Chapter I: Front Matter

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Produced by Al Haines

The

Ballad

of

The Quest

by

Virna Sheard

McClelland & Stewart, Ltd.,

Publishers

Toronto

Copyright 1922 by

THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY

All Rights Reserved

PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.

_To the sweet memory_

_of my Mother_

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

_We acknowledge with thanks the kindness of Messrs. J. M. Dent & Sons, London, England, for permitting us to use the poems published by them in "The Miracle"; also we thank the Imperial Order of the Daughters of the Empire for permission to use those poems brought out by them in "Carry On."_

CONTENTS

The Ballad of the Quest
A Song of Poppies
The Shepherd Wind
In Solitude
The Slumber Angel
At Midnight
Dreams
A Southern Lullaby
When Jonquils Blow
Lament
The Sea
The Cry
The Bridge of Dreams
The Shells
Requiem
The Crosses
The Lonely Road
To One Who Sleeps
April Again!
Histories
Fireflies
The Vanished
Pathfinders
The Call
Before the Dawn
The Fairy Clock
The Temple
The Whistler
March
On Silver Nights
The Birth-Right
A Love Song
A Song
The Night of all Saints
In the Last Year
Ships
June
October Goes
The Lily-Pond

THE BALLAD OF THE QUEST

"Some day," I said, "before Life is over,
I will shut my house door, and will be a rover."

Under the sky where the great stars roll,
I will search for my faith, and search for my soul.

I have fared without them this many a day
Through the market-place of the world's high-way.

The truth I gave in exchange for a lie,
And I bartered my dreams to a passer-by.

I have met Delilah,--her enchantments I know
As the man of strength knew them ages ago.

Fool's gold and fool's joy have been my reaping,
And my heart has nothing that's worth the keeping.

But the world is wide and the world is free,
And the things I have lost may come back to me.

I will follow the path of the bird that flies,
And look for a woman with honest eyes.

If I travel hard, and travel alone,
I may overtake Peace, and make it my own.

Only the Sun and the Moon's sweet light
Shall mark my day, or measure my night.

Silks and satins and embroidered things,
I'll exchange for blossoms and butter-flies' wings.

And under a thorn-hedge I will dine
On a handful of berries, as red as wine.

Or I'll earn my bread on the out-bound ships,
With the sun in my eyes, and salt on my lips.

And for the softness of beds and pillows,
I'll take a hammock that swings with the billows.

It may be the trail will lead me afar
To mountain paths, where the wild sheep are.

Or with simple people, and free from guile,
I will pitch my tent and will rest awhile.

I am weary of softness and things of ease,
And weary of Scribes, and of Pharisees.

On a morning road where the wind is strong,
I may learn again to whistle a song.

Down forest paths, or the ways of the sea,
My soul and my faith may come back to me.

And always and ever beneath the skies,
I will look for a woman with honest eyes.

I will follow no will at all but my own,
And the road I take I will take alone.

"Some day," I said, "before Life is over,
I will shut my house door, and will be a rover."

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