Part 1
SUMMER OF LOVE
SUMMER _of_ LOVE
BY
JOYCE KILMER
NEW YORK
THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY
1911
COPYRIGHT, 1911,
BY
THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY
In Dedication:
TO ALINE
A vagrant minstrel of the street, No poet of the laurel crown, I kneel, dear Princess, at your feet, And lay my book of verses down. See all the love that lingers there, And so, for love’s sake, find it fair.
Certain of the poems in this volume are reprinted by kind permission of the editors of the following magazines and newspapers: _The Call_, _Harpers’ Weekly_, _The Independent_, _Moods_, _The Pathfinder_, the New York _Sun_ and the _Sunday Magazine_ of the New York _Times_.
I am glad to acknowledge my debt of gratitude to my mother, Mrs. Kilburn-Kilmer, for her encouragement and assistance in making this book.
For sympathy and valuable advice, I am deeply obliged to many friends, particularly Mr. and Mrs. Henry Mills Alden and Mr. Robert Cortez Holliday.
CONTENTS
PAGE
Summer of Love 1
Villanelle of Loveland 2
Thurifer 4
In a Book-shop 5
Eadem 6
In Fairyland 7
The Sorrows of King Midas 8
Slender Your Hands 9
Sleep Song 10
Love’s Thoroughfare 11
White Bird of Love 12
Transfiguration 14
My Lady 16
Gifts of Shee 17
Wherever, Whenever 19
Ballade of My Lady’s Beauty 20
Love’s Rosary 22
Tribute 24
Matin 25
A Valentine 26
Star of Love 27
For a Birthday 28
The Use of Night 31
Alchemy 32
Wayfarers 33
With a Mirror 35
Princess Ballade 36
Lullaby for a Baby Fairy 38
George Meredith 40
“And Forbid Them Not” 41
A Dead Poet 42
The Morning Meditations of Frère Hyacinthus 43
Villanelle of the Players 46
The Mad Fiddler 47
The Grass in Madison Square 49
Chevely Crossing 50
Said the Rose 53
White Marble and Green Grass 56
Metamorphosis 57
Absinthe 58
Theology 60
For a Child 61
To J. B. Y. 62
The King’s Ballad 63
Jesus and the Summer Rain 65
Ballade of Butterflies 67
The Clouded Sun (To A. S.) 69
In Memoriam: Florence Nightingale 72
Ballad of Three 73
Court Musicians 75
The Dead Lover 76
The Poet’s Epitaph 77
The Subway 78
The Other Lover 79
Age Comes A-wooing 81
Prayer to Bragi 84
Imitation of Richepin’s Ballade of the Beggars’ King 85
Love and the Fowler’s Boy 87
The Way of Love 88
SUMMER OF LOVE
SUMMER OF LOVE
June lavishes sweet-scented loveliness And sprinkles sunfilled wine on everything; The very leaves grow drunk with bliss and sing And every breeze becomes a soft caress. All earthly things felicity confess And fairies dance in many a moonlit ring; The fleetfoot hours fresh wealth of joyaunce bring; Life wears her gayest rose-embroidered dress.
Kind June, why bear these golden gifts to me? All winter long I hear the throstle’s tune, All winter long red roses I can see, Reading the while Love’s ancient magic rune. In Love’s fair garden-close I wander free, So take your guerdon elsewhere, lovely June.
VILLANELLE OF LOVELAND
Loveland is fair to see, Of all kind havens best, Dwell here, my Sweet, with me.
Here flowers bloom for thee, Thy feet are rose-caressed, Loveland is fair to see.
The violets shall be Thy soft and fragrant nest, Dwell here, my Sweet, with me.
Thou shalt not lack for glee, Here life is but a jest; Loveland is fair to see.
None shall be glad as we; Ah, grant me my behest, Dwell here, my Sweet, with me.
Now would I ask my fee, Thy red heart I request; Loveland is fair to see, Dwell here, my Sweet, with me.
THURIFER
In a carven censer of burnished words, Swung on a golden chain of rhythm, For you I burn my heart.
IN A BOOK-SHOP
All day I serve among the volumes telling Old tales of love and war and high romance; Good company, God wot, is in them dwelling, Brave knights who dared to scorn untoward chance.
King Arthur--Sidney--Copperfield--the daring And friendly souls of Meredith’s bright page-- The Pilgrim on his darksome journey faring, And Shakespeare’s heroes, great in love and rage.
Fair ladies, too--here Beatricè smiling, Through hell leads Dante to the happy stars; And Heloise, the cruel guards beguiling, With Abelard makes mock of convent bars.
Yet when night comes I leave these folks with pleasure To open Love’s great summer-scented tome, Within whose pages--precious beyond measure-- My own White Flower Lady hath her home.
EADEM
Sometimes within the garden of your sweetness I rest and dream and think of all the years Before my soul had bloomed to fair completeness, Those times of shadow-laughter, mixed with tears.
And in my dreams I see a gentle maiden Whom I once loved and whom I still love, Sweet, For she is like a rose with sunlight laden, And my lips ache to kiss her little feet.
She is so pure the very sky above her Is not so fair with all its white and blue, And so, my love, I cannot help but love her Although my life and love belong to you.
IN FAIRYLAND
The fairy poet takes a sheet Of moonbeam, silver white, His ink is dew from daisies sweet, His pen a point of light.
My love, I know is fairer far Than his, (though she is fair,) And we should dwell where fairies are For I could praise her there.
THE SORROWS OF KING MIDAS
King Midas took delight In golden vessels bright, And yellow bars of ore he found most fair; But he had never seen The dancing, glancing sheen Of sunlight on your dark and fragrant hair.
His wealth could buy him wine Made from the purple vine And sweet as all the blossom-breathing South; But he could never slake His thirst, nor ease the ache Of his hot lips at your love-pliant mouth.
SLENDER YOUR HANDS
Slender your hands and soft and white As petals of moon-kissed roses; Yet the grasp of your fingers slight My passionate heart encloses.
Innocent eyes like delicate spheres That are born when day is dying; Yet the wisdom of all the years Is in their lovelight lying.
SLEEP SONG
The Lady World Is sleeping on her white and cloudy bed. Like petals furled Her eyelids close. Beside her dream-filled head Her lover stands in silver cloak and shoon, The faithful Moon.
So Love, my Love, Sleep on, my Love, my Life, be not afraid. The Moon above Shall guard the World, and I my little maid. Your life, your love, your dreams are mine to keep, So sleep, so sleep.
LOVE’S THOROUGHFARE
As down the primrose path to Love I trod The golden flowers kissed my eager feet, The wayside trees with singing birds were sweet, The summer air was like the smile of God. “Turn back!” said one, “escape the avenging rod. Soon thou the deathless flames of Hell shall meet.” But I pressed on and thought of no retreat, Till soon with fire I was clothed and shod.
But through the burning vales of Hell where flow The molten streams of bitterest despair, Made blind by pain I stumbled on, and lo! I stood at last in Love’s own perfumed air. So, having reached my journey’s end I know That God made Hell to be Love’s thoroughfare.
WHITE BIRD OF LOVE
Little white bird of the summer sky, Silver against the golden sun, Over the green of the hills you fly, You and the sweet, wild air are one.
Glorious sights are in that far place Reached by your daisy-petal wing, Rose-colored meteors dive through space, Stars made of molten music sing.
Still, though your quivering eager flight Reaches the groves by Heaven town, Where all the angels cry out, “Alight! Stop, little bird, come down, come down!”
Careless you speed over fields of stars, Darting through Heaven swift and free; Nothing your arrowy passage bars Back to the earth and back to me.
Here in the orchard of dream-fruit fair Out of my dreams is built your nest. Blossoming dreams all the branches bear, Fit for my silver dream-bird’s rest.
Here, since they love you, the young stars shine, Through the white petals come their beams. Little white love-laden bird of mine, Let them shine on you through my dreams.
TRANSFIGURATION
If it should be my task, I being God, From whirling atoms to evolve your mate, With hands omnipotent I should create A great-souled hero, with the starlight shod. The subject worlds should tremble at his nod And all the angel host upon him wait Yet he should leave his pomp and splendid state And kneel to kiss the ground whereon you trod.
But God, who like a little child is wise, Made me, a common thing of earthly clay; Then bade me go and see within your eyes The flame of love that burns more bright than day, And as I looked I knew with wild surprise I was transformed--your heart in my heart lay.
* * * * *
When first the golden dawn of love was breaking In your white soul, I kissed your gentle hand, And all my heart with strange, sweet pain was aching, A wild, new joy I could not understand.
And now, when I your slender fingers taking Keep them enslaved to my hot lips’ demand, I feel that same strange thirst that knows no slaking But then--why should I wish to understand?
MY LADY
The joy of pleasant places Where Saturn still doth reign Is in her gentle face’s Calm ignorance of pain. The bliss of ages golden In her slim hand is holden, By old gods she was molden Before the world knew stain.
Her body is an altar Wherein is Love enshrined. Before her worldlings falter And cruel eyes grow kind. Her breath is breath of roses From mystic garden-closes, The troubled it composes Like nectar-laden wine.
GIFTS OF SHEE
O Shee who weave the moonlight into shimmering white strands, O powerful and tender-hearted Shee! While I live at home in plenty or am poor in far-off lands, I will thank you for the gifts you gave to me.
For the silver collar that you wrought me by your magic art, For the scarlet Seal that on my mouth you set, For the glorious White Flower that you placed upon my heart, When the sun and moon shall die I’ll thank you yet.
For around my throat the Silver Collar of soft arms I wear, On my mouth sweet lips have fixed the Scarlet Seal, On my heart the perfect Flower white of deathless love I bear, And these charms, your gifts, ensure my lasting weal.
O Shee who weave the moonlight into shimmering white strands, O powerful and tender-hearted Shee! Though I live at home in plenty or am poor in far-off lands, I will thank you for the gifts you gave to me.
WHEREVER, WHENEVER
If I had lived down underneath the earth, And you had dwelt among the pleasant stars, I should have flown the caverns of my birth, And you have riven Heaven’s silver bars.
We owe no gratitude to wanton chance, For not through him does heart cleave fast to heart. Not time nor place nor any circumstance, Could keep our lips, our breasts, our souls, apart.
BALLADE OF MY LADY’S BEAUTY
Squire Adam had two wives, they say, Two wives had he, for his delight, He kissed and clypt them all the day And clypt and kissed them all the night. Now Eve like ocean foam was white And Lilith roses dipped in wine, But though they were a goodly sight No lady is so fair as mine.
To Venus some folk tribute pay And Queen of Beauty she is hight, And Sainte Marie the world doth sway In cerule napery bedight. My wonderment these twain invite, Their comeliness it is divine, And yet I say in their despite, No lady is so fair as mine.
Dame Helen caused a grievous fray, For love of her brave men did fight, The eyes of her made sages fey And put their hearts in woful plight. To her no rhymes will I indite, For her no garlands will I twine, Though she be made of flowers and light No lady is so fair as mine.
L’ENVOI
Prince Eros, Lord of lovely might Who on Olympus dost recline, Do I not tell the truth aright? No lady is so fair as mine.
LOVE’S ROSARY
Love’s rosary is ours this holiday, So let us worship Eros, Lord of bliss. Let me be priest and teach you as we pray Love’s rosary. The first fair golden globe denotes a kiss, Curve your sweet lips the proper churchly way, And you must lie within my arms at this. Keep all the rites! It will not do to miss A single bead in all the long array. Ah, Sweet, we’ll tell on every day, I wis, Love’s rosary.
* * * * *
“The Princess cried; her tears fell on the ground Like pearls of moonlight, precious, fair and round.” But when the Princess whom I worship cries Then from the clouded heaven of her eyes Rain of such sweet wild loveliness I sip My heart says “Stop!” but not my eager lip.
TRIBUTE
Because my Love has lips that taste of glory, That breathe of love, that are as red as wine, My days and nights are as a pleasant story Told in a valley sweet with rose and vine.
Because my Love has hair that smells of flowers, That is as soft and cool as forest shade, Therefore the tale of all my blissful hours Be writ in gold and at her footstool laid.
MATIN
Soft purple shadows cloud love-weary eyes, Dawn’s saffron glow is on the tossed white bed; Now passion’s day, warm fragrant night is fled, A cold grey shroud on Love’s bright altar lies. From dusky corners ghostly dreams arise, The pallid wraiths of kisses newly dead, They float and blend above her sleeping head, Her languid red lips quiver as she sighs.
And so, like Adam when in fear and shame He saw God’s soldiery in fierce array And sorrowing from Eden’s threshold came To bear what pains life on his soul might lay, I see Dawn standing with a sword of flame, And from my Eden turn in grief away.
A VALENTINE
My songs should be as lilies fair, And roses made of crimson light, To lie amid the fragrant hair And on the breast of my delight.
Such glory is for them too high; I’ll scatter them adown the street, And when my love is passing by They will rise up and kiss her feet.
STAR O’ LOVE
The Sun pours gold upon the waking earth And makes the hills and valleys ring with glee, Brings fruits and flowers to their joyous birth, And paints strange colors on the foaming sea. The Moon, with quivering wand of silver-white, Calls forth the fairies to their circling dance, Bids lovers seek their never old delight, And fills the air with perfume of romance. Yet, Sun, thy glory passes with the day, And Moon, the dawn destroys thy loveliness; But thou, sweet Star o’ Love, wilt shine alway, Nor night nor day can make thy splendor less. Fade, lordly Sun, and Moon, forget to shine, Since thy white wonder, Star o’ Love, is mine!
FOR A BIRTHDAY
April with her violets, May and June with roses, Young July with all her flowers, crimson, gold and white, Each in place her tribute sets, Each her wreath composes, Making glad the roadway for the Lady of Delight.
Birds with many colors gay, Through the branches flitting, Sing, to greet my Lady Love, a lusty welcome song. Even bees make holiday, Hive and honey quitting, Tremulous and jubilant they join the eager throng.
Now the road is flower-paved; Timid fawns are peering From their pleasant vantage in the roadside’s leafy green. All the world in sunlight laved, Knows the hour is nearing That shall bring the golden presence of the well-loved Queen.
Hark! at last the silver trill Of a lute is sounding-- Happy August, purple-clad, appears with all her train. Sudden sweet the branches fill; Every heart is bounding; August comes, the kindly nurse of her who is to reign!
And now, with proud and valiant gait, An hundred centaurs come. Pan rides the foremost one in state; The waiting crowd grows dumb. Each centaur wears a jewelled thong And harness bright of sheen; They draw through surging floods of song The carriage of the Queen!
“Hail! Hail! Hail! to the Queen in her moonstone car! Hail! Hail! Hail! to the Lady whose slaves we are! We of the meadows, the rocks and the hills, Dwellers in oceans and rivers and rills, Beasts of the forests and birds of the air, Linnet and butterfly, lion and bear, Daisy and daffodil, spruce-tree and fir, Yield to our Queen and do homage to her! Hail! Hail! Hail! we welcome thy royal sway! Hail! Hail! Hail! O Queen, on this festal day!”
So all the world kneels down to you, And all things are your own; Now let a humble rhymer sue Before your crystal throne. Fair Queen, at your rose-petal feet Bid me to live and die! Not all your world of lovers, Sweet, Can love so much as I.
THE USE OF NIGHT
I said: “What is the use of sombre night?” The Moon replied: “To frame my love-wan face.” A fairy dame said: “That my fresh-wove lace May on the grasses catch the Sun’s first light.” “That we may keep with song our ancient rite,” Croaked glistening frogs from their dank dwelling place. “That I may halt,” a man said, “in my race, And rest my eyes that are grown tired of sight.”
Your ebon frame, pale Moon, makes you more fair; Weave, gentle neighbor; frogs, pipe loud your song; Sad traveller, be dreamless sleep your share. And I would have night twenty times as long, And clasp my love in some dark bower where The Day could never come to do us wrong.
ALCHEMY
I sang two little songs one day, I sang them for a lady’s pleasure, I took her praise for wreath of bay, Her smile for largess beyond measure.
I sang out in the market square And most folk could not understand; One who by chance was passing there Dropped down some silver in my hand.
Now since the songs I gave you, Sweet, Have turned to silver fair and gleaming, For your pleasaunce as is most meet The silver turns to song and dreaming.
WAYFARERS
Underneath the orchard trees lies a gypsy sleeping, Tattered cloak and swarthy face and shaggy moonlit hair, One brown hand his crazy fiddle in its grasp is keeping, Through the Land of Dreams he strolls and sings his love songs there.
Up above the apple blossoms where the stars are shining, Free and careless wandering among the clouds he goes, Singing of his lady-love and for her pleasure twining Wreaths of Heaven flowers, violet and golden rose.
In his sleep he stirs, and wakes to find his love beside him, Pours his load of Dreamland blooms before her silver feet, Takes her in his arms and as her soft brown tresses hide him Both together fare to Dreamland up the star-paved street.
WITH A MIRROR
Carved by a swarthy knave Close by the Adrian wave Came I to being. To me a soul he gave, In gold he did me lave, To suit your seeing.
Mine is a pleasant life, Jove bless his flashing knife, Who wrought my living. For me nor care nor strife, Joys in my days are rife, Joys of your giving.
PRINCESS BALLADE
Never a horn sounds in Sherwood tonight, Friar Tuck’s drinking Olympian ale, Little John’s wandered away from our sight, Robin Hood’s bow hangs unused on its nail. Even the moon has grown weary and pale Sick for the glint of Maid Marian’s hair, But there is one joy on mountain and dale, Fairies abound all the time, everywhere!
Saints have attacked them with sacredest might, They could not shatter their gossamer mail, Steam-driven engines can never affright Fairies who dance in their spark-sprinkled trail. Still for a warning the sad Banshees wail, Still are the Leprechauns ready to bear Purses of gold to their captors for bail; Fairies abound all the time, everywhere!
Oberon, king of the realms of delight, May your domain over us never fail. Mab, as a rainbow-hued butterfly bright, Yours is the glory that age cannot stale. When we are planted down under the shale, Fairy-folk, drop a few daffodils there, Comfort our souls in the Stygian vale; Fairies abound all the time, everywhere.
L’ENVOI
White Flower Princess, though sophisters rail, Let us be glad in faith that we share. None shall the Good People safely assail; Fairies abound all the time, everywhere!
LULLABY FOR A BABY FAIRY
Night is over; through the clover globes of crystal shine; Birds are calling; sunlight falling on the wet green vine. Little wings must folded lie, little lips be still While the sun is in the sky, over Fairy Hill. Sleep, sleep, sleep, Baby with buttercup hair, Golden rays Into the violet creep. Dream, dream deep; Dream of the night revels fair. Daylight stays; Sleep, little fairy child, sleep.
Rest in daytime; night is playtime, all good fairies know. Under sighing grasses lying, off to slumber go Night will come with stars agleam, lilies in her hand, Calling you from Hills of Dream back to Fairyland. Sleep, sleep, sleep, Baby with buttercup hair; Golden rays Into the violet creep. Dream, dream deep; Dream of the night-revels fair. Daylight stays; Sleep, little fairy child, sleep.
GEORGE MEREDITH