Chapter III: The Organ Man
He's very old, his music box is old and rusty, too,
And half the notes of it are harsh, and half of
them are slow;
One wonders if the coat he wears could ever have
been new--
And if the tune he plays was quite forgotten long
ago.
He finds a sunny place to stand, and lifts his bleary
eyes,
And smiles a bit--a toothless smile half touched,
perhaps, with fear;
And though he cannot see them he is looking at the
skies,
As if he prays, but silently, for hope and faith
and cheer.
The foreign women pass him by, their tarnished coins
held tight,
They toss their heads and will not hear his music's
wistful hum--
But through each alley way and street, like moths
that seek the light,
With eager eyes and laughing lips the little chil-
dren come.
He plays his ancient, shaky song, his mouth moves to
its sway,
He does not know the tune of it is old and out of
key;
For, through his eyes, a soul stares out that wanders
far away,
In some fair land of youth and love--some land
that used to be.
The little children cluster close, bareheaded, bare of
limb--
They hold their ragged frocks and dance, they do
not care--or know,
That they are like a garden place, a fragrant dream
to him,
Or that the tune he plays was quite forgotten long
ago.
"BE OF GOOD CHEER!"
Temptation came to me today,
And oh, I felt that I must stray
Down primrose paths, forgetting all....
The city's fevered, siren call
Spoke to my soul, its whispered cry
Said, "Live, for Youth, too soon, will die!"
So all alone, when work was done,
I sought the park. The setting sun
Had left a bit of warmth for me--
I found a bench beneath a tree,
And sat and thought.
My life is hard,
Sometimes my heart seems battle-scarred,
With longings keen, and bitter fears,
And want, and suffering, and tears.
Temptation spoke, and Youth spoke back;
The night seemed cold and grimly black,
And every light was like a star
That cleft the sky--they were so far,
So very far away! And I
Was lonely, there, beneath the sky....
There used to be a little farm
A tiny place, remote from harm;
There used to be a mother frail
And sweet, with hair as silver-pale
As the faint moon. She heard me say
The words when first I learned to pray....
Above me in the silent trees,
I heard the rustles of the breeze,
It sounded like her step, as light
As dreams across an endless night.
My mother--
Ah, the name so sweet,
Brought memories on noiseless feet,
And softly in the darkness, there,
I breathed my little childhood prayer....
Do prayers have answers? As I prayed
A Presence came, and gently laid
A Hand upon my arm. I knew
That Someone kind, and good, and true
Was very near. Upon my soul
A peace swept down, and left it whole.
I felt a calm steal over me,
The same that stilled the troubled sea
Where Jesus walked.
My fears were laid,
Temptation left me unafraid.
And as I smiled, there in the park,
A voice spoke through the fragrant dark.
"Be of good cheer!" the words rang out
Like music through the city's shout.
And all the lights that I could see
Were stars of home, agleam for me!
FROM MY ROOM
I love you, dear....
Here, alone in my room tonight, it is all that matters,
Out through my window, vaguely hushed, the city
clatters,
Telling ever its tale of woe and mirth,
Sighing ever its song of death and birth,
Singing ever its potent, mad refrain,
Swept with tears and the bitter weight of pain.
Here in my room I kneel, alone, to pray,
But there seems very little, dear, to say
Even to God. So, kneeling by my bed,
I think dim thoughts, and dream long dreams instead.
Wide-eyed I kneel and watch the candle flame,
Making swift shadows on the wall; your name
Throbs in my heart, and makes my pulse to thrill--
Wide-eyed I kneel, with soul a-light, until
Somewhere a clock starts chiming.... It is
late....
Out through the dark wan tenderness and hate
Press pale kisses upon the city's lips--
Dawn comes creeping, the weary nighttime slips
Furtively by, like some hurt thief with plunder....
Dear, I cross to my window, and I wonder
Whether you are asleep, or if you lie,
Sleepless beneath the smoke-hung purple sky....
Down in the streets the tired city vaguely clatters,
Here alone in my room I stand, and nothing matters,
Only.... I love you!
THE BALCONY SCENES
The stage is set, like a garden,
And the lights are flickering and low;
And a Romeo with fat legs,
Is telling a Juliet with dyed hair and tired,
disillusioned eyes,
That love--real love--is the only thing in the world.
And up in the balcony of the theatre
Where the seats cost twenty-five cents,
A slim little girl in a shiny serge frock,
And a boy with a wistful mouth
Are holding hands.
And as they listen, breathlessly, to the studied voice
of the actor,
Their fingers are all a-thrill,
With the music of the ages.
A BOWERY PAWN-SHOP
A dusty, musty little shop set in a dingy street,
A doorsill old and scarred and worn by many tired
feet,
A row of cases, vaguely glassed, a safe against the
wall,
And, oh, the ache of many hearts--the fabric of it
all!
A violin with broken strings that fingers have
caressed,
A diamond-set betrothal ring that lover's lips have
pressed,
A high shell comb, a spangled fan, a filmy bit of lace,
A heart-shaped locket, ribbon-tied, that frames a
laughing face.
A pair of blankets folded up, an overcoat, a shawl,
A tall old clock that might have chimed in some
wainscoted hall,
And in the farthest corner, where the purple shadows
lie,
The echo of a woman's sob, the phantom of a sigh.
Ah, wedding-rings--a score of them--not many of
them new,
A grim revolver laid beside a baby's tiny shoe,
A satin coat, a ragged gown, a gold-clasped book of
verse,
A necklace of bedraggled pearls, an empty silver
purse.
A dreary weary little shop set in a sunless place.
A little shop where love has met with sorrow and
disgrace....
A row of cases, double-locked, a safe against the wall;
And, oh, the ache of countless hearts that lies
behind it all!
SPRING IN THE CITY
I saw a crocus blooming in the park,
I felt a hint of magic in the air,
I heard faint music sighing everywhere,
And so, as all the world, grew softly dark--
I found again the hope that never dies,
And hungrily, with out-flung arms, I came
Once more to you. And when you spoke my
name
I read springtime eternal in your eyes!
ROSE PETALS IN THE EARLY RAIN,
FORGOTTEN DREAMS,
AND A TORN SKETCH BOOK!
LI'L EMPTY CLOSET
There's a li'l empty closet in a li'l empty room,
Where th' shadows lie like dust upon th' floor;
It uster be HIS closet not s' very long ago--
That's why I don't go near it any more.
Every li'l hook is empty, 'ceptin' one, an' from it
hangs
(Th' whitest li'l ghost that ever grew
In a heart that's near ter breakin' with it's agony o'
grief! )
An empty flannel nightie piped with blue.
Jus' a li'l flannel nightie that was shrunken in th'
wash,
In spots th' blue has ran inter th' white;
But I've seen him in it, sleepy, when I tucked th'
covers in,
An' kissed him, soft, an took away th' light.
Jus' a li'l flannel nightie, hangin' empty on a hook,
As if it was ashamed--or in disgrace--
Jus' a li'l flannel nightie an' it ain't no use no more,
But I couldn't bear t' take it from its place!
Jus' a li'l empty closet in a li'l empty room,
Where th' shadows lie like dust upon th' floor--
It uster be his closet, where I'd put his clothes away,
That's why I hate ter go there any more.
But I've left his li'l nightie hangin' on a single hook,
I sorter had ter leave it there, I guess;
Ah, that li'l empty closet in that li'l empty room
Is crowded--crowded ful o' loneliness!
TWO LULLABYS
I. To A DREAM BABY
Oh, little child whose face I cannot see,
I feel your presence very near tonight,
I feel the warmth of you creep close to me...
The grey moths drift across the candlelight,
And tiny shadows sway across the floor,
Like wistful elves who do a fairy dance;
The wind is tapping softly at the door,
And rain is beating, like a silver lance,
Against the tightly curtained window pane.
Oh, little child whose face I cannot see,
The loneliness, the twilight, and the rain,
Have brought your dearness very close to me.
And though I rock with empty arms, I sing
A lullaby that I have made to croon
Into your drowsy shadow ear--a song
About the star sheep and the shepherd moon!
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Cross RoadsChapter III: The Organ Man
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