Chapter III

Since I loved you for a day--Ah, a day, the fleetest--
Since I sighed and rode away when our love was sweetest,
So shall you remember me, now that youth is over,
Fairly, of your courtesy, as your fondest lover.

Since I turned and said good-bye when my heart was truest,
Since we parted, you and I, when our joy was newest,
Love might never turn to doubt and from doubt to scorning.
We but lived his sweetness out twixt a night and morning.

So shall you remember me, eager in pursuing,
Faithful as a man must be in his time o' wooing.
Greater loves but stay and pine so, now youth is over,
Smiling shall you think of mine--mine, your fondest lover.

SHADE

The kindliest thing God ever made,
His hand of very healing laid
Upon a fevered world, is shade.

His glorious company of trees
Throw out their mantles, and on these
The dust-stained wanderer finds ease.

Green temples, closed against the beat
Of noontime's blinding glare and heat,
Open to any pilgrim's feet.

The white road blisters in the sun;
Now, half the weary journey done,
Enter and rest, Oh weary one!

And feel the dew of dawn still wet
Beneath thy feet, and so forget
The burning highway's ache and fret.

This is God's hospitality,
And whoso rests beneath a tree
Hath cause to thank Him gratefully.

THE VAGABOND

The little dream she had forgot
Oh, long and long ago,
Came back across the April fields
And touched her garment so
(As might a wind-blown primrose cling
And one scarce guess or know.)

A little beggared outcast dream
Forgot of Love and men,
And all because a fiddler played
An old song in the glen,
And two Young Lovers hand in hand,
Sent back its tune again.

The little dream she had forgot
Crept near and clung and stayed--
A roving, ragged vagabond
Half daring, half afraid,
And all because young love went by
And one old fiddler played.

DISTANCE

A hundred miles between us
Could never part us more
Than that one step you took from me
What time my need was sore.

A hundred years between us
Might hold us less apart
Than that one dragging moment
Wherein I knew your heart.

Now what farewell is needed
To all I held most dear,
So far and far you are from me
I doubt if you could hear.

THE GYPSYING

I wish we might go gypsying one day the while we're young--
On a blue October morning
Beneath a cloudless sky,
When all the world's a vibrant harp
The winds o' God have strung,
And gay as tossing torches the maples light us by;
The rising sun before us--a golden bubble swung--
I wish we might go gypsying one day the while we're young.

I wish we might go gypsying one day before we're old--
To step it with the wild west wind
And sing the while we go,
Through far forgotten orchards
Hung with jewels red and gold;
Through cool and fragrant forests where never sun may show,
To stand upon a high hill and watch the mist unfold--
I wish we might go gypsying one day before we're old.

I wish we might go gypsying, dear lad, the while we care--
The while we've heart for hazarding,
The while we've will to sing,
The while we've wit to hear the call
And youth and mirth to spare,
Before a day may find us too sad for gypsying,
Before a day may find us too dull to dream and dare--
I wish we might go gypsying, dear lad, the while we care.

GOOD-BYE, PIERRETTE

Good-bye, Pierrette. The new moon waits
Like some shy maiden at the gates
Of rose and pearl, to watch us stand
This little moment, hand in hand--
Nor one red rose its watch abates.

The low wind through your garden prates
Of one this twilight desolates.
Ah, was it this your roses planned?
Good-bye, Pierrette.

Oh, merriest of little mates,
No sadder lover hesitates
Beneath this moon in any land;
Nor any roses, watchful, bland,
Look on a sadder jest of Fate's.
Good-bye, Pierrette.

THE AWAKENING

When the white dawn comes
I shall kneel to welcome it;
The dread that darkened on my eyes
Shall vanish and be gone.
I shall look upon it
As the parched on fountains,
_Yet it was the blinding night_
_That taught the joy of dawn._

When the first bird sings,
Oh, I shall hear rejoicing,
And all my life shall thrill to it
And all my heart draw near.
I shall lean to listen
Lest a note elude me,
_Yet it was the fearsome night_
_That taught me how to hear._

When the sun comes up
I shall lift my arms to it;
The fear of fear shall fall from me
As shackles from a slave.
I shall run to hail it,
Free and unbewildered,
_Yet it was the silent night_
_That taught me to be brave._

THE WEDDING GOWN

She put her wedding-gown away
As tenderly as one might close,
With kissing lips and finger-tips,
The petals of a rose
Still held for the Belovèd's sake--
The loveliest that blows.

She put her wedding-gown away--
The quiet place was all astir
With vague perfume that filled the room,
Cedar and lavender,
Yet sweeter still about it clung
The fragrant thoughts of her.

She put her wedding-gown away--
Yet lingered where its whiteness gleamed
As one above a sleeping Love,
Oh, thus it was she seemed,
Reluctant still to turn and go
And leave him as he dreamed.

THE DISCIPLES

A great king made a feast for Love,
And golden was the board and gold
The hundred, wondrous gauds thereof;
Soft lights like roses fell above
Rare dishes exquisite and fine;
In jeweled goblets shone the wine--
A great king made a feast for Love.

_Yet Love as gladly and full-fed hath fared_
_Upon a broken crust that two have shared;_
_And from scant wine as glorious dreams drawn up_
_Seeing two lovers kissed above the cup._

A great king made for Love's delight
A temple wonderful wherein
Served jeweled priest and acolyte;
There fell no darkness day or night
Since there his highest altar shone
With flaming gems as some white sun,
A temple made for Love's delight.

_Yet Love hath found a temple as complete_
_In some bare attic where two lovers meet;_
_And made his altar by one candle's flame_
_Seeing two lovers burned it in his name._

THE UNKNOWING

They do not know the awful tears we shed,
The tender treasures that we keep and kiss;
They could not be so still--our quiet dead
In knowing this.

They do not know what time we turn to fill
Love's empty chalice with a cheaper bliss;
They could not be so still--so very still
In knowing this.

HEART OF A HUNDRED SORROWS

Oh, Heart of a Hundred Sorrows,
Whose pity is great therefore,
The gift that thy children bring thee
Is ever a sorrow more.

Sure of thy dear compassion,
Concerned for our own relief,
Ever and ever we seek thee,
And each with his gift of grief.

Oh, not to reprove my brothers,
Yet I, who am less than less,
Would bring thee my joy of being
The rose of my happiness.

The spirit that makes my singing
The gladness without alloy,
Oh, Heart of a Hundred Sorrows,
I bring thee a little joy.

THE RETURNING

I said I will go back again where we
Were glad together. But my dear, my dear,
Where are the roses we were wont to see
The songs we used to hear?

I said the hearth-flame that once burned for us
I will renew with all the cheer of old,
Yet here within the circle luminous
Our very hearts are cold.

That was a barren garden that we found,
This was an empty house we came to meet,
We, who for all our longing, hear no sound
Of Love's returning feet.

THE INLANDER

I never climb a high hill
Or gaze across the lea,
But, Oh, beyond the two of them,
Beyond the height and blue of them,
I'm looking for the sea.

A blue sea--a crooning sea--
A grey sea lashed with foam--
But, Oh, to take the drift of it,
To know the surge and lift of it,
And 'tis I am longing for it as the homeless long for home.

I never dream at night-time
Or close my eyes by day,
But there I have the might of it,
The wind-whipped, sun-drenched sight of it,
That calls my soul away.

Oh, deep dreams and happy dreams,
Its dreaming still I'd be,
For still the land I'm waking in,
'Tis that my heart is breaking in,
And 'tis far where I'd be sleeping with the blue waves over me.

AD FINEM

I like to think this friendship that we hold
As youth's high gift in our two hands to-day
Still shall we find as bright, untarnished gold
What time the fleeting years have left us grey.
I like to think we two shall watch the May
Dance down her happy hills and Autumn fold
The world in flame and beauty, we grown old
Staunch comrades on an undivided way.

I like to think of Winter nights made bright
By book and hearth-flame when we two shall smile
At memories of to-day--we two content
To count our vanished dawns by candle-light
Seeing we hold in our old hands the while
The gift of gold youth left us as she went.

A SONG OF HELOISE

God send thee peace, Oh, great unhappy heart--
A world away, I pray that thou mayst rest
Softly as on the Well-Belovèd's breast,
Where ever in her wistful dreams thou art.

At dawn my prayer is all for thee, at noon
My very heart and, Oh, at night my tears
For all we walk alone the empty years
Nor meet neath any sun--neath any moon.

Yet must my love go with thee--all apart
From this the life I lend to lesser things;
God send to thee this night beneath its wings,
A little peace, Oh, great unhappy heart.

THE RETURN

I come to you grown weary of much laughter,
From jangling mirth that once seemed over-sweet,
From all the mocking ghosts that follow after
A man's returning feet;
Give me no word of welcome or of greeting
Only in silence let me enter in,
Only in silence when our eyes are meeting,
Absolve me of my sin.

I come to you grown weary of much living,
Open your door and lift me of your grace,
I ask for no compassion, no forgiving,
Only your face, your face;
Only in that white peace that is your dwelling
To come again, before your feet to sink,
And of your quiet as of wine compelling
Drink as the thirsting drink.

Be kind to me as sleep is kind that closes
With tender hands men's fever-wearied eyes,
Your arms are as a garden of white roses
Where old remembrance lies,
I, who am bruised with words and pierced with chiding,
Give me your silence as a Saint might give
Her white cloak for some hunted creature's hiding,
That he might rest and live.

THE POPLARS

My poplars are like ladies trim,
Each conscious of her own estate;
In costume somewhat over prim,
In manner cordially sedate,
Like two old neighbours met to chat
Beside my garden gate.

My stately old aristocrats--
I fancy still their talk must be
Of rose-conserves and Persian cats,
And lavender and Indian tea;--
I wonder sometimes as I pass
If they approve of me.

I give them greeting night and morn,
I like to think they answer, too,
With that benign assurance born
When youth gives age the reverence due,
And bend their wise heads as I go
As courteous ladies do.

Long may you stand before my door,
Oh, kindly neighbours garbed in green,
And bend with rustling welcome o'er
The many friends who pass between;
And where the little children play
Look down with gracious mien.

THE LITTLE JOYS

My little joys went by me
As little children run
Across the fields at sunset
When playing time is done.

And now alone at twilight
What is there may content
The heart that loved their laughter
And frolic merriment?

Ah well, who knows but still may dawn
Another fairer day
Wherein my little joys may come
A-dancing out to play.

SONGS OF HIMSELF

HIMSELF

The houseful that we were then, you could count us by the dozens,
The wonder was that sometimes the old walls wouldn't burst:
Herself (the Lord be good to her!), the aunts and rafts of cousins,
The young folks and the children,--but Himself came first.

_Master of the House he was, and well for them that knew it:_
_His cheeks like winter apples and his head like snow;_
_Eyes as blue as water when the sun of March shines through it._
_And steppin' like a soldier with his stick held so._

Faith, but he could tell a tale would serve a man for wages,
Sing a song would put the joy of dancin' in two sticks;
But Saints between themselves and harm that saw him in his rages,
Blazin' and oratin' over chess and politics.

_Master of the House he was, and that beyond all sayin',_
_Eh, the times I've heard him exhortin' from his chair_
_The like of any Bishop, yet snappin' off his prayin'_
_To put the curse on Phelan's dog for howlin' in the prayer._

The times I've seen him walkin' out like Solomon in glory,
Salutin' with great elegance the gentry he might meet;
An eye for every pretty girl, an ear for every story,
And takin' as his just deserts the middle of the street.

_Master of the House, with much to love and be forgiven,--_
_Yet, thinkin' of Himself to-day--Himself--I see him go_
_With that old light step of his, across the Courts of Heaven,_
_His hat a little sideways and his stick held so._

THE FAIR

The pick o' seven counties, so they're tellin' me, was there,
Horses racin' on the track, and fiddles on the green,
Flyin' flags and blowin' horns and all that makes a fair,
I'm hearin' that the like of it was something never seen.

So it is they're tellin' me,
Girl dear, it may be true--
I only know the bonnet strings
Beneath your chin were blue.

I'm hearin' that the cattle came that thick they stood in rows,
And Doolan's Timmy caught the pig and Terry climbed the pole,
They're tellin' me they showed the cream of everything that grows,
And never man had eyes enough for takin' in the whole.

So it is they're tellin' me,
Girl dear, it may be so,
I only know your little gown
Was whiter than the snow.

They're tellin' me the gentry came from twenty miles about,
And him that came from Ballinsloe sang limpin' Jamesey down,
And 'twas Himself, no less, stood by to give the prizes out,
They're tellin' me you'd hear the noise from here to Dublin town.

So it is they're tellin' me,
Girl dear, the same may be,
I only know that comin' home
You gave your word to me.

HIS DANCING DAYS

Never did I find me mate for charmin' an' delightin',
Never one that had me bate for courtin' an' for fightin';--
(A white moon at the crossroads then, and Denny with the fiddle;
The parish round admirin', when I danced down the middle.)
Up the earth and down again, me like you'd not discover;
Arrah! for the times before me dancin' days were over!

Never was a moon so low it didn't find me courtin',
Never blade I couldn't show a wilder way of sportin'.
(Is it at the fair I'd be, the gentry'd troop to talk with me;
Leapin' with delight was she,--the girl I'd choose to walk with me.)
'Twas I could win the pick of them from any lad or lover;
Arrah! for the times before me dancin' days were over!

What's come to all the lads to-day,--these mournful ways
they're keepin',
Grudgin' any hour to play and wastin' nights in sleepin'.
(Readin' be the chimney-place,--that dacent in their habits,
You'd sooner get a fight or song be callin' upon rabbits.)
Faith, I'd change the lot for one rejoicin', rantin' rover,
_The like of me, myself, before me dancin' days were over._

SHEILA

Katie had the grand eyes and Delia had a way with her,
And Mary had the Saints' face and Maggie's waist was neat,
But Sheila had the merry heart that travelled all the day with her,
That put the laughing on her lips and dancing in her feet.

I've met with martyrs in my time, and Faith! they make the best of it,
But 'tis the uncomplaining ones that wear a sorrow long,
'Twas Sheila had the better way and that's to make a jest of it,
To call her trouble out to dance and step it with a song.

Eh, but Sheila had the laugh the like of drink to weary ones,
(I've never heard the beat of it for all I've wandered wide.)
_And out of all the girls I knew the tender ones--the dreary ones,--_
_'Twas only Sheila of the laugh that broke her heart and died._

THE GRIEF

The heart of me's an empty thing, that never stirs at all
For Moon-shine or Spring-time, or a far bird's call.
I only know 'tis living by a grief that shakes it so,--
Like an East wind in Autumn, when the old nests blow.

Grey Eyes and Black Hair, 'tis never you I blame.
'Tis long years and easy years since last I spoke your name.
And I'm long past the knife-thrust I got at wake or fair.
Or looking past the lighted door and fancying you there.

Grey Eyes and Black Hair--the grief is never this;
I've long forgot the soft arms--the first, wild kiss.
But, Oh, girl that tore my youth,--'tis this I have to bear,--
_If you were kneeling at my feet I'd neither stay nor care._

THE INTRODUCTION

I'm askin' you'll be easy for a bit, Sir,
The lad's had little but a thrush's schoolin',
The blue skies and the fields, the little whipster,
'Tis time enough for something more--(But whisper)
He'll go the better for an easy rulin'.

Herself was always for the bit of readin'
But Denny here, he's great for growin' things,
There's not a primrose that he'd not be heedin'
Herself is right 'tis graver things he's needin'
The thrush is tamer when you clip his wings.

I'd never have you spare him with the learnin',
(And, Faith, 'tis little that the lad has had),
But if above his task you'll see him turnin'
To watch the fields--'tis just the thrush's yearnin'--
I'm askin' you'll be easy with the lad.

THE STAY-AT-HOME

Comin' or goin' still they spread the news,
About America how grand it is,
The wonders that are waitin' you to choose
And gold that common that like sand it is.
"And here you stick," says they. "Like some old tree
Stuck in the bog belaboured by all seasons.
What's ailin' ye?" says they. Well, leave them be,
I have me reasons.

There's Cormac's Hugh come back with all his talk,
Spreadin' and spendin' like a king he is.
The people flockin' down the way he'll walk,
Till in the middle of a ring he is.
But where's that one whose face was like a rose
The day he went, betwixt her tears and teasin's?
Married these five years--gone where no man knows,
Faith, I've me reasons.

"A likely lad," they say. "What's ailin' you,
The gold and riches over there it is."
Sure, I'm not doubtin' what they say is true
They have me leave to hurry where it is.
'Tis I will hold the treasure that endures,
The while I'm listenin' to their talks and treasons.
_Oh, Sheila girl, those two blue eyes of yours,_
Faith, I've me reasons.