Chapter 4

I thought its rooms were shadowed With the gloom of endless night; But the new love, the new love, It fills them full of light.

I thought the chambers empty, And proclaimed it unto men; But the new love, the new love, It peoples them again.

I thought its halls were silent, And hushed the whole day long; But the new love, the new love, It fills them full of song.

Then here is to the new love, Let who will sing the old; The new love, the new love, 'Tis more than fame or gold.

For it gives us joy for sorrow, And it gives us warmth for cold; Oh! the new love, the new love, 'Tis better than the old.

AN EAST WIND

The glitter of wheels far down the street (Ah me, and alack a day.) And I heard the thud of his horse's feet Beating a roundelay. And I felt a little song coming, coming Over my lips as humming, humming, I turned my eyes that way.

Somebody passed, who was wont to pause: (Ah me, and alack a day.) He bowed and smiled; yet for some cause The mirth went out of my lay. A wind from the east rose, sighing, sighing, I felt my little song dying, dying, _She laughed as they rode away_.

CHEATING TIME

Kiss me, sweetheart. One by one Swift and sure the moments run.

Soon, too soon, for you and me Gone for aye the day will be.

Do not let time cheat us then, Kiss me often and again.

Every time a moment slips Let us count it on our lips

While we're kissing, strife and pain Cannot come between us twain.

If we pause too long a space, Who can tell what may take place?

You may pout, and I may scold, Souls be sundered, hearts grow cold;

Death may come, and love take wings; Oh! a thousand cruel things

May creep in to spoil the day, If we throw the time away.

Let us time, the cheater, cheat, Kiss me, darling, kiss me, sweet.

ONLY A SLIGHT FLIRTATION

'Twas just a slight flirtation, And where's the harm, I pray, In that amusing pastime So much in vogue to-day?

Her hand was plighted elsewhere To one she held most dear, But why should she sit lonely When other men were near?

They walked to church together, They sat upon the shore. She found him entertaining, He found her something more.

They rambled in the moonlight; It made her look so fair. She let him praise her beauty, And kiss her flowing hair.

'Twas just a nice flirtation. 'So sad the fellow died. Was drowned one day while boating, The week she was a bride.'

A life went out in darkness, A mother's fond heart broke, A maiden pined in secret-- With grief she never spoke.

While robed in bridal whiteness, Queen of a festal throng, She moved, whose slight flirtation Had wrought this triple wrong.

WHAT THE RAIN SAW

Winds of the summer time what are you saying, What are ye seeking, and what do you miss? Locks like the thistledown floating and straying, Cheeks like the budding rose, tinted to kiss.

See ye yon mist rising up from the river? That is the spirit of yesterday's rain. Go to it, fly to it, call to it, cry to it, What did ye see when ye fell on the plain?

Rosewood, and velvet, and pansies, and roses, Blossoms from loving hands tenderly cast. Lids like the leaves of a lily that closes After its brief little day-life is past.

Beautiful hands on a beautiful bosom, Folded so quietly, folded in rest. Mouth like the bud of a white-petalled blossom, Creased where the lips of an angel had pressed.

Lower, and lower, and lower, and lower, Dust unto dust--but a mound on the plain. Left alone, lonely, this, and this only, Saw we, and see we to-day, said the rain.

Winds of the summer time vain is your seeking, Vain is your calling with sobs in your breath. Lips that are tender, eyes full of splendour, Wooed away, sued away, vanished with death.

AFTER

After the end that is drawing near Comes, and I no more see your face Worn with suffering, lying here, What shall I do with the empty place?

You are so weary, that if I could I would not hinder, I would not keep The great Creator of all things good, From giving his own beloved sleep.

But over and over I turn this thought. After they bear you away to the tomb, And banish the glasses, and move the cot, What shall I do with the empty room?

And when you are lying at rest, my own, Hidden away in the grass and flowers, And I listen in vain for your sigh and moan, What shall I do with the silent hours?

O God! O God! in the great To Be What canst Thou give me to compensate For the terrible silence, the vacancy, Grim, and awful, and desolate?

Passing away, my beautiful one, Out of the old life into the new. But when it is over, and all is done, God of the Merciful, what shall I do?

Sweetest of slumber, and soundest rest, No more sorrow, and no more gloom. I am quite contented, and all is best,-- _But the empty bed--and the silent room_!

OUR PETTY CARES

Our petty cares wear on us so,-- More cruel than our great despairs, More rasping than a mighty woe, Our petty cares.

Less need of strength hath he who bears Courageously some stinging blow, Of Fate which takes him unawares.

Not solitary griefs we know Induce old age and whitening hairs; But that malicious, endless row-- Our petty cares.

THE SHIP AND THE BOAT

In the great ship Life we speed along, With sails and pennons spread. And tethered, beside the great ship, glide The mystic boats for the dead.

Over the deck of the ship of Life Our loved and lost we lower. And calm and steady, his small boat ready, Death silently sits at the oar.

He rows our dead away from our sight-- Away from our hearing or ken. We call and cry for a last good-bye, But they never come back again.

The ship of Life bounds on and on; The river of Time runs fast; And yet more swift our dear dead drift For ever back into the Past.

We do not forget those loved and lost, But they fade away like a dream: As we hurry along on the current strong Of Time's great turbulent stream.

On and on, and ever away, Our sails are filled by the wind; We see new places, we meet new faces, And the dead are far behind.

Their boats have drifted into the sea That laves God's holy feet. But the river's course, too, seeks that source, So the ship and the boat shall meet.

COME NEAR

Come near to me, I need Thy glorious presence. Through the dense darkness of this troubled hour Shine on my soul, and fill it with the essence Of Thy pervading and uplifting power. Come near, come near to me!

Come nearer yet, I have no strength to reach Thee; My soul is like a bird with broken wings. Lean down from Thy fair height of peace, and teach me The balm Thy touch to mortal bruises brings. Lean down, O God, lean down!

Come near, and yet if those eternal places Hold greater tasks to occupy Thy hands, Send Thy blest angels whose celestial faces Smile sometimes on us from the spirit lands. Send one, send one to me!

I must have help. I am so weak and broken I cannot help myself. I know not how That moral force of which so much is spoken Will not sustain or fortify me now. I must, I must have help!

Some outside aid, some strength from spirit Sources, We all must have in hours like this, or die. To one, or all of those mysterious Forces Which men call God, I lift my voice and cry, Come near, come near to me!

A SUGGESTION

As I go and shop, sir! If a car I stop, sir! Where you chance to sit, And you want to read, sir! Never mind or heed, sir! I'll not care a bit.

For it's now aesthetic To be quite athletic. That's our fad, you know. I can hold the strap, sir! And keep off your lap, sir! As we jolting go.

If you read on blindly, I shall take it kindly, All the car's not mine. But, if you sit and stare, sir! At my eyes and hair, sir! I must draw the line.

If the stare is meant, sir! For a compliment, sir! As we jog through town, Allow me to suggest, sir! A woman oft looks best, sir! When she's sitting down.

A FISHERMAN'S BABY

Oh! hush little baby, thy Papa's at sea, The big billows rock him as Mama rocks thee. He hastes to his dear ones o'er breakers of foam. Then hush little darling till Papa comes home. Sleep little baby, hush little baby, Papa is coming, no longer to roam.

The shells and the pebbles all day tossed about Are lulled into sleep by the tide ebbing out. The weary shore slumbers, stretched out in the sand, While the waves hurry off at mid ocean's command. Then hush little baby, sleep little darling, Sleep baby, rocked by thy mother's own hand.

The winds that have rollicked all day in the west Are soothed into sleep on the calm evening's breast. The boats that were out with the wild sea at play Are now rocked to sleep in the arms of the bay. Then rest little baby, sleep little baby, Papa will come at the break of the day.

CONTENT AND HAPPINESS

How is it that men pray their earthly lot May be 'content and happiness'? Dire foes Without one common trait which kinship shows I hold these two. Contentment comes when sought, While Happiness pursued was never caught. But, sudden, storms the heart with mighty throes Whenceforth, mild eyed Content affrighted goes, To seek some calmer heart, less danger fraught.

Bold Happiness knows but one rival--Fear; Who follows ever on his footsteps, sent By jealous Fate who calls great joy a crime. While in far ways 'mong leaves just turning sere, With gaze serene and placid, walks Content. No heart ere held these two guests at one time.

THE CUSINE

The woman who looks upon man as a sinner Unsaved as to soul, and uncertain in heart, Should learn how to cook, and prepare him a dinner, And serve it with talent, refinement, and art. Full many a question is solved by digestion. Bad morals are caused, oftentimes by bad cooks, And many a riot results from poor diet-- Conversion may lie in the leaves of cook books.

About the dull stalk of the thorntree of duty Plant flowers of fragrance and vines of good taste. Surround the coarse needs of the body with beauty, Make common things noble, make vulgar things chaste. Put art in housekeeping, nor think culture sleeping Because the base animal, man, must be fed. Delsarte should be able to speak in the table-- 'Expression' may lie in a light loaf of bread.

Though hard be the labour, the end recompenses-- Though weary the journey, reward is the goal. For the soul of a man must be reached through his senses, As the senses of woman are reached through her soul. Speak first to his spirit, he never will hear it; Speak first to his body, his soul will reply; The mortal man fare for, his appetites care for, And lo! he will follow your footsteps on high.

Love born in the boudoir oft dies in the kitchen, The failure of marriage oft starts in the soup. The stomach appeal to, and men's heart you steal to-- Would you reach to the last? To the first you must stoop.

I WONDER WHY

Do you remember that glorious June When we were lovers, you and I? Something there was in the robin's tune, Something there was in earth and sky, That was never before, and never since then. I wonder why.

Do you remember the bridge we crossed, And lingered to see the ships go by, With snowy sails to the free winds tossed? I never pass that bridge but I sigh With a sense at my heart as of something lost. I wonder why.

Do you remember the song we sung, Under the beautiful starlit sky? The world was bright, and our hearts were young-- I cannot forget though I try and try. How you smiled in my eyes while the echoes rung. I wonder why.

Do you remember how debonair The new moon shone when we said good-bye? How it listened and smiled when we parted there? I shall hate the new moon until I die-- Hate it for ever, nor think it fair. I wonder why.

A WOMAN'S HAND

All day long there has haunted me A spectre out of my lost youth-land. Because I happened last night to see A woman's beautiful snow-white hand.

Like part of a statue broken away, And carefully kept in a velvet case, On the crimson rim of her box it lay; The folds of the curtain hid her face.

Years had drifted between us two, In another clime, in another land, We had lived and parted, and yet I knew That cruelly beautiful perfect hand.

The ringless beauty of fingers fine, The sea-shell tint of their taper tips, The sight of them stirred my blood like wine, Oh, to hold them again to my lips!

To feel their tender touch on my hair, Their mute caress, and their clinging hold; Oh for the past that was green and fair, With a cloudless sky, and a sun of gold!

But the sun has set, and a dead delight Shadows my life with a dull despair, Oh why did I see that hand of white, Like a marble ornament lying there?

PRESENTIMENT

As unseen spheres cast shadows on the Earth Some unknown cause depresses me to-night. The house is full of laughter and sweet mirth, The day has held but pleasure and delight.

Down in the parlour some one blithely sings; A chime of laughter echoes in the hall; But all unseen by other eyes, strange things Rat-like do seem to glide along the wall.

I rise, and laugh, and say I will not care; I call them idle fancies, one and all. And yet, suspended by a single hair, The sword of Fate seems trembling soon to fall.

I leave the house, and walk the lighted street; And mingle with the pleasure-seeking throng. And close behind me follow spectre feet That pause with me, or with me move along.

I seek my room, and close and bolt the door; I draw the curtain, and turn up the light; But close beside me, closer than before, This nameless _something_ stands, but out of sight.

Ye mystic messenger of woe to come, Ye nameless nothing called 'Presentiment,' Take form and face me; be no longer dumb, But tell who thou art, and wherefore sent.

TWO ROOMS

One room is full of luxury, and dim With that soft moonlit radiance of light That she best loves, who sits and dreams of him Her heart has crowned as knight.

And one is bare, and comfortless, and dim With that strange, fitful glimmer that is shed By candles casting shadows weird and grim, Above the sheeted dead.

In one, a round and beautiful young face Is full of wordless rapture; and so fair You know her breast is joy's best dwelling-place; You know sweet love is there.

In one, there lies a white and wasted face Whereon is frozen such supreme despair, You need but look to know what left the trace; You know love _has been_ there.

To one he comes! She leans her head of gold Upon his breast and bids him no more roam. Ah God! Ah God! and one lies stark and cold, Because he ceased to come.

THREE AT THE OPERA

Last night the house was crowded. Were you there? You thought our box held only two, maybe-- Myself and chaperon, a matron fair. There was another whom you did not see.

Close, close beside me, sat a phantom form; Above the music and loud cheer on cheer That rose, and thundered like a sudden storm, I heard his low voice whispering in my ear.

A dead man's voice. You know when dead men speak There is no noise their least tone will not drown. His sweet soft words brought blushes to my cheek, And made my happy eyelids flutter down.

There were so many glasses turned on me, My chaperon was proud. She called me fair, And said I drew their glances. Well, may be. _I_ think they saw that dead man sitting there.

A dead man at an opera: how strange! I know it must have seemed much out of place. He smiled, and spoke, and there was little change In the white pallor of his perfect face.

Yet he was dead. I knew it all the while, I do not wonder people looked that way. It seemed so odd to see a dead man smile; Its strangeness never struck me till to-day.

He rose and went out when we left our stall; Rose up, went out, and vanished in the night. He always sits beside me in that hall, But goes when goes the music and the light.

A STRAIN OF MUSIC

In through the open window To the chamber where I lay, There came the beat of merry feet, From the dancers over the way. And back on the wings of the music That rose on the midnight air, My rare youth came and spoke my name, And lo! I was young and fair.

Once more in the glitter of gaslight I stood in my life's glad prime: And heart and feet in a rhythm sweet Were keeping the music's time. Like a leaf in the breeze of summer I drifted down the hall, On an arm that is cold with death and mould, And is hidden under the pall.

Once more at a low voice's whisper (A voice that is long since stilled) I felt the flush of a rising blush, And my pulses leaped and thrilled. Once more in a sea of faces, I only saw one face; And life grew bright with a new delight, And sweet with a nameless grace.

A crash of passionate music, A hush and a silence then; The dancers rest in their pleasure quest, And lo! I am old again. Old and alone in my chamber, While the night wears wearily on, And the pallid wraith of a broken faith-- Keeps watch with me till the dawn.

SMOKE

Last summer, lazing by the sea, I met a most entrancing creature, Her black eyes quite bewildered me-- She had a Spanish cast of feature.

She often smoked a cigarette, And did it in the cutest fashion. Before a week passed by she set My young heart in a raging passion.

I swore I loved her as my life, I gave her gems (don't tell my tailor). She promised to become my wife, But whispered, 'Papa is my jailer.'

'We must be very sly, you see, For Papa will not list to reason. You must not come to call on me Until he's gone from home a season.

'I'll send you word, now don't forget, Take this as pledge, I will remember.' She gave me a perfumed cigarette, And turned and left me with September.

To-day she sent her 'cards' to me. 'My presence asked' to see her marry That millionaire old banker C--- She _has_ my 'presents,' so I'll tarry.

And still I feel a keen regret (About the jewels that I gave her) I've smoked the little cigarette-- It had a most delicious flavour.

AN AUTUMN DAY

Leaden skies and a lonesome shadow Where summer has passed with her gorgeous train; Snow on the mountain, and frost on the meadow-- A white face pressed to the window pane; A cold mist falling, a bleak wind calling, And oh! but life seems vain.

Rain is better than golden weather, When the heart is dulled with a dumb despair. Dead leaves lie where they walked together, The hammock is gone, and the rustic chair. Let bleak snows cover the whole world over-- It will never again seem fair.

Time laughs lightly at youth's sad 'Never,' Summer shall come again, smiling once more, High o'er the cold world the sun shines for ever, Hearts that seemed dead are alive at the core. Oh, but the pain of it--oh, but the gain of it, After the shadows pass o'er.

WISHES

Whatever you want, if you wish for it long, With constant yearning and fervent desire, If your wish soars upward on wings so strong That they never grow languid and never tire,--

Why, over the storm clouds and out of the dark It shall come flying some day to you. As the dove with the olive branch flew to the ark, And the dream you have cherished--it shall come true.

But lest much rapture shall make you mad, Or too bright sunshine should strike you blind, Along with your blessing a something sad Shall come like a shadow that follows behind.

Something unwelcome and unforeseen, Yet of your hope and your wish, a part, Shall stand like a sentinel in between The perfect joy and the human heart.

I wished for a cloudless and golden day; It came, but I looked from my window to see A giant shadow which seemed to say, 'If you ask for the sunlight you must take me.'

Oh! a wonderful thing is the human will, When seeking one purpose, and serving one end; But I think it is wiser to just sit still, And accept whatever the gods may send.

THE PLAY

In the rosy light of my day's fair morning, Ere ever a storm cloud darkened the west, Ere even a shadow of night gave warning When life seemed only a pleasure quest, Why then all humour and comedy scorning-- I liked high tragedy best.

I liked the challenge, the fierce fought duel, With a death or a parting in every act. I liked the villain to be more cruel Than the basest villain could be in fact: For it fed the fires of my mind with the fuel Of the things that my life lacked.

But as time passed on, and I met real sorrow, And she played at night on the stage--my heart, I found I could not forget on the morrow The pain I had felt in her tragic part. For alas! no longer I needed to borrow My grief from the actor's art.

And as life grows older, and therefore sadder (Though sweeter maybe with its autumn haze), I find more pleasure in watching the gladder And lighter order of humorous plays. Where the mirth is as mad, or maybe madder, Than the mirth of my lost days.

I like to be forced to laugh and be merry, Though the earth with sorrow and pain is rife: I like for an evening at least to bury All thoughts of trouble, or pain, or strife. In sooth, I like to be moved to the very Emotions I miss in life.

AS WE LOOK BACK (RONDEAU)

As we look back at our lost Used-to-Be, 'The light that never was on land or sea' Touches the distant mountain peaks with gold, And through the glass of memory we behold Such blossoms as grow not on any lea.

The double leaf upon the poplar tree Turns up its silver side to you and me, And glow-worm lanterns light the lonely wold As we look back.

No sounds we hear but echoes of young glee; No winds we feel but west winds blowing free, From those fair isles that seem a thousandfold More beautiful than in the days of old; And all the clouds that hang above them flee, As we look back.

WHY

Why do eyes that were tender, Averted, turn away? Why has our dear love's splendour All faded into gray? Why is it that lips glow not That late were all aglow? I know not, dear, I know not, I only know 'tis so.

Why do you no more tremble Now when I kiss your cheek? Why do we both dissemble The thoughts we used to speak? Why is it that words flow not That used to fondly flow? I know not, dear, I know not, I only know 'tis so.

Have we outlived the passion That late lit earth and sky? And is this but the fashion A fond love takes to die? Is it, that we shall know not Again love's rapture glow? I trust not, sweet, I trust not-- And yet it may be so.

LISTEN

Whoever you are as you read this, Whatever your trouble or grief, I want you to know and to heed this, The day draweth near with relief.

No sorrow, no woe, is unending; Though heaven seems voiceless and dumb, Remember your cry is ascending, And an answer will certainly come.

Whatever temptation is near you, Whose eyes on this simple verse fall, Remember good angels will hear you, And help you, so sure as you call.

Who stunned with despair, I beseech you, Whatever your losses, your need, Believe when these printed words reach you-- Believe you were born to succeed.

TOGETHER

We two in the fever, and fervour, and glow Of life's high tide have rejoiced together. We have looked out over the glittering snow, And known we were dwelling in summer weather. For the seasons are made by the heart, I hold, And not by the outdoor heat or cold.

We two in the shadows of pain and fear Have journeyed together in dim, dark places, Where black-robed sorrow walked to and fro, And fear and trouble with phantom faces Peered out upon us, and froze our blood, Though June's fair roses were all in bud.