Tis then our footprints turn to gold, For these are Love’s eternal hours, That follow me in loneliness; How often, when the leaves are listening, I clasp white hands, I do not feel, More delicate than touch of moonbeams in the grass; ’Tis then the thoughts arise like incense from a silver bowl. We never hurry through the flowers, Or miss the color of a dreaming rose, Nor kiss too long. But when the careless dawn comes whispering my name, And seeking in the ashes grey, that once were fire, We part; And this is what has made the silences supreme.

THE INVISIBLE.

The vast unconscious night hangs near and far, Darkness born of day, And sorrow born of joy; But glowing everywhere is the tenderness of God, Sun, moon and stars, and the living consciousness that I am I, supreme; A sense of nearness unto hidden mysteries that overreach the dark, And claim my spirit as their own.

ANTIPHONAL.

When I am gone the stones will talk of me, The elm-trees speak together in the blast, as now, And weep that I shall never more return; And, be it that the dust shall grasp the throat of prayer, and strangle it, My hands, white-rising from the earth, Will try again to sweep the lyre of song, And quench the voice of death above my grave; The day star in its flight will answer me.

LADY MAY.

You will know her, by her bonnet with the strings a-blowin’ out, An’ a laylock she’s a wearin’ in her hair; You will know her by the sunshine she’s a scatterin’ about, An’ her whistle in the birches over there.

You will know her by her slippers, an’ the color of her eyes, An’ the kisses on her pretty poutin’ lips; You can tell her by her giggle, an’ her look o’ glad surprise, An’ the dewdrops on her rosy finger-tips.

She’s a-comin’ up the medder, don’t you see her yaller gown? She’s a-tip toe, an’ a-comin’ right this way, With a trail o’ joy behind her, an’ a new moon for a crown, An’ a--bless your heart! why, howdy, Lady May?

A FRAGMENT.

Love calls to me from near and far, From every flower, from every star, In every drop of rain I see A jewelled finger beckon me.

AWAY FROM HOME.

Carry me back to the hills of New England, Back to the land of the woods and the sea, Back to the shores where the blue waters beckon, Back where the sunshine is waiting for me.

Make me a bed in the lap of the meadow, Near where his rain-flute the reed-piper blows, Cover me up with the wild things and clover, Leave me alone where there’s nobody knows.

Leave me alone with the drift and the gladness, Drenched with the long, lazy, midsummer noon, Soothed like a child on the breast of its mother, Soothed by the chirp and the twitter and croon.

There let me dream till the dusk on its bosom Bears me away to the kingdom of sleep, Where to the hush of mellifluous music, Slumbering, slumbering, quiet and deep,

I shall be watched by the Night in her beauty, Fanned by the breath of the pine I shall lie, Lost in the wiles of the whip-poor-will’s calling, Calling the infinite silences nigh.

There I shall rest in the gold and the purple, Under the clouds with the moon peeping through, I shall not wake at the stir of the grasses, I shall not wake at the fall of the dew.

I shall awake when the bell-throated veery Calls from his castle to welcome the sun, Or, it may be from the glance and the glitter, Brewed in the marshes and over me spun.

I shall arise when the elm-branches rustle, I shall look out on the blue tossing sea, Daylight and dawning, God in the morning Stirring the dauntless eternal in me.

I shall go forth to the rapture of living, Lightness of spirit my staff and my girth, Moulded anew in the greatness of being, Purged in my soul by the sweetness of earth.

Carry me back to the hills of New England, Back to the land of the woods and the sea, Back to the shores where the blue waters beckon, Back where the sunshine is waiting for me.

GRANDMA BROWN.

She wasn’t very handsome, I hate to put that down, For to paint her as I knew her She was belle of all the town.

She was doubled up and crooked, And her hands were all a-skew, Her face an old baked apple, But her eyes were always new.

And you never would have known it From a murmur or a sigh, That the stars of God had faded And the blue had left the sky.

And you never would have guessed it, That these lines were lines of care, The broken chords of music Which the world had written there.

So I’ll paint her as I knew her, With her cane and faded gown, And a smile they made in heaven, Just for dear old Grandma Brown.

’Twould have done you good to ’ve seen her Settin’ out there in the sun, Jest to keep the hens from scratchin’ When the plantin’ was begun.

An’ she allus took her knittin’, Jest to pass the time away, Or some darnin’ for the neighbors, An’ she didn’t work for pay.

But she didn’t work for nothin’, For we all loved Grandma Brown, An’ I really think the bluebirds Had a fondness for her gown.

She was “kind-o’ thick o’ hearin’,” But she used to say to me, “I can hear the things a-growin’ Jest as plain as plain can be.”

Then she’d take me up an’ kiss me, An’ she’d trot me up an’ down, Then she’d feel ’round in the pocket Of that old blue gingham gown

Till she found a broken cookie, Or a peppermint or two, Then she’d pat my cheek and hug me Like she loved me thro’ and thro’.

But the day came when I missed her From her rickety old chair, It was in the early springtime When the lilacs drugged the air,

An’ the world was bright and merry, An’ the little birds, a-wing, Were as happy as the sunshine, But it didn’t seem like spring.

Then I thought how once she told me She was “goin’ abroad some day,” An’ she said, “I’m good for nothin’, An’ I’m sort of in the way.”

Well, she wasn’t very handsome, But if God e’er made a crown For the good folks up in heaven, There was one for Grandma Brown.

SLUMBER SONG.

Gae to sleep, my bonnie baby, Gae to sleep, my bairn, an’ dream; Shadows thro’ the pines are creeping, Lilies on the wimplin’ stream Noo are rockin’, rockin’, rockin’; A’ their snawy besoms gleam Wi’ the gold o’ starlight folded In their hearts to light their dream.

Sae may luve my kisses gi’e you On your dainty lips to-night, Wi’ the tenderness o’ roses; Bless your dreams; guid-night, guid-night! Gae to sleep, then, bonnie babie, Gae to sleep, my bairn, and dream, While the lily-buds are rockin’, Rockin’, rockin’ on the stream.

THE ENIGMA.

With Hope a guest at my right hand, And Death upon my left, Life entertains me royally, While Time with warp and weft Of doubt and pain and smiles and tears And irridescent dream, In arabesque to me unknown Pursues its endless theme.

THE PASSING OF THE OLD ELM.

The orioles are weeping by the roadside down the way, And the robins, heavy-hearted, still their laughter for a day, For the old elm tree is passing, in the middle of the town, And the axes will not tarry till the old elm tree is down.

You may share no more its message in the springtime of the year, With the joyful lilting concord when the song-birds first appear; You will miss the calm enchantment of its leafy choirs in June, And its heavenly benediction on an August afternoon.

You will miss the sunset glory where it yellowed in the fall, And the swarm of stars that gathered in the branches at the call Of the sparrow at his vespers; you will miss the joy and glow Of the melting moonlight blended with its legion flowers of snow.

You will miss its stately lyric as it broke the mystic flight Of the wild wind-shattered tempest thro’ the solitudes of night; For the old elm tree is passing from the middle of the town, And the axes will not tarry till the old elm tree is down.

’Tis a century, they tell us, since it sprung up by the wall, Full of love for all God’s creatures, yet the old elm tree must fall; But its strong sap mounting skyward with its tidings of good will, With its sturdy flow of courage for a soul that’s standing still,

Will forever thread my dreamings with the wonder unimpaired, And the spirit of devotion for its blessings I have shared. Yes, the robins, heavy-hearted, still their laughter for a day, And the orioles are weeping by the roadside down the way.

AFTERWARD.

Great God of storm and battle, We feel Thy clasping hand; Thy voice along the wilderness We hear and understand. The constellations hymn Thy praise; Thy glory crowns the day; Thine awful wrath, in swinging seas, Commands and we obey.

The vanquished with the victors rest; They sleep on hill and plain; The heaven’s azure noon descends, And wraps as one the twain. In fondest brotherhood they share One common lot of land; Great God of storm and battle, We feel Thy clasping hand!

How undiscerned Thy sovran laws, Thy wisdom how sublime; Thy torch of progress ever leads The flying march of Time; And though athwart the fiery track Contending armies fall, How soon the chastening blossoms come And smile above them all.

Great God of storm and battle, We feel Thy clasping hand, The lightning is Thy chariot, We see and understand. The conquered and the conqueror, Each wears the hero’s star, Amidst his blood-stained wreath of thorns The iron wheels of war

Are rusting in the mountain-side, By thick roots intertwined, Unmindful of the broken hearts Their madness left behind; While Peace, Thy benediction, With outspread wings hath spanned Our country; God of battles, We feel Thy clasping hand.

“THE PILGRIM SPIRIT.”

Its argent unassailed, Its purposes undimmed, Its soul a crystal-hearted star The conqueror hath rimmed With broken swords, a restless shape, Where birth and love are one, Where death lies dead and worlds divide, Still shoulders toward the sun.

IN MEMORIAM.

If from the crimson dust of war A new Republic rise, Still shall the martyr bleed Who made the sacrifice. The threnody from his dead lips Shall never, never die, Forever will his thorn-crowned head Be lifted to the sky.

L’ ENVOI.

No flag so spanned by Freedom’s stars, No hearthstone more a shrine, No latch-string graces wider doors, No warmer hearts than thine.

Plymouth, 1921

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

The poem, _The Lindens_, listed in the Index as being on page 58, does not appear in this edition.