Chapter 3

All hail the dawn of a new day breaking, When a strong-armed nation shall take away The weary burdens from backs that are aching With maximum labour and minimum pay; When no man is honoured who hoards his millions; When no man feasts on another's toil; And God's poor suffering, striving billions Shall share His riches of sun and soil.

There is gold for all in the earth's broad bosom, There is food for all in the land's great store; Enough is provided if rightly divided; Let each man take what he needs--no more. Shame on the miser with unused riches, Who robs the toiler to swell his hoard, Who beats down the wage of the digger of ditches, And steals the bread from the poor man's board.

Shame on the owner of mines whose cruel And selfish measures have brought him wealth, While the ragged wretches who dig his fuel Are robbed of comfort and hope and health. Shame on the ruler who rides in his carriage Bought with the labour of half-paid men-- Men who are shut out of home and marriage And are herded like sheep in a hovel-pen.

Let the clarion voice of the nation wake him To broader vision and fairer play; Or let the hand of a just law shake him Till his ill-gained dollars shall roll away. Let no man dwell under a mountain of plunder, Let no man suffer with want and cold; We want right living, not mere alms-giving; We want just dividing of labour and gold.

BREAKING THE DAY IN TWO

When from dawn till noon seems one long day, And from noon till night another, Oh, then should a little boy come from play, And creep into the arms of his mother. Snugly creep and fall asleep, Oh, come, my baby, do; Creep into my lap, and with a nap We'll break the day in two.

When the shadows slant for afternoon, When the midday meal is over, When the winds have sung themselves into a swoon, And the bees drone in the clover, Then hie to me, hie, for a lullaby-- Come, my baby, do; Creep into my lap, and with a nap We'll break the day in two.

We'll break it in two with a crooning song, With a soft and soothing number; For the day has no right to be so long And keep my baby from slumber. Then rock-a-by, rock, may white dreams flock Like angels over you; Baby's gone, and the deed is done, We've broken the day in two.

THE RAPE OF THE MIST

High o'er the clouds a Sunbeam shone, And far down under him, With a subtle grace that was all her own, The Mist gleamed, fair and dim.

He looked at her with his burning eyes And longed to fall at her feet; Of all sweet things there under the skies, He thought her the thing most sweet.

He had wooed oft, as a Sunbeam may, Wave, and blossom, and flower; But never before had he felt the sway Of a great love's mighty power.

Tall cloud-mountains and vast space-seas, Wind, and tempest, and fire-- What are obstacles such as these To a heart that is filled with desire?

Boldly he trod over cloud and star, Boldly he swam through space, She caught the glow of his eyes afar And veiled her delicate face.

He was so strong and he was so bright, And his breath was a breath of flame; The Mist grew pale with a vague, strange fright, As fond, yet fierce, he came.

Close to his heart she was clasped and kissed; She swooned in love's alarms, And dead lay the beautiful pale-faced Mist In the Sunbeam's passionate arms.

THE TWO GLASSES

There sat two glasses, filled to the brim, On a rich man's table, rim to rim. One was ruddy and red as blood, And one was as clear as the crystal flood.

Said the glass of wine to his paler brother: "Let us tell tales of the past to each other. I can tell of banquet, and revel, and mirth, Where I was king, for I ruled in might; And the proudest and grandest souls on earth Fell under my touch, as though struck with blight. From the heads of kings I have torn the crown; From the heights of fame I have hurled men down; I have blasted many an honoured name; I have taken virtue and given shame; I have tempted the youth, with a sip, a taste, That has made his future a barren waste. Far greater than any king am I, Or than any army under the sky. I have made the arm of the driver fail, And sent the train from its iron rail. I have made good ships go down at sea, And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me. Fame, strength, wealth, genius, before me fall, And my might and power are over all. Ho! ho! pale brother," laughed the wine, "Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?"

Said the glass of water: "I cannot boast Of a king dethroned or a murdered host; But I can tell of hearts that were sad, By my crystal drops made light and glad; Of thirsts I have quenched, and brows I have laved; Of hands I have cooled and souls I have saved. I have leaped through the valley and dashed down the mountain; Slept in the sunshine and dripped from the fountain. I have burst my cloud-fetters and dropped from the sky, And everywhere gladdened the landscape and eye. I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain; I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain; I can tell of the powerful wheel o' the mill, That ground out the flour and turned at my will; I can tell of manhood, debased by you, That I have uplifted and crowned anew. I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid, I gladden the heart of man and maid; I set the chained wine-captive free, And all are better for knowing me."

These are the tales they told each other, The glass of wine and its paler brother, As they sat together, filled to the brim, On the rich man's table, rim to rim.

THE MANIAC

I saw them sitting in the shade; The long green vines hung over, But could not hide the gold-haired maid And Earl, my dark-eyed lover. His arm was clasped so close, so close, Her eyes were softly lifted, While his eyes drank the cheek of rose And breasts like snowflakes drifted.

A strange noise sounded in my brain; I was a guest unbidden. I stole away, but came again With two knives snugly hidden. I stood behind them. Close they kissed, While eye to eye was speaking; I aimed my steels, and neither missed The heart I sent it seeking.

There were two death-shrieks mingled so It seemed like one voice crying, I laughed--it was such bliss, you know, To hear and see them dying. I laughed and shouted while I stood Above the lovers, gazing Upon the trickling rills of blood And frightened eyes fast glazing.

It was such joy to see the rose Fade from her cheek for ever; To know the lips he kissed so close Could answer never, never. To see his arm grow stark and cold, And know it could not hold her; To know that while the world grew old His eyes could not behold her.

A crowd of people thronged about, Brought thither by my laughter; I gave one last triumphant shout-- Then darkness followed after. That was a thousand years ago; Each hour I live it over, For there, just out of reach, you know, _She_ lies, with Earl, my lover.

They lie there, staring, staring so With great, glazed eyes to taunt me. Will no one bury them down low, Where they shall cease to haunt me? He kissed her lips, not mine; the flowers And vines hung all about them. Sometimes I sit and laugh for hours To think just how I found them.

And then I sometimes stand and shriek In agony of terror: I see the red warm in her cheek, Then laugh loud at my error. My cheek was all too pale, he thought; He deemed hers far the brightest. Ha! but my dagger touched a spot That made _her_ face the whitest!

But oh! the days seem very long, Without my Earl, my lover; And something in my head seems wrong The more I think it over. Ah! look--she is not dead--look there! She's standing close beside me! Her eyes are open--how they stare! Oh, hide me! hide me! hide me!

WHAT IS FLIRTATION?

What is flirtation? Really, How can I tell you that? But when she smiles I see its wiles, And when he lifts his hat.

'Tis walking in the moonlight, 'Tis buttoning on a glove, 'Tis lips that speak of plays next week, While eyes are talking love.

'Tis meeting in the ball-room, 'Tis whirling in the dance; 'Tis something hid beneath the lid More than a simple glance.

'Tis lingering in the hallway, 'Tis sitting on the stair, 'Tis bearded lips on finger-tips, If mamma isn't there.

'Tis tucking in the carriage, 'Tis asking for a call; 'Tis long good-nights in tender lights, And that is--no, not all!

'Tis parting when it's over, And one goes home to sleep; Best joys must end, tra la, my friend, But one goes home to weep!

HUSBAND AND WIFE

Reach out your arms, and hold me close and fast, Tell me you have no memories of your past That mar this love of ours, so great, so vast.

Some truths are cheapened when too oft averred-- Does not the deed speak louder than the word? (_Dear Christ_! _that old dream woke again and stirred_.)

As you love me, you never loved before? Though oft you say it--say it yet once more; My heart is jealous of those days of yore.

Sweet wife, dear comrade, mother of my child, My life is yours, by memory undefiled. (_It stirs again_, _that passion brief and wild_.)

You never knew such happy hours as this, We two alone, our hearts surcharged with bliss, Nor other kisses sweet as my own kiss?

I was the thirsty field, long parched with drouth, You were the warm rain blowing from the South. (_But oh_! _the crimson madness of her mouth_.)

You would not, if you could, go down life's track For just one little moment, and bring back Some vanished raptures that you miss or lack?

I am content. You are my life, my all. (_One burning hour_, _but one_, _could I recall_. _God_! _how men lie_, _when driven to the wall_!)

HOW DOES LOVE SPEAK?

How does Love speak? In the faint flush upon the tell-tale cheek, And in the pallor that succeeds it; by The quivering lid of an averted eye-- The smile that proves the parent of a sigh: Thus doth Love speak.

How does Love speak? By the uneven heart-throbs, and the freak Of bounding pulses that stand still and ache While new emotions, like strange barges, make Along vein-channels their disturbing course, Still as the dawn, and with the dawn's swift force: Thus doth Love speak.

How does Love speak? In the avoidance of that which we seek The sudden silence and reserve when near; The eye that glistens with an unshed tear; The joy that seems the counterpart of fear, As the alarmed heart leads in the breast, And knows, and names, and greets its godlike guest: Thus doth Love speak.

How does Love speak? In the proud spirit suddenly grown meek, The haughty heart grown humble; in the tender And unnamed light that floods the world with splendour; In the resemblance which the fond eyes trace In all fair things to one beloved face; In the shy touch of hands that thrill and tremble; In looks and lips that can no more dissemble: Thus doth Love speak.

How does Love speak? In wild words that uttered seem so weak They shrink ashamed to silence; in the fire Glance strikes with glance, swift flashing high and higher, Like lightnings that precede the mighty storm In the deep, soulful stillness; in the warm, Impassioned tide that sweeps thro' throbbing veins, Between the shores of keen delights and pains; In the embrace where madness melts in bliss, And in the convulsive rapture of a kiss: Thus doth Love speak.

REINCARNATION

He slept as weary toilers do, She gazed up at the moon. He stirred and said, "Wife, come to bed"; She answered, "Soon, full soon." (Oh! that strange mystery of the dead moon's face.)

Her cheek was wan, her wistful mouth Was lifted like a cup, The moonful night dripped liquid light: She seemed to quaff it up. (Oh! that unburied corpse that lies in space.)

Her life had held but drudgery-- She spelled her Bible thro'; Of books and lore she knew no more Than little children do. (Oh! the weird wonder of that pallid sphere.)

Her youth had been a loveless waste, Starred by no holiday. And she had wed for roof, and bread; She gave her work in pay. (Oh! the moon-memories, vague and strange and dear.)

She drank the night's insidious wine, And saw another scene: A stately room--rare flowers in bloom, Herself in silken sheen. (Oh! vast the chambers of the moon, and wide.)

A step drew near, a curtain stirred; She shook with sweet alarms. Oh! splendid face; oh! manly grace; Oh! strong impassioned arms. (Oh! silent moon, what secrets do you hide!)

The warm red lips of thirsting love On cheek and brow were pressed; As the bees know where honeys grow, They sought her mouth, her breast. (Oh! the dead moon holds many a dead delight.)

The speaker stirred and gruffly spake, "Come, wife, where have you been?" She whispered low, "Dear God, I go-- But 'tis the seventh sin." (Oh! the sad secrets of that orb of white.)

AS YOU GO THROUGH LIFE

Don't look for the flaws as you go through life; And even when you find them, It is wise and kind to be somewhat blind And look for the virtue behind them. For the cloudiest night has a hint of light Somewhere in its shadows hiding; It is better by far to hunt for a star, Than the spots on the sun abiding.

The current of life runs ever away To the bosom of God's great ocean. Don't set your force 'gainst the river's course And think to alter its motion. Don't waste a curse on the universe-- Remember it lived before you. Don't butt at the storm with your puny form, But bend and let it go o'er you.

The world will never adjust itself To suit your whims to the letter. Some things must go wrong your whole life long, And the sooner you know it the better. It is folly to fight with the Infinite, And go under at last in the wrestle; The wiser man shapes into God's plan As water shapes into a vessel.

HOW SALVATOR WON

The gate was thrown open, I rode out alone, More proud than a monarch who sits on a throne. I am but a jockey, yet shout upon shout Went up from the people who watched me ride out; And the cheers that rang forth from that warm-hearted crowd, Were as earnest as those to which monarch e'er bowed.

My heart thrilled with pleasure so keen it was pain As I patted my Salvator's soft silken mane; And a sweet shiver shot from his hide to my hand As we passed by the multitude down to the stand.

The great waves of cheering came billowing back, As the hoofs of brave Tenny rang swift down the track; And he stood there beside us, all bone and all muscle, Our noble opponent, well trained for the tussle That waited us there on the smooth, shining course. My Salvator, fair to the lovers of horse, As a beautiful woman is fair to man's sight-- Pure type of the thoroughbred, clean-limbed and bright,-- Stood taking the plaudits as only his due, And nothing at all unexpected or new.

And then, there before us the bright flag is spread, There's a roar from the grand stand, and Tenny's ahead; At the sound of the voices that shouted "a go!" He sprang like an arrow shot straight from the bow. I tighten the reins on Prince Charlie's great son-- He is off like a rocket, the race is begun. Half-way down the furlong, their heads are together, Scarce room 'twixt their noses to wedge in a feather; Past grand stand, and judges, in neck-to-neck strife, Ah, Salvator, boy! 'tis the race of your life. I press my knees closer, I coax him, I urge, I feel him go out with a leap and a surge; I see him creep on, inch by inch, stride by stride, While backward, still backward, falls Tenny beside. We are nearing the turn, the first quarter is past-- 'Twixt leader and chaser the daylight is cast. The distance elongates, still Tenny sweeps on, As graceful and free-limbed and swift as a fawn; His awkwardness vanished, his muscles all strained-- A noble opponent, well born and well trained. I glanced o'er my shoulder, ha! Tenny, the cost Of that one's second flagging, will be--the race lost. One second's weak yielding of courage and strength, And the daylight between us has doubled its length.

The first mile is covered, the race is mine--no! For the blue blood of Tenny responds to a blow. He shoots through the air like a ball from a gun, And the two lengths between us are shortened to one, My heart is contracted, my throat feels a lump, For Tenny's long neck is at Salvator's rump; And now with new courage grown bolder and bolder, I see him, once more running shoulder to shoulder. With knees, hands, and body I press my grand steed I urge him, I coax him, I pray him to heed! Oh, Salvator! Salvator! list to my calls, For the blow of my whip will hurt both if it falls. There's a roar from the crowd like the ocean in storm As close to my saddle leaps Tenny's great form:

One more mighty plunge, and with knee, limb, and hand, I lift my horse first by a nose past the stand. We are under the string now--the great race is done, And Salvator, Salvator, Salvator won! Cheer, hoar-headed patriarchs; cheer loud, I say. 'Tis the race of a century witnessed to-day! Though ye live twice the space that's allotted to men, Ye never will see such a grand race again. Let the shouts of the populace roar like the surf For Salvator, Salvator, king of the turf! He has broken the record of thirteen long years; He has won the first place in a vast line of peers. 'Twas a neck-to-neck contest, a grand, honest race, And even his enemies grant him his place. Down into the dust let old records be hurled, And hang out 2.05 in the gaze of the world.

THE WATCHER

"I think I hear the sound of horses feet Beating upon the gravelled avenue. Go to the window that looks on the street, He would not let me die alone, I knew." Back to the couch the patient watcher passed, And said: "It is the wailing of the blast."

She turned upon her couch and, seeming, slept, The long, dark lashes shadowing her cheek; And on and on the weary moments crept, When suddenly the watcher heard her speak: "I think I hear the sound of horses' hoofs--" And answered, "'Tis the rain upon the roofs."

Unbroken silence, quiet, deep, profound. The restless sleeper turns: "How dark, how late! What is it that I hear--a trampling sound? I think there is a horseman at the gate." The watcher turns away her eyes tear-blind: "It is the shutter beating in the wind."

The dread hours passed; the patient clock ticked on; The weary watcher moved not from her place. The grey dim shadows of the early dawn Caught sudden glory from the sleeper's face. "He comes! my love! I knew he would!" she cried; And, smiling sweetly in her slumbers, died.

HOW WILL IT BE?

How will it be when one of us alone Goes on that strange last journey of the soul? That certain search for an uncertain goal, That voyage on which no comradeship is known? Will our dear sea sing with the old sweet tone, Though one sits stricken where its billows roll? Will space be dumb, or from the mystic pole Will spirit-messages be backward blown? When our united lives are wrenched apart, And day no more means fond companionship, When fervent night, and lovely languorous dawn, Are only memories to one sad heart, And but in dreams love-kisses burn the lip,-- Dear God, how can this same fair world move on?

MEMORY'S RIVER

In Nature's bright blossoms not always reposes That strange subtle essence more rare than their bloom, Which lies in the hearts of carnations and roses, That unexplained something by men called perfume. Though modest the flower, yet great is its power And pregnant with meaning each pistil and leaf, If only it hides there, if only abides there, The fragrance suggestive of love, joy, and grief.

Not always the air that a master composes Can stir human heart-strings with pleasure or pain. But strange, subtle chords, like the scent of the roses, Breathe out of some measures, though simple the strain. And lo! when you hear them, you love them and fear them, You tremble with anguish, you thrill with delight, For back of them slumber old dreams without number, And faces long vanished peer out into sight.

Those dear foolish days when the earth seemed all beauty, Before you had knowledge enough to be sad; When youth held no higher ideal of duty Than just to lilt on through the world and be glad. On harmony's river they seemed to afloat hither With all the sweet fancies that hung round that time-- Life's burdens and troubles turn into air-bubbles And break on the music's swift current of rhyme.

Fair Folly comes back with her spell while you listen And points to the paths where she led you of old. You gaze on past sunsets, you see dead stars glisten, You bathe in life's glory, you swoon in death's cold. All pains and all pleasures surge up through those measures, Your heart is wrenched open with earthquakes of sound; From ashes and embers rise Junes and Decembers, Lost islands in fathoms of feeling refound.

Some airs are like outlets of memory's oceans, They rise in the past and flow into the heart; And down them float shipwrecks of mighty emotions, All sea-soaked and storm-tossed and drifting apart: Their fair timbers battered, their lordly sails tattered, Their skeleton crew of dead days on their decks; Then a crash of chords blending, a crisis, an ending-- The music is over, and vanished the wrecks.

LOVE'S WAY

Love gives us copious potions of delight, Of pain and ecstasy, and peace and care; Love leads us upward, to the mountain height, And, like an angel, stands beside us there; Then thrusts us, demon-like, in some abyss: Where, in the darkness of despair, we grope, Till, suddenly, Love greets us with a kiss And guides us back to flowery fields of hope.

Love makes all wisdom seem but poorest folly, And yet the simplest mind with Love grows wise, The gayest heart he teaches melancholy, Yet glorifies the erstwhile brooding eyes. Love lives on change, and yet at change Love mocks, For Love's whole life is one great paradox.

A MAN'S LAST LOVE

Like the tenth wave, that offers to the shore Accumulated opulence and force, So does my heart, which thought it loved of yore, Carry increasing passion down the course Of time to proffer thee. Oh! not the faint First ripple of the sea should be its pride, But the great climax of its unrestraint, Which culminates in one commanding tide.

The lesser billows of each crude emotion Break on life's strand, recede, and then unite With love's large sea; and to some late devotion Unrecognised, they bring their lost delight. So all the vanished fancies of my past Live yet in this one passion, grand and vast.

THE LADY AND THE DAME

So thou hast the art, good dame, thou swearest, To keep Time's perishing touch at bay From the roseate splendour of the cheek so tender, And the silver threads from the gold away; And the tell-tale years that have hurried by us Shall tiptoe back, and, with kind good-will, They shall take their traces from off our faces, If we will trust to thy magic skill.

Thou speakest fairly; but if I listen And buy thy secret and prove its truth, Hast thou the potion and magic lotion To give me also the _heart_ of youth? With the cheek of rose and the eye of beauty, And the lustrous locks of life's lost prime, Wilt thou bring thronging each hope and longing That made the glory of that dead Time?

When the sap in the trees sets young buds bursting, And the song of the birds fills the air like spray, Will rivers of feeling come once more stealing From the beautiful hills of the far-away? Wilt thou demolish the tower of reason And fling for ever down into the dust The caution Time brought me, the lessons life taught me, And put in their places my old sweet trust?