Chapter I: Wonder Why

Do you remember that glorious June
When we were lovers, you and I?
Something there was in the robin's tune,
Something there was in earth and sky,
That was never before, and never since then.
I wonder why.

Do you remember the bridge we crossed,
And lingered to see the ships go by,
With snowy sails to the free winds tossed?
I never pass that bridge but I sigh
With a sense at my heart as of something lost.
I wonder why.

Do you remember the song we sung,
Under the beautiful starlit sky?
The world was bright, and our hearts were young--
I cannot forget though I try and try.
How you smiled in my eyes while the echoes rung.
I wonder why.

Do you remember how debonair
The new moon shone when we said good-bye?
How it listened and smiled when we parted there?
I shall hate the new moon until I die--
Hate it for ever, nor think it fair.
I wonder why.

A WOMAN'S HAND

All day long there has haunted me
A spectre out of my lost youth-land.
Because I happened last night to see
A woman's beautiful snow-white hand.

Like part of a statue broken away,
And carefully kept in a velvet case,
On the crimson rim of her box it lay;
The folds of the curtain hid her face.

Years had drifted between us two,
In another clime, in another land,
We had lived and parted, and yet I knew
That cruelly beautiful perfect hand.

The ringless beauty of fingers fine,
The sea-shell tint of their taper tips,
The sight of them stirred my blood like wine,
Oh, to hold them again to my lips!

To feel their tender touch on my hair,
Their mute caress, and their clinging hold;
Oh for the past that was green and fair,
With a cloudless sky, and a sun of gold!

But the sun has set, and a dead delight
Shadows my life with a dull despair,
Oh why did I see that hand of white,
Like a marble ornament lying there?

PRESENTIMENT

As unseen spheres cast shadows on the Earth
Some unknown cause depresses me to-night.
The house is full of laughter and sweet mirth,
The day has held but pleasure and delight.

Down in the parlour some one blithely sings;
A chime of laughter echoes in the hall;
But all unseen by other eyes, strange things
Rat-like do seem to glide along the wall.

I rise, and laugh, and say I will not care;
I call them idle fancies, one and all.
And yet, suspended by a single hair,
The sword of Fate seems trembling soon to fall.

I leave the house, and walk the lighted street;
And mingle with the pleasure-seeking throng.
And close behind me follow spectre feet
That pause with me, or with me move along.

I seek my room, and close and bolt the door;
I draw the curtain, and turn up the light;
But close beside me, closer than before,
This nameless _something_ stands, but out of sight.

Ye mystic messenger of woe to come,
Ye nameless nothing called 'Presentiment,'
Take form and face me; be no longer dumb,
But tell who thou art, and wherefore sent.

TWO ROOMS

One room is full of luxury, and dim
With that soft moonlit radiance of light
That she best loves, who sits and dreams of him
Her heart has crowned as knight.

And one is bare, and comfortless, and dim
With that strange, fitful glimmer that is shed
By candles casting shadows weird and grim,
Above the sheeted dead.

In one, a round and beautiful young face
Is full of wordless rapture; and so fair
You know her breast is joy's best dwelling-place;
You know sweet love is there.

In one, there lies a white and wasted face
Whereon is frozen such supreme despair,
You need but look to know what left the trace;
You know love _has been_ there.

To one he comes! She leans her head of gold
Upon his breast and bids him no more roam.
Ah God! Ah God! and one lies stark and cold,
Because he ceased to come.

THREE AT THE OPERA

Last night the house was crowded. Were you there?
You thought our box held only two, maybe--
Myself and chaperon, a matron fair.
There was another whom you did not see.

Close, close beside me, sat a phantom form;
Above the music and loud cheer on cheer
That rose, and thundered like a sudden storm,
I heard his low voice whispering in my ear.

A dead man's voice. You know when dead men speak
There is no noise their least tone will not drown.
His sweet soft words brought blushes to my cheek,
And made my happy eyelids flutter down.

There were so many glasses turned on me,
My chaperon was proud. She called me fair,
And said I drew their glances. Well, may be.
_I_ think they saw that dead man sitting there.

A dead man at an opera: how strange!
I know it must have seemed much out of place.
He smiled, and spoke, and there was little change
In the white pallor of his perfect face.

Yet he was dead. I knew it all the while,
I do not wonder people looked that way.
It seemed so odd to see a dead man smile;
Its strangeness never struck me till to-day.

He rose and went out when we left our stall;
Rose up, went out, and vanished in the night.
He always sits beside me in that hall,
But goes when goes the music and the light.

A STRAIN OF MUSIC

In through the open window
To the chamber where I lay,
There came the beat of merry feet,
From the dancers over the way.
And back on the wings of the music
That rose on the midnight air,
My rare youth came and spoke my name,
And lo! I was young and fair.

Once more in the glitter of gaslight
I stood in my life's glad prime:
And heart and feet in a rhythm sweet
Were keeping the music's time.
Like a leaf in the breeze of summer
I drifted down the hall,
On an arm that is cold with death and mould,
And is hidden under the pall.

Once more at a low voice's whisper
(A voice that is long since stilled)
I felt the flush of a rising blush,
And my pulses leaped and thrilled.
Once more in a sea of faces,
I only saw one face;
And life grew bright with a new delight,
And sweet with a nameless grace.

A crash of passionate music,
A hush and a silence then;
The dancers rest in their pleasure quest,
And lo! I am old again.
Old and alone in my chamber,
While the night wears wearily on,
And the pallid wraith of a broken faith--
Keeps watch with me till the dawn.

SMOKE

Last summer, lazing by the sea,
I met a most entrancing creature,
Her black eyes quite bewildered me--
She had a Spanish cast of feature.

She often smoked a cigarette,
And did it in the cutest fashion.
Before a week passed by she set
My young heart in a raging passion.

I swore I loved her as my life,
I gave her gems (don't tell my tailor).
She promised to become my wife,
But whispered, 'Papa is my jailer.'

'We must be very sly, you see,
For Papa will not list to reason.
You must not come to call on me
Until he's gone from home a season.

'I'll send you word, now don't forget,
Take this as pledge, I will remember.'
She gave me a perfumed cigarette,
And turned and left me with September.

To-day she sent her 'cards' to me.
'My presence asked' to see her marry
That millionaire old banker C---
She _has_ my 'presents,' so I'll tarry.

And still I feel a keen regret
(About the jewels that I gave her)
I've smoked the little cigarette--
It had a most delicious flavour.

AN AUTUMN DAY

Leaden skies and a lonesome shadow
Where summer has passed with her gorgeous train;
Snow on the mountain, and frost on the meadow--
A white face pressed to the window pane;
A cold mist falling, a bleak wind calling,
And oh! but life seems vain.

Rain is better than golden weather,
When the heart is dulled with a dumb despair.
Dead leaves lie where they walked together,
The hammock is gone, and the rustic chair.
Let bleak snows cover the whole world over--
It will never again seem fair.

Time laughs lightly at youth's sad 'Never,'
Summer shall come again, smiling once more,
High o'er the cold world the sun shines for ever,
Hearts that seemed dead are alive at the core.
Oh, but the pain of it--oh, but the gain of it,
After the shadows pass o'er.

WISHES

Whatever you want, if you wish for it long,
With constant yearning and fervent desire,
If your wish soars upward on wings so strong
That they never grow languid and never tire,--

Why, over the storm clouds and out of the dark
It shall come flying some day to you.
As the dove with the olive branch flew to the ark,
And the dream you have cherished--it shall come true.

But lest much rapture shall make you mad,
Or too bright sunshine should strike you blind,
Along with your blessing a something sad
Shall come like a shadow that follows behind.

Something unwelcome and unforeseen,
Yet of your hope and your wish, a part,
Shall stand like a sentinel in between
The perfect joy and the human heart.

I wished for a cloudless and golden day;
It came, but I looked from my window to see
A giant shadow which seemed to say,
'If you ask for the sunlight you must take me.'

Oh! a wonderful thing is the human will,
When seeking one purpose, and serving one end;
But I think it is wiser to just sit still,
And accept whatever the gods may send.

THE PLAY

In the rosy light of my day's fair morning,
Ere ever a storm cloud darkened the west,
Ere even a shadow of night gave warning
When life seemed only a pleasure quest,
Why then all humour and comedy scorning--
I liked high tragedy best.

I liked the challenge, the fierce fought duel,
With a death or a parting in every act.
I liked the villain to be more cruel
Than the basest villain could be in fact:
For it fed the fires of my mind with the fuel
Of the things that my life lacked.

But as time passed on, and I met real sorrow,
And she played at night on the stage--my heart,
I found I could not forget on the morrow
The pain I had felt in her tragic part.
For alas! no longer I needed to borrow
My grief from the actor's art.

And as life grows older, and therefore sadder
(Though sweeter maybe with its autumn haze),
I find more pleasure in watching the gladder
And lighter order of humorous plays.
Where the mirth is as mad, or maybe madder,
Than the mirth of my lost days.

I like to be forced to laugh and be merry,
Though the earth with sorrow and pain is rife:
I like for an evening at least to bury
All thoughts of trouble, or pain, or strife.
In sooth, I like to be moved to the very
Emotions I miss in life.

AS WE LOOK BACK (RONDEAU)

As we look back at our lost Used-to-Be, 'The light that never was on land or sea' Touches the distant mountain peaks with gold, And through the glass of memory we behold Such blossoms as grow not on any lea.

The double leaf upon the poplar tree Turns up its silver side to you and me, And glow-worm lanterns light the lonely wold As we look back.

No sounds we hear but echoes of young glee;
No winds we feel but west winds blowing free,
From those fair isles that seem a thousandfold
More beautiful than in the days of old;
And all the clouds that hang above them flee,
As we look back.

WHY

Why do eyes that were tender,
Averted, turn away?
Why has our dear love's splendour
All faded into gray?
Why is it that lips glow not
That late were all aglow?
I know not, dear, I know not,
I only know 'tis so.

Why do you no more tremble
Now when I kiss your cheek?
Why do we both dissemble
The thoughts we used to speak?
Why is it that words flow not
That used to fondly flow?
I know not, dear, I know not,
I only know 'tis so.

Have we outlived the passion
That late lit earth and sky?
And is this but the fashion
A fond love takes to die?
Is it, that we shall know not
Again love's rapture glow?
I trust not, sweet, I trust not--
And yet it may be so.

LISTEN

Whoever you are as you read this,
Whatever your trouble or grief,
I want you to know and to heed this,
The day draweth near with relief.

No sorrow, no woe, is unending;
Though heaven seems voiceless and dumb,
Remember your cry is ascending,
And an answer will certainly come.

Whatever temptation is near you,
Whose eyes on this simple verse fall,
Remember good angels will hear you,
And help you, so sure as you call.

Who stunned with despair, I beseech you,
Whatever your losses, your need,
Believe when these printed words reach you--
Believe you were born to succeed.

TOGETHER

We two in the fever, and fervour, and glow
Of life's high tide have rejoiced together.
We have looked out over the glittering snow,
And known we were dwelling in summer weather.
For the seasons are made by the heart, I hold,
And not by the outdoor heat or cold.

We two in the shadows of pain and fear
Have journeyed together in dim, dark places,
Where black-robed sorrow walked to and fro,
And fear and trouble with phantom faces
Peered out upon us, and froze our blood,
Though June's fair roses were all in bud.

We two have measured all depths, all heights;
We have bathed in tears, we have sunned in laughter;
We have known all sorrow, and all delights,
They never could keep us apart hereafter.
Wherever your spirit was sent I know,
I would find my way in the dark, and go.

If they took my soul into Paradise,
And told me I must be content without you,
I would weary them so with my homesick cries,
And the ceaseless questions I asked about you,
They would open the gates and set me free,
Or else they would find you and bring you to me.

ONE NIGHT

Was it last summer, or ages gone,
That damp, dark night in the August dusk,
When I waited for you by the gate alone?
And the air was heavy with scents like musk.
Swiftly and silently shooting down
Like the lonesome light of a falling star,
I saw through the shadows dense and brown,
The dull red light of your fine cigar.

Like a king who taketh his own, you came
Through the lowering night and the falling dew.
Like one who yields to a rightful claim,
I waited there in the dusk for you.
Never again when the day grows late,
Never again in the years to be,
Shall I stand in the dark and dew, and wait,
And never again will you come to me.

But always and ever when high and far
The old moon hideth her troubled face,
I think how the light like a falling star
Lit all my world with a new strange grace.
The passionate glow of your splendid eyes
Shines into my heart as it shone that night,
And its slumberous billows surge and rise
As the ocean is stirred by the tempest's might.

LOST NATION

Oh! we are a lone, lost nation,
We, who sing your songs.
With his moods, and his desolation
The poet nowhere belongs.

We are not of the people
Who labour, believe, and doubt.
Like the bell that rings in the steeple,
We are in the world, yet out.

In the rustic town, or the city
We seek our place in vain;
And our hearts are starved for pity,
And our souls are sick with pain.

Yes, the people are buying, selling,
And the world is one great mart.
And woe for the thoughts that are dwelling
Up in the poet's heart.

We know what the waves are saying
As they roll up from the sea,
And the weird old wind is playing
Our own sad melody.

We send forth a song to wander
Like a spirit of ill or good;
And here it is heard, and yonder,
But is nowhere understood.

For the world it lives for fashion,
For glory, and gain, and strife;
And what can it know of the passion
And pain of a poet's life?

THE CAPTIVE

My lady is robed for the ball to-night,
All in a shimmer and silken sheen.
She glides down the stairs like a thing of light,
The ballroom's beautiful queen.

Priceless gems on her bosom glow--
Half hid by laces a queen might wear.
Robed is she, as befits, you know,
The wife of a millionaire.

Gliding along at her liege lord's side,
Out-shining all in that company,
Into the mind of the old man's bride
There creeps a curious simile.

She thinks how once in the Long Ago,
A beautiful captive, all aflame
With jewels that weighed her down like woe,
Close in the wake of her captor came.

All day long in that mocking plight,
She followed him in a dumb despair;
And the people thought her a goodly sight,
Decked in her jewels rare.

And now at her lawful master's side,
With a pain in her heart, as great as then
(So thinks this old man's beautiful bride),
Zenobia walks again.

NO SONG

These summer days when all the poets sing I have no voice for song. I see the birds of summer taking wing, And days so sweet and long, Each seemed a little heaven with no end, I know are gone for evermore, dear friend.

Nay, by and by comes another Spring; And long, sweet, perfect days. And by and by I shall have voice to sing My old glad, happy lays. More blithesome songs, more days that have no end; More golden summers; but _like thee_ no friend.

TWO FRIENDS

One day Ambition, in his endless round, All filled with vague and nameless longings, found Slow wasting Genius, who from spot to spot Went idly grazing, through the Realms of Thought.

Ambition cried, 'Come, wander forth with me; I like thy face--but cannot stay with thee.' 'I will,' said Genius, 'for I needs must own I'm getting dull by being much alone.'

'Your hands are cold--come, warm them at my fire,' Ambition said. 'Now, what is thy desire?' Quoth Genius, ''Neath the sod of yonder heather Lie gems untold. Let's plough them out together.'

They bent like strong young oxen to the plough, This done, Ambition questioned, 'Whither now? We'll leave these gems for all the world to see! New sports and pleasures wait for thee and me.'

Said Genius, 'Yonder ghostly ruin stands A blot and blemish on surrounding lands; Let's fling sweet, blooming fancies everywhere.' Soon all the world in wonder came to stare.

'Come, come!' Ambition cried; 'Pray, do be gone From this dull place: I would go further on.' 'There lies,' said Genius, 'up on yonder peak A Prize, alone, I have not cared to seek.'

Up, up they went--as swift, as sure as Time, They seemed to soar: (in truth they did but climb), And there in sight of all the world beneath-- Ambition crowned fair Genius with a wreath.

All day they journeyed, swift from place to place; Ambition led, and Genius joined the chase. In every realm of fancy, or of thought, All depths they sounded, and all heights they sought.

Now hand in hand for evermore they stray, And if they part, or quarrel for a day, You'll find Ambition, aimless, reckless, wild, And Genius moping, like an idle child.