Chapter III

Not mine to snare your liberty, to cage
Your sunlit way. Yet, wish me gone, I leap
From light, I plunge to find amen and shroud
In Death,--this time for Love’s eternal sleep.

STRANGE FACES

There!
That is the face for me--
That face I shall never see
In this world again!
All that I miss is there,
Touch of life and its kiss!
O, mysterious love in our heart
Found for us both as we pass,--
As we part!

EVERYWHERE

You I love,
You and you:
One I never see
And one I know.

Well, and what then?
Nothing.
But, I ask,
Does the wind blow?
Do feet drift or go?
And where?
How shall a tinker mend
A pinch of dust?

Some things are mine to keep,
Some to share:
My thoughts I bear
Because I must;
My love I spend
Because I wish,
On you I never see,
On you I know,--
Everywhere.

CLOUD

A slate galleon hurrying across a sea of fire,--
And they call _that_ “cloud”!
And the sea it sails upon “sky”!
Tut, it is a ship as plain as anything
Full-spread to find the silver edges of the world
Where ships and island daffodils
Burn, follow sun, dip,
Cling to the shining brim like flapping butterflies,
Let go,
Then, whirling sail and streaming daffodil,
Dart into night and flame to stars!
And the “sky” ...
Now you tell what the sky is!

BUCENTAUR

_At Isle au Haut_

Dawn, bright dawn,
White swan on the edge of the dark pool of night
Fan the shade from its mirror,
Cleave the stars on its deep!

Joyous barge of my dream,
On the wave, on the wind, O Bucentaur,
With your cry sweep the seas,
Shake the wind from the trees,
Wake the world from its sleep,
Meet and greet
Song within song!

Your eyes jewelled fire,
Your touch my desire,
Draw nearer, draw nearer
Down the rose-colored stream;
White swan, bright dawn,
Kiss me, and lift me
On the wing of your light!

MOTH

_At Isle au Haut_

Gray as a moth the light of day
Dawns in the east,
Dimming the star that crowns the hill,
Stilling the wind,
Hushing the deep
Of the water’s sleep;

Flits like a moth’s pearl wing in the night
To the peak of mast
And the spire of tree,
Touches the nest and its thrush to song,
Flutters the edge of the sky along.

Gray like a moth
Dawn slips away,
Bright in apocalypse of light.
Rose and gold and green of the world,
Wind and bird and the great sea’s lay
Possess the day!

GRAY WATERS

_At Isle au Haut_

Take me to some isle upon the sea!
Bear me on wing of bird or keel of ship
Out where gray waters slip
About some isle upon the sea,--
Upon the sea!

Lay me within some caverned rock
Whose bosom, hard from all the years,
Knows nothing of men’s tears,--
Gray peaceful rest beside the sea,
Beside the sea!

Take me to some isle upon the sea!
Bear me on wing of bird or keel of ship
Out where gray waters slip
About some isle upon the sea!
Upon the sea!

JOURNEY’S END

I shall not hear the thrushes sing,
Though sing they will that day;
For me will be an unknown sod
And an undreamed-of May!

WHITE PATHS

Here are white paths that gleam
In the twilight space of dream;
Here the winds turn in their sleep
With the rocking of the deep;
Here the golden song of thrush
Is music’s sunlight, evening’s hush;
Here the rustle of our prayer
Climbs the forest altar stair;
And here the stars burn in the sod--
Peaceful candlelight for God.

EBONY

_On watching a beautiful black arm opening a
Venetian Lantern at Fleur de Lys_

Ebony, Ebony,
Dreaming of a rose,
Flame in the flower-heart,
Dusk in repose;

Jeweled eyes glistening,
Dew on the leaf,
Sweet to Africa
Is the thought of her grief.

TO SOME PHILADELPHIA SPARROWS

Men say unfriendly words of you, poor birds!
And I? I praise you for your saucy joy
On dusty streets; I love you for your twitter
In vines that cling to heated city walls;
Your noisy congregations on the trees;
Unchurchly ways of saying this and that
About your brother men; your gaieties
In parks nearby a fountain’s dripping brim.

Men say your manners are not fine. And, too,
They call you scavengers, they call you thief
And enemy to other prettier birds.
Perhaps we are one feather, you and I!
I would not hold it any grief to be
Your brother bird upon the city street.

I love you, chatterers! Yet I have heard
The lark in other lands, the thrush in this.
Dull many a day had been without your din,
Your wrangles under foot, your shameless ways.

Men say unfriendly words of you. Of me
They speak unkindly, too. Yet see how gay
We are! Ah, well, we are one feather, you
And I! We have the city streets for plunder,
The eaves for wonder, and above there is
The sky!

ORIOLE’S NEST

AT FLEUR DE LYS

Night in an oriole’s hanging nest
Is rocking a basket world to sleep.
The wind blows soft
And the wind blows far,
Star, creep, star!

Pack me tight in my basket world,
Tread me and turn me with feet of your love!
O, Mother Bird, fledge me with feather and rest!
O, Mother Bird, brood me with flame of your breast!
Down in the marshes the little fish gleam,
Down in the marshes the little fish stir
Rushes in sleep,
Rushes that keep
Wrinkling the light of a drowsy star.

Here in my basket world hung on the wind
Over me rustles an ebony bough,
Over me hovers a silvery beak;
And clear and soft
And near and far
Lustre of loving eyes rocked in this nest,
Eyes that are gentle,
Eyes that are meek.
O, Mother Bird, fledge me with feather and rest!
O, Mother Bird, brood me with flame of your breast!

LITTLE MISS HILLY

Oh, little Miss Hilly of Northampton-town
Goes walking the valleys and meadows adown;
She looks in the brooks for the stars and the moon
And she sings an old chanty a bit out of tune.
Oh, little Miss Hilly is dear unto me,--
Is dear unto me!

Her arms are so eager but tiny are they,
And her fingers are agile as waters at play.
Yet little Miss Hilly must climb a steep slope,
Must go without laughter and live without hope:
Must chatter and patter like leaves and like rain,
Must shiver and quiver and ache with the pain
Of climbing for stars and wanting the moon
As she puts an old chanty once more into tune,
Ere the stars will come down or the moon will reply
Except by a wink through a chink in the sky
Oh, little Miss Hilly so dear unto me,
So dear unto me!

ROSE TOADA

_A Sleep Song_

I

Shoo, Rose Toada, Shoo!
Jewelled red eyes for you.
Shoo, Rose Toada, Shoo!

II

Hoosh, Rose Toada, hoosh!
Little green snake in the bush.
Hoosh, Rose Toada, hoosh!

III

Bizz, Rose Toada, buzz!
Gold on its wings and fuzz.
Bizz, Rose Toada, buzz!

THATCH

Oh Boy, give me your yellow thatch for home,
Your yellow thatch of hair,
Straw with the wind and air!

Oh Boy, give me your stubble cheek to roam,
Brown hayfield in the dew,--
Rusty with sun and you!

SUN-PATH

I

How should I touch your years with mine,
Yours flushed with dawn, a flight
For all ecstacy of light, of rose, of flame,
Mine shadowed even now by night!
Yet, child, blown by the dawn-wind of your name,
Tossed by the sunlight in your eyes,
Sped by the glow upon your lips, you came,
Seeking my shadow and my rest.

II

Tell me what made you run to me?
Was it the long, unsheltered way from dawn to dusk,
The hot, unclouded, copper day of truth,
Was it some legend of men’s tears and strife,
Some tale of cowards prospering in the sun,
Some sin red-flung across the lilies that men love?
Or terror which the old forget, fears
Following as you fled, some shame
Of fact too awful for your youth to bear?