Chapter I: Dreamed Your Face

I dreamed your face, one night, when Heaven seemed
resting,
Against the troubled fever of the earth;
I dreamed that vivid throated birds were nesting,
In trees that shook with elfin-hearted mirth.
I dreamed that star-like purple flowers were springing
A-throb with perfume all about the place,
And that there was a far-off sound of singing--
And then--I dreamed your face!

I dreamed your face, and then I waked from
dreaming,
(The creeping dawn seemed very cold and bare!)
The rising sun seemed pallid in its beaming,
Because its coming did not find you there!
And I--I rose despondent in the morning,
As one whose burning thirst has not been slaked;
I dreamed your face, a wonder world adorning,
And then--I waked.

And so I went upon a quest to find you,
A quest that led through many bitter years;
I journeyed far with strands of love to bind you,
And found, not you, but bitterness and tears--
So I returned, discouraged, through the gloaming,
My shoulders bowed with weariness unguessed;
I came back, unsuccessful, from my roaming--
My sorry quest!

I had a bit of garden that I tended,
It helped me dream, again, my dream of you--
It was a joyous place of colors blended--
A place where pansies and Sweet William grew.
And one bright day I hummed as I was planting
A border row of flowers slim and fair,
And raised my eyes to see pale sunlight slanting
Across your hair!

ANSWER

I am myself--you cannot take my dreams
And pull the filmy stuff of them apart!
I am myself--and life IS what it seems.
I am myself, and love is in my heart!
You cannot make me think by fast set rule,
You cannot laugh beliefs like mine away,
Experience MAY be a bitter school,
And yet.... The golden sun shines every day,
And stars at night lend magic to the sky,
And all the world is vividly a-glow,
You cannot make me pause to question why
For we who dare to dream have learned to know!

THE WORLD IS RIGHT! There is a friendly One
Who smiles when we have tried to do our part--
I will not flinch, my journey's just begun....
I AM MYSELF--YOU CANNOT BREAK MY HEART!

A BABY'S HANDS

God made the rivers, the hills, and the seas,
God made the flowers, the grass, and the trees;
God made the clouds, and the waves, silver-crested,
Then God made the hands of a baby--and rested!

How did He make them? Well, nobody knows--
Some say He dreamed of the bud of a rose,
And that He woke as the dawn swept away
Night in the dancing pink promise of day.

Maybe He thought of the light of a star,
(That's why He made them as soft as they are!)
Maybe He watched while a new butterfly,
Light as a sunbeam, went fluttering by.

Maybe He walked in a garden, dew-kissed,
That's why He made them as frail as the mist--
Then as He leaned from His heaven above,
God made them strong as His greatest gift--LOVE!

God made the mountains--we wonder at these--
God made the splendor of sunsets and trees;
God made vast mines where a world's wealth is piled,
Then God made the hands of a baby--and smiled!

ALL ALONG THE BROAD HIGHWAY

All along the broad highway the little dreams were
growing,
White as hope, and red as life, and bluer than the
sea--
All along the broad highway I felt their petals
blowing,
Like a storm of fragrant snow across the lips of
me!
So I danced with joyous heart, and bent above them
singing.
So I skipped along the road and smiled into the
skies;
ALL ALONG THE BROAD HIGHWAY THE LITTLE DREAMS WERE
SPRINGING,
FRAGRANT AS THE DEW OF STARS AND GLAD AS BUTTERFLIES!

All along the broad highway I danced and sang unheeding,
Till One came with haughty step and traveled by
my side;
Traveled first beside my path then, suddenly, was
leading--
One who drew me after him and murmured, "I AM
PRIDE!"
All along the broad highway I hurried, ever faster,
Faster through the purple dust that blinded like
a mist,
Blinded me until I felt that only Pride was master,
(And I saw the little dreams through clouds of
amethyst!)

All along the broad highway I toiled, no longer
glancing
Anywhere but straight ahead... I had no
heart to sing--
All along the broad highway, my feet no longer
dancing;
Followed I the steps of Pride, and felt the thick
dust sting
In the tired eyes of me... the eyes too sad for
weeping!
Still I struggled--struggled on until quite
suddenly--
All the strength that kept me up seemed drowsy,
almost sleeping--
And I paused with drooping head and lo, Pride
went from me!

All along the broad highway the silent dusk was
stealing,
Quite alone I stood and stared about me in the
gloom;
And the voice of me was still, and my heart was
kneeling
Like a weary pilgrim soul in an attic room.
And I stretched my empty hands to where the ghostly
lighting,
Showed a crumpled mist of blue, a heap of white
and red--
There along the broad highway like armies after
fighting,
All the gallant little dreams were lying gaunt and
dead!

MY MOTHER

My mother's kinder chubby--she's fat, th' fellers
say--
My mother's kinder chubby, but I like her that a-way!
'Cause she's awful sorter jolly, an' she makes th'
bestest pies,
An' she laughs when I'm a-jokin' 'till th' tears are in
her eyes.
An' she pats me on th' shoulder when I'm feelin'
sad an' blue,
An' whispers, "Little feller, yer mother's proud o'
you!"

She don't wear silks 'at rustle, like Tommie's mother
does,
But I like her gingham better 'cause it's--well, just
'cause it's hers!
An' she don't look young an' girl-like, an' her hands
are sorter red,
But, my, they're awful gentle when she tucks you
inter bed....
She hasn't got a di'mond like th' lady crost th' street,
But she's got two great big dimples, an' her smile is
mighty sweet!

My mother's sorter chubby--but say, her step is
light--
She's never cross 'r tired--not even when it's night!
An' her shoulders JUST as comfy when yer heart is
feelin' sore,
When you wish you was a baby--an' not a boy no
more--
Oh, her arms are cushion tender at th' twilight time
o' day,
Yes--my mother's sorter chubby--But I like her that
a-way!

HEREDITY

You told me, last night,
In a strange and sudden burst of confidence;
That a New England ancestor of yours,
Had burned witches--
And at last I knew....

Why your eyes are always so grim,
And why your mouth is cut,
In a straight line,
And why you can never see beauty and mirth
In the sweep of wind over a wheat field,
Or in the sunlight on a baby's hair.
At last I knew
Why you can never see romance
In the long gypsie trail,
Or magic,
In the still purple woods.

I knew why life,
To you,
Was something to be struggled with,
Not a glorious adventure;
And why death was the end of things,
And not the beginning.
And I knew at last,
Why you could never understand,
That tears may cover laughter,
And that laughter may be a veil
For tears.

You told me, last night,
That an ancestor of yours,
Had burned witches,
And, oh, as I sat in the candlelight,
Watching you,
I couldn't help wishing,
That somewhere behind you, in the shadows,

There was another ancestor--
A gay cavalier ancestor--
Who rode hard,
And fought with his sword,
And wore his hat, rakishly,
On the back of his head,
And knew--love.

APRIL

I had not meant to love again--all that was lost to
me,
For I had felt love's fear and pain, as well as ecstasy;
I closed my heart, and locked the door, and tossed
away the key.

All through the winter-time I sat before my flaming
fire,
And listened to the sleigh-bells chime, and watched
the flames leap higher,
To grasp at shadows, sombre-hued, with fiendish, red
desire.

And then mad April came again--I felt the breezes
blowing,
And I forgot the fear, the pain.... I only knew
that, glowing,
In shady nook and garden spot, pale hyacinths were
growing.

And when across the perfumed lea (for nothing could
defeat him! )
My vagrant love crept back to me... I did not
mean to greet him;
But April opened up my heart, and, oh, I ran to
meet him!

THE DESERT PATH--SEVEN SONNETS

I.

The camel tracks led whitely across the desert sand,
And one came riding after with furtive mystery;
Ah, one came swiftly riding, a dagger in his hand,
And he was bent on plunder--a nomad thief was he!
He did not heed the starshine that glimmered from
on high,
For laden beasts had traveled along the lonely way.
He did not see the glory that swept the Eastern sky,
For he had far to journey before the dawn of day.

He followed through the desert, and then at last he
saw
An inn upon the outskirts of some small village place;
And there were camels resting before the stable
door--
He left his horse, crept nearer, with greed upon his
face;
And peering o'er the threshold, he saw that gold was
piled,
With precious stones and incense, before a little
Child.

II.

A thief he was by calling, who to the stable came,
A thief whose youthful fingers had learned to steal
their fill;
A thief he was who valued his heritage of shame,
YET STANDING BY THAT DOORWAY, HE DID NOT WANT TO
KILL!
A thief he was, but--watching,--he saw a Baby face,
And, bending near, a Mother, whose joy was undefiled;
And for one breathless moment across the stable
space,
The Baby's eyes gazed at him--AND THEN THE BABY
SMILED!

A thief he was by calling, but there beside the door
He saw a Holy Vision--he knelt and tried to pray--
And something, thrilling, whispered of love forever-
more--
And then he rose, half weeping--and it was Christmas Day!
A thief he was by calling, who felt the Father's plan,
But back across the desert there silent rode a man!

III.

The years are met as milestones upon a winding road,
And some slip by like shadows, and some are fair
with flowers;
And some seem dreary, hopeless--a leaden chain of
hours--
And some are like a heart-throb, and some a heavy
load,
The thief, a thief no longer, a lonely figure strode
Heart-weary down life's pathway, through tempest
and through showers,
But always prayed that somewhere among sweet-
scented bowers,
A Baby's smile might show him where happiness
abode.

For he was often hungry--a thief, reformed, must
eat--
And there were folk who shunned him, and turned
his plea away;
And there were those who scourged him from out
the market place--
(They were the ones who told him to earn his bread
and meat!)
Yet ever he walked onward, and dreamed of some
fair day
When he would find the Christ-Child with love upon
His face!

IV.

Where work lay for the asking it seemed that men
MIGHT work,
But prejudice was rampant in every shop and field;
And, "What if you ARE trying, MY scythe you may
not wield!"
Men told the thief, who answered--"Indeed, I will
not shirk!"
And carpenters and builders turned from him with
a smirk,
And farmers hurried by him to house the harvest's
yield.
And so he took his dagger, all rusted, and his shield,
And sought again the highway where thieves and
jackals lurk.

And yet the spark of manhood still flamed within his
heart,
And still he saw the Baby, beyond the stable door;
And oftentimes at even, as crimson daytime died,
He knelt, a sorry figure, from all of life apart.
And, "Oh, if I could see Him--and feel His love
once more,
"If I could see Him smiling, I would not steal!" he
cried.

V.

It was a glowing ruby that caused the thief to fall,
But--he was very hungry, and lonely, too, and cold;
And youth lay all behind him, a tattered funeral
pall,
For he was very tired, and he was growing old.
It was a glowing ruby that lay upon the breast
Of one who had not earned it, who wore it with a
sneer;
The thief was very weary, he only longed for rest;
He was too wan for caring, he was too numb for fear!

It was a glowing ruby--he held it in his hand--
His hand was thin and withered, it shook beneath
the gem;
He took the vivid ruby, the ransom of a land,
And tied it firmly, tightly, within his garment's hem;
And then he shuffled forward, but like a thorn
within
His soul he bore the torment of bitterness and sin!

VI.

They caught him when the morning had tinged the
Eastern skies;
The gem was found upon him, as red as guilty blood;
He stood, his head sunk forward, with listless, shal-
low eyes,
And hopelessness submerged him like some unholy
flood;
A Thief he was by calling. The law? The law
was great;
What chance had he for pity? His fate was sealed
and done;
He was unclean, an outcast, a menace to the state;
A thing to be avoided, a stain against the sun!

They led him to his hearing, the hall was still and
light;
A judge was seated higher, who passed him with a
glance;
And suddenly, forgetting his weariness and fright,
The thief cried, leaping forward, "I did not have a
chance!"
The judgment hall was spacious, and coldly white
and wide--
And coldly came the sentence--"He shall be crucified!"

VII.

They nailed him, God's creation, upon a cross of
shame;
They nailed him up with laughter, they heeded not
his tears;
And people looking at him were moved to soulless
jeers,
And agony was on him--a searing, breathless flame!
And then, as he hung sobbing, a sudden feeling came
Of peace that, reaching toward him across the sound
of sneers,
Was like a burst of music that one more feels than
hears--
For, from somewhere beside him, a Voice had
breathed his name.

Ah, he was weak with anguish, and yet he turned his
head,
And saw a cross beside him, and on the cross a Form;
And he forgot the tumult, the horror and the storm--
And someone, down below him, said, "Look, the thief
is dead!"
But, safe from fear and torture beyond their scornful cries,
The thief had gazed at Heaven in Christ's triumphant
eyes!

SUMMER SONG

If I might go with my True Love,
To some far, dream-swept land,
I'd be content to sit all day
Upon the silver sand,
And watch the sea come creeping in,
The sighing, singing sea--
If I might go to some far land,
And take True Love with me!

If I could go with my True Love,
To some far, lonely place;
The world might well be lost, and I
Could look upon Love's face.
And wealth would seem a little thing,
While happiness might be--
If I could go to some far land,
And take True Love with me.

Ah, Love would smile, and ruffle up,
The hair above my brow;
And we would laugh at all that seems
So very sober, now.
And monkey-folk, and scarlet birds,
Would peer from every tree,
And try to understand the words
My True Love said to me!

If I might go with my True Love,
To some far, dream-swept land;
I would not miss the world, for I
Could always touch Love's hand,
And feel the magic of his lips--
Oh, by the singing sea,
And Eden-place would bloom a-new
For my True Love and me!

COMPREHENSION--A MOTHER'S SONG

I KNOW HOW MARY FELT, THERE IN THE HAY,
MY LITTLE SON WAS BORN ON CHRISTMAS DAY!

I know, as she bent tenderly above Him,
She did not think of majesty or power,
For he was hers--and she was there to love Him!
His hands, as pinkly tinted as a flower,
Seemed all too small to carve His deathless story--
What though a star gleamed glorious to guide
Him?
She snatched Him to her breast as if to hide Him
From harm, and fear, and even--yes, from glory.

And when the wise men came to give their treasure,
She smiled at them as proud as any queen;
She scarcely saw the jewels in countless measure,
The gold that gleamed; her gaze was far, serene,
Upon the hills where shepherds watched, alone.
She did not think of crosses or of dying,
For He was just a drowsy baby, lying
Wrapped in her love--A baby--all her own!