D INSCRIPTIONS
RICHARD WATSON GILDER
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FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D.
BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO
THE LIBRARY OF
PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2012 with funding from
Princeton Theological Seminary Library
http://archive.org/details/poems01gild
POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS
By R. W. GILDER
The New Day
The Celestial Passion
Lyrics
Two Worlds
The Great Remembrance
THE ABOVE ALSO IN ONE VOLUME ENTITLED
Five Books of Song
A SELECTION ENTITLED
11 For the Country"
In Palestine
Poems and Inscriptions
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POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS
SEP 241988
BY
RICHARD WATSON GILDER
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO. i 9 o i
COPYRIGHT, I9OI
BY RICHARD WATSON GILDER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
Autumn at Four-Brooks Farm .... i
Indoors in Early Spring 3
The Night Pasture 5
A Letter from the Farm 10
Summer Begins 17
" Strolling Toward Shottery " 19
Stratford Bells 22
In Wordsworth's Orchard 24
Dove Cottage.
Sir Walter Scott 26
A Day in Tuscany 29
A Sacred Comedy in Florence .... 33
In which takes Part a certain Statue on the Facade 01 the Duomo.
v
Contents
Michael Angelo's Aurora 35
The Medici Chapel, Florence.
The Old Master 36 s
At Luther's Grave 38 V
Wittenberg.
Beethoven . . 40
Vienna.
The Desert 42
Egypt 44
Syria 45
The Dead Poet 46 v
A. H.
War 48
The Blameless Knight 51
The Demagogue 54
The Tool 55
The New Politician 56 v-
A Lady to a Knight 59 /*
vi
Contents
" Is Hope a Phantom ?" 60
Song 61
M If, lest thy heart betray thee."
Memory 63
" O Glorious Sabbath Sun" 65
Motto for a Tree-Planting 66
Janet 67
On Being Asked for a Song 69
Concerning the dedication of a Mountain in Samoa, to the Memory of Stevenson. A letter to I. O. S.
To Austin Dobson 72
To L R. S 74
" Many the Names" 76
John George Nicolay 77
Washington, D. C, September 1901.
At the President's Grave 79
Garfield : September 1881.
The Comfort of the Trees 81
McKinley : September 1901. vii
Contents The City of Light 83
The Pan-American Exposition.
Inscriptions for the Pan-American Exposition at Buffalo, 1901 88-101
For the Propylaea 88
For the Stadium 90
For the Great Pylons of the Triumphal Causeway 91
Dedicatory Inscriptions « „ < . . 94
viu
POEMS
AUTUMN AT FOUR-BROOKS FARM
NO song-bird, singing, soaring, But the brooks are up and roaring! Along the lane one lonely tree Starts a sound like a storm at sea. The round, black clouds pursue Across the gulfs of blue; So fast they fly the mountain crest Reels backward to the blowing west. Shadow and sun rush on together Across the hills in the gusty weather,
Poems and Inscriptions
And leaves like flocks of golden birds Take flight above the huddling herds. Hark, hark that bell-like baying! — The wily fox with the hound is playing; All is motion, and air, and strife; Down the valley the floods are pouring; This is Autumn, O this is life; No song-bird sings, but the hawks are soaring, And the brooks are up and roaring!
^HE three books mentioned below comprise all Mr. Gilder's poetical works.
The Century Co., Publishers 33 East iyth Street, New York
Dear Sirs :
Enclosed find $ for
. . cop. . of " Five Books of Song" . . {price, $1.50) .. cop., of " In Palestine" .... {price, $1 .00) . . cop. . of " Poems and Inscriptions " {price, $1.00) by Richard Watson Gilder.
Yours truly,
Name
Address
Date
X
INDOORS IN EARLY SPRING
i
IN the old farm-house living-room Four shrunken doors shut out the gloom ; Two curtained windows hide night's pall ; These openings six in the ancient wall Let in the breeze in seams. The air in spark-lit, pouring streams From hearth to heaven leaps. Against the black of the chimney-soot The forked flames upshoot, And the blaze a-roaring keeps. 3
Poems and Inscriptions
II Every log is a separate flute ; And every chink a singing wire Of some unseen y^Eolian lyre Tuned to the music of the fire. The little tinkling sounds; the low, Sweet whistlings of the bubbling wood ; The thundering bass of winds that blow In leafless maples by the road, — All make a music in the mind; While, book in hand, in musing mood,- My body here, my soul in flight, — Through the true poet's world I wind, And there a spirit-music find That mixes with the sounding night.
THE NIGHT PASTURE
i
IN a starry night of June, before the moon had come over into our valley from the high valley beyond,
Up the winding mountain-lane I wandered,
and, stopping, leaned on the bars, and listened;
And I heard the little brook sliding from stone
to stone ; and I heard the sound of the bells as the
cows moved, — heavily, slowly, —
In various keys, deep, or like sleigh-bells
tinkling, sounded the chiming cow-bells, —
5
Poems and Inscriptions
Starting and stilling, irregular ; near or far away in the dusk, —
And the nearer cows I heard chewing the cud, and breathing warm on the cool air of the moun- tain slope
In the night pasture.
n
Terrace on terrace rises the farm, from mea- dow and winding river to forest of chestnut and pine;
There by the high-road, among the embower- ing maples, nestles the ancient homestead;
From each new point of vantage lovelier seems the valley, and the hill-framed sunset ever more and more moving and glorious;
Poems and Inscriptions
But when in the thunderous city I think of the mountain farm, nothing so sweet of remem- brance,— holding me as in a dream, —
As the silver note of the unseen brook, and the clanging of the cow-bells fitfully in the dark, and the deep breathing of the cows
In the night pasture.
in
Then I think, not of myself— but an image comes to me of one who has passed, —
Of an old man bent with labor;
He, like his father before him, for many and many a year,
When the cows down the mountains have trudged in the summer evening, and after the evening milking,
Poems and Inscriptions
Night after night, and year after year, back up the lane he has driven them, while the shepherd- dog leaped and barked, —
Back up the lane, and past the orchard, and through the bars
Into the night pasture.
IV
There in the twilight I see him stand :
He listens to the sounds of the field and the forest,
On his brow strikes the cool mountain air;
Hard is the old man's life and full indeed of sorrow, —
But now, for a moment, respite from labor, in
the pause 'twixt day and night! 8
Poems and Inscriptions
Perhaps to his heart comes a sense of the beauty that fills all this exquisite valley, —
A sense of peace and of rest ; a thought of the long and toilless night that comes to all,
As he leans on the bars and listens, and hears the deep-breathed cows, and the scattered sound of the bells
In the night pasture.
A LETTER FROM THE FARM
TELL you the news From Four-Brooks Farm ? Well,
But there is news to tell, As long as my arm ! " What! a new she-calf born To this world forlorn ? " Few things are finer Than a fine heifer-calf,
And most things are minor; 10
Poems and inscriptions
But 'tis better by half
The news that I've got now!
Such a wonderful lot now
Of heifers, — why. what now
Such farm news as this!
You were here, when, what bliss!
Alpha dropped on our planet,
And we all ran to scan it:
How the soft thing, with silk down,
Had learned to bring milk down
Without any teaching,
Example, or preaching!
No this is not the news
From Four-Brooks Farm —
Nor the ice-pond built 1 1
Poems and Inscriptions
Where Hermit Brook spilt; Nor the great pine we found Thunder-burst in the middle And spread on the ground Like the strings of a fiddle; Not of this, not of that, — Such news now were flat, — But something far racier! Muir, of Alaska, Path-finder, cliff-basker, Known of bird, known of deer, (Grizzlies know him, won't harm,) John Muir has been here, And has hitched to the farm A great blanket glacier! Don't flout it! don't doubt it!
Poems and Inscriptions
'Tis as sure and as clear
As if on the rock,
With chisel and knock,
A giant of eld
His message had spelled,
And ten thousand years after
We read it, — with laughter
And loyal acclaim, —
His ancestry, name,
The work he was doing,
The place whence he came,
And the journey pursuing.
"This giant of eld!
See his path," said John Muir, —
14 Here it held
North-west to south-east;
Poems and Inscriptions
Slow and sure, Like a king at a feast Eating down through the list ; Inch by inch, crunch by crunch; Yonder hollow his lunch, Of this valley — one gobble, — Then he supped light on Cobble! This big boulder, he bore it; Through eons uncounted That range there he mounted, He tore it.
Rock-grinding; strata rending ; Always pausing; never ending; O what a grand rumpus ! Now, down on your knees," Said Muir, "an you please,
Poems and Inscriptions
And out with your compass! "
(By the way — 'twas Thoreau's
In the long, long-agoes,)
And then, in a trice,
Where the quartz glistens white,
Smooth as ice,
In the clear, slanting light
The fine striae show, —
Like arrows they go,
North-west to south-east,
Just as John Muir pleased!
And as he spoke I saw the huge creature glide With speed that scarcely lessened or increased From the far pole to ocean's melting tide. Through countless boreal hours «5
Poems and Inscriptions
It moved on its torn pathway deep and wide;
Its shining bulk I saw
Crunching the mountain tops with monstrous
maw; — To make our Four-Brooks Farm with all its
flocks and flowers.
16
SUM MER BEGINS
i
THE bright sun has been hid so long, — Such endless rains, such clouds and glooms ! But now, as with a burst of song, The happy Summer morning blooms.
ii The brooks are full, it is their youth ;
No hint of shrunken age have they; They shout like children, and in truth, No human child so careless-gay. *7
Poems and Inscriptions
in How fresh the woods, each separate leaf
Is shining in the joyful sun. Strange! I have half forgotten grief;
I think that life has just begun.
18
"STROLLING TOWARD SHOTTERY"
i
STROLLING toward Shottery on one showery day We saw upon the turf beside the path A clown who, stooping by the pleasant way, Rough-cobbled his torn shoes and spoke in feigned wrath.
ii At first we thought him brain-touched and askew, But as we listened to his shrilling talk "9
Poems and Inscriptions
We found him prating of some things he knew, Though others he but guessed ; — we halted in our walk.
in His was the wisdom shrewd of roadside men, Gathered in wanderings through the country wide; He had a cynic wit, and to his ken The world wagged wickedly, — saved by its humorous side.
IV
Racy his speech and, though it bit, good-hearted ;
There was an honest freshness in the tramp ;
We felt his debtor, therefore when we parted
Some pennies wealthier the philosophic scamp ! 20
Poems and Inscriptions
v
Laughing we followed on to sweet Anne's cot : — Perhaps like us her lover left the town;
Like us he crossed the pretty pasture lot, And met— and made immortal — one more Shakespeare clown.
21
STRATFORD BELLS
ONE Sabbath eve, betwixt green Avon's banks, In a dream-world we hour by hour did float; The ruffling swans moved by in stately ranks ; With soft, sad eyes the cattle watched our boat. We, passionate pilgrims from a far-off land, Beyond the vexed Bermoothes : Oh, how dear That strange, sweet picture, — by the Enchan- ter's wand
Familiar to our spirits made, and near! 22
Poems and Inscriptions
But suddenly a loud and resonant sound Thrilled from the skies and waters; lo, the
chimes Of Stratford rang and rang; the very ground Murmured, as with a deep-voiced poet's rhymes; Then swift melodious tone on tone was
hurled: 'Twas Shakespeare's music brimmed the trem- bling world.
IN WORDSWORTH'S ORCHARD
DOVE COTTAGE
IN Wordsworth's orchard one sweet Summer day Breathless we listened to his thrushes sing; We heard the trickling of the little spring Beneath the terrace ; saw the tender play Of breezes 'midst the leaves; scarce could we say The well-loved verses whose rich blossoming Was on this narrow hillside; strange they ring For tears that choke the numbers on their way. 24
Poems and Inscriptions
Then home by winding Rothay did we turn While bird, and bloom, and mountain seemed
his voice Deep sounding to the spiritual ear, —
And this its message: Let love in thee burn, Here learn in holy beauty to rejoice Here learn true living, and the song sincere.
25
SIR WALTER SCOTT
i
RHYMERS and writers of our day, Too much of melancholy! Give us the old heroic lay ; A whiff of wholesome folly; The escapade, the dance; A touch of wild romance: Wake from this self-conscious fit; Give us again Sir Walter's wit; His love of earth, of sky, of life; His ringing page with humor rife; His never-weary pen;
His love of men!
26
Poems an J Inscriptions
ii Builder of landscape, who could make Turret and tower their stations take Brave in the face of the sun ; Of many a mimic world creator, Alive with fight and strenuous fun; Of nothing human he the hater. Nobly could he plan: Master of nature, master of man.
in Sometimes I think that He who made us, And on this pretty planet laid us, Made us to work and play Like children in the light of day — Not like plodders in the dark, Searching with lanterns for some mark
27
Poems and Inscriptions
To find the way. After the stroke of pain, Up and to work again!
IV
Such was his life, without reproach or fear:
A lonely fight before the last eclipse, —
A broken heart, a smile upon the lips;
And, at the end,
When Heaven bent down and whispered in his ear
The word God's saints waited and longed to hear,
I ween he was as quick as they to compre- hend;
And, when he passed beyond the goal,
Entered the gates of pearl no sweeter soul. 28
A DAY IN TUSCANY
I KNEW the Rucellai had choice of villas: This day has proved it, this thrice happy day Stolen from care, and many a saddened thought. Have we not seen, we wanderers from afar, Fountained Caneto, standing watch and ward Over Bisenzio's lovely, curving vale! — Caneto, olive-cinctured, cypress-crowned, And wreathed in vine; Caneto whose high hall Bears record of a proud and noble race, Friendly to art and letters (Cimabue
Be witness paramount; and the brave front 29
Poems and Inscriptions
Of Santa Maria Novella; the Academe That in the Garden of the Rucellai Relit the Athenian fire!) yes, Edith dear, I love Caneto well, but well I love This <f Villa of the Little Fields," that hides Embowered among its farms; in rose and lilac Radiant and scented like an April bride; 'Mid busy sounds secluded and remote. But most I love this tower you call my own, This musing tower that wins the soul to song, From whose four windows, see! the Apennines Make a walled paradise of Tuscany.
II Beyond the ilex-dome, against the west, The sunset sky was crimson: "Then," you say,
30
Poems and Inscriptions
" Fair is to-morrow, if the sky was red." M Fair is to-morrow " ? Oh, to-morrow fair That wakes me from this dream ? — Here from
my tower One planet marks where Prato lies below, And yonder, through the tender gray and green Of the high-branching plane-tree, shines a light Betwixt the earth and heaven, — a lure that
means Florence, and all its wonder; now, ah, now The hour draws nigh when Italy once more To me is of the past, a thought, a passion, But all ungrasped of sense. And what is that our Cosimo has said ? "To-day the nightingales have come." — Have
come ?
3i
Poems and Inscriptions
And I, though listening long, and with my soul, I have not heard one tone.
In the Tower at Campi Bisenpo.
32
A SACRED COMEDY IN FLORENCE
IN WHICH TAKES PART A CERTAIN STATUE ON THE FAgADE OF THE DUOMO
LONELY Pope upon his throne, Cold in marble, high in air, — On the Duomo's checkered front, — Benediction, as is wont, Falling from his saintly face Down upon the clattering square: — Falls, to-day, a special grace
For, in fact, he's not alone, — 33
Poems and Inscriptions
Solemn Pope upon his throne, White in marble, cold in air! — To those priestly fingers there, Lifted o'er the peopled square, A purple pigeon sudden flits — Lightly 'lights and lingering sits. By the Bapistery gates, Where I stand, I can but smile, Thinking that the potentate's Lips are curving, too, the while ; And I wonder what the bird Said that Papa, smiling, heard.
34
MICHAEL ANGELO'S AURORA
THE MEDICI CHAPEL, FLORENCE
O MAJESTY and loveliness in one! Why art thou sorrowful, now night is done ? This is the dawn ; why doth thy spirit quake ? O thou who wakenest! is it pain to wake ?
}*>
THE OLD MASTER
OF his dear Lord he painted all the life, But not that ancient land, nor the old days; Not curious he to seek, through learned strife, The look of those far times and unknown ways. But in his solemn and long-living art Well did he paint that which can never die : The life and passion of the human heart, Unchanged while sorrowing age on age goes
by.
36
Poems and Inscriptions
Beneath his brush his own loved people grew, Their rivers and their mountains, saints and
lords, The dark Italian mothers whom he knew, The sad-eyed nuns, the warriors with drawn swords ; Andthe youngSaviour, thronedat Mary's breast, Was but some little child whom he loved best.
37
AT LUTHER'S GRAVE
WITTENBERG
HERE rests the heart whose throbbing shook the earth ! High soul of courage, we do owe thee much ; Thee and thy warrior comrades, who the
worth Of freedom proved and put it to the touch ! Because, O Luther, thou the truth didst love, And spake the truth out, faced the sceptered
lie, E'en we, thy unforgetting heirs, may move Fearless, erect, unshackled, 'neath the sky.
38
Poems and Inscriptions
Yet at this shrine who doth forever linger
Shall know not that true freedom Luther
won; —
"Onward,'' his spirit points, with lifted
finger,
"Onward lies truth ! My work were never done
If souls by me awakened climbed not higher —
Ever to seek, and fear not, the celestial fire."
39
BEETHOVEN
VIENNA
I CAME to a great city. Palaces Rose glittering, mile on mile. Here dwells the King, The Emperor and King; here lived, here ruled How many mountainous far-looming fames; Here is the crown of shadowy Charlemagne. What housing of what glorious dignities! Yet in a narrow street, unfrequented,
No palace near — one name upon a wall, 40
Poems and Inscriptions
And all these majesties seem small and shrunk
For here unto the bitter end abode
He who from pain wrought noble joy for men,
He who from silence gave the world to song;
For in his mind an awful music rose
As when, in darkness of the under-seas,
Currents tremendous over currents pour.
He heard the soundless tone, its voice he was,
And he of vast humanity the voice,
And his the empire of the human soul.
4i
THE DESERT
SOULS live for whom the illimitable sands Not lonely are ; they see white, phantom hands Beckoning in spectral twilights, and they hear Voices that come not to another ear. The mystic desert calls them, as doth call The sea to those who once have known its
thrall— The desert that (like to the eternal sea)
Creates a visible infinity; — 42
Poems and Inscriptions
There, where the day its quivering fire outpours,
A silent ocean breaks on silent shores.
Who would be wise
Let him consort with Time 'neath desert skies.
43
EGYPT
I THOUGHT, in Egypt, Death was more than Life, It seemed so long; its monuments so great ; The emptiness of tombs was such high state, — No living thought, or power, or potentate So glorious seemed, wrapt in such splendid
gloom. For I perceived that in each ancient tomb, Long ages since, dead kings for Death made room. Not here the Dead, but Death: — alone, supreme: In Egypt Death was real, — Life a winged Dream.
44
SYRIA
I THOUGHT in Syria, Life was more than Death. A tomb there was forsaken of its dead, But Death filled not the place; here with bowed
head Worships the world forever at the tread Of one who lived, who liveth, and shall live, — Whose grave is but a footstep on the sod ; Men kiss the ground where living feet have trod. Here not to Death but Life, they worship give. August is Death, but this one tomb is rife With a more mighty presence; it is Life.
45
THE DEAD POET
A. H. I
HIS was the love of art and song, And well he loved the flowery way ; Yet great his wrath at prospered wrong ; When evil triumphed day by day Then plunged he in the fray.
ii And when brave innocence went down Then did the vanquished find a friend.
46
Poems and Inscriptions
With him went justice through the town; No foeman ever saw him bend; He scorn for scorn could send.
in
Men said his heritage was lost; For, born to gentler use, his youth
Was wasted in rude strife ; the cost Too great, they deemed, although, in sooth, Through him men learned of Truth.
IV
So were his songs but brief and few ;
Yet of some lives they were a part, And on some souls they fell like dew;
Dead, — now men say : he gave to art
The epic of the heart.
47
T
WAR
WO men on thrones, or crouched
behind,
With cunning words the world would blind.
With faces grave, averse from spoils,
They weave their thieving, cynic toils.
One thing they mean, another speak;
Bland phrases utter, tongue in cheek.
Stale truths turn lies on velvet lips;
The candid heavens are in eclipse; 48
Poems and Inscriptions
From crooked minds, and hearts all black, Comes War upon its flaming track, And reeking fiends in happy hell Shout, "All is well!"
ii Then lives surprise! While not a devil dares to shirk, But all his hellish malice plies — The angels, too, begin their work. Now every virtue issues forth And busy is from south to north : Self-sacrifice, and love, and pity Tramp all the rounds in field and city ; Mercy beyond a price, sweet ruth, Courage and comradeship and truth, And gentlest deed and noblest thought,
49
Poems and Inscriptions
Into the common day are brought. Man lives at heaven's gate, and dies For fellow-man with joyful cries.
m And all the while hell's imps are free To work their will with fearful glee. The beast in man anew is born ; Revenge, and lust, and pride, and scorn, And glory false, and hateful hate, All join to desecrate the State.
50
THE BLAMELESS KNIGHT
i
WHERE led the bright and blame- less plume We charged the shameless foe; Whether to win or lose our doom We never cared to know, ii His voice was as a scimitar,
Superb and sure his stroke; And where he came their men-of-war In panic fury broke. 5i
Poems and Inscriptions
in Once more we gathered for the fight
Against the ranks of shame; Again we called the blameless knight
And cheered him as he came.
IV
But, God of grace! not with us now Our valiant knight doth go :
A plume of black above his brow — He leads the shameless foe!
v They are the same, that shameful horde,
The same their shameless song; Beneath his shield they draw the sword
For rapine and for wrong.
52
Poems and Inscriptions
VI
Fight on! fight on! brave comrades all, Nor weep the blameless knight;
They cannot fail, what though they fall, Who battle for the right.
VII
One Captain less in our good war,
But see! a thousand spring Intent as never men before
To strike the Accursed Thing.
53
THE DEMAGOGUE
ALL mouth, no mind; a mindless mouth, in sooth ; He does not bend his strength to seek the truth, But, shrewdly guessing what may take the crowd, With tragic grimace, this he shouts aloud. No true opinion, no fixed faith has he, But gravely simulates sincerity. His many causes swift resolve to one : You find him his own cause when all is done.
54
THE TOOL
THE man of brains, of fair repute, and birth, Who loves high place above all else of earth ; Who loves it so, he'll go without the power If he may hold the semblance but an hour; Willing to be some sordid creature's tool So he but seem a little while to rule; — On him even moral pigmies would look down ; Were prizes given for shame, he'd wear the crown.
55
THE NEW POLITICIAN
WHILE others hedged, or silent lay, He to the people spoke all day; Aye, and he said precisely what He thought; each time he touched the spot. " In heaven's name, what does he mean! Was ever such blind folly seen ! " The wag-beard politicians cried : " Can no one stop the man ? " they sighed. "This 'talking frankly ' may be fun, But when have such mad tactics won ?
56
Poems an J Inscriptions
He may be happy, but the cost
Is ours! The whole election's lost! "
And still the people at his feet Followed and cheered from street to street. Truly this ne'er was known before: No soldier, sailor, orator, — No hero home from battle he Whom welcoming thousands rush to see; But just a man who dared to take His stand on justice, make or break; 'Twas all because the people found A man by no conventions bound ; Who sought to heal their black disgrace By treating rich and poor the same, Giving to crime its ugly name, Damning the guilty to their face. 57
Poems and Inscriptions
And when the votes, at last, were read Our candidate ran clear ahead ! This be his glory and renown: He told the truth — and took the town.
^8
A LADY TO A KNIGHT
i
SIR Knight, thou lovest not, If thou wouldst be too dear; And I less worshipful, I wot, If thou couldst kneel so near! ii So must thy shield of flawless fame
Shine clear in honor's light; Lest I should know a queenly shame To find thee less a knight.
59
"IS HOPE A PHANTOM?"
IS Hope a phantom ? Holds the crystal cup Sweet madness only — an we drink it up ? A respite ere the poor, doomed soul is killed ? — Then spake one who had loved : " Hope is no
lie, But real as answered Love, or unfulfilled ; Yet were Hope phantom-false, still would I cry, 1 Hail Thou Bright Poisoner ! let me drink, and die!'"
60
SONG
i
IF, lest thy heart betray thee, Thou to one lover wouldst not constant be, And yet thou couldst love me — This boon I pray thee: Divide the dark from light, Love me by night.
Poems and Inscriptions
ii
If thy sweet thought would find me,
Not through the garish day, oh, give it wing:
In shadows clasp and cling,
And bless and blind me!
When stars are still and bright —
Love me by night, in
In longing dreams I'll name thee;
In secret hours, when breathes the mid- night rose,
Thy heart in mine shall close, —
Great love shall claim thee:
O mine in dark and light,
In day and night! 62
MEMORY
INTO this musing, Memory ! thou hast brought Me thy true vassal; into this delight That is more poignant for the haunting grief; And as thou leadest on I follow, follow, Down the deep, woody pathway of my dream, — Feeling the breath of flowers colorless And airs that change their seasons as I wander, Falling or cool or warm upon the brow. The river shimmers twixt the shadowy boles; Scarce seen the stars for the high monstrous leaves
63
Poems and Inscriptions
That make a lover's screen ; while the large moon,
Late risen, sends three beams athwart the path.
It is not night, nor day, it is the time
Of the clear spirit's life; the soul's high noon;
The hour most fit for passion's holy birth.
O mellow eve, unstartled by a bird !
O night whose light is deepening up the sky !
— 'Twas such a night when one low-murmured
word, — A word all miracle, — made of my soul Nought but a singing rapture.
64
X
"O, GLORIOUS SABBATH
SUN"
i
O GLORIOUS Sabbath sun, thou art A balm and blessing to my heart; Dark sorrow flies, and in thy shine Bursts o'er the world a flood divine.
ii So may the light beyond the skies Illume and bless my inward eyes, That each new day may bring to me The splendor of eternity.
65
MOTTO FOR A TREE- PLANTING
i
STAY as the tree— go as the wind ; Whate'erthy place, serve God and kind ! ii The tree holds commerce with the skies Though from its place it never flies.
in They serve their God ; they do not roam,— The stormy winds that have no home.
66
JANET
i
I REMEMBER That November When the new November child On this old world woke and smiled.
ii Here's a woman, Sweet and human, And they call her Janet, now, — I can't make it out, I vow.
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m It only seems One night of dreams; Years they say ; how do they plan it ? What's become of Little Janet ?
iv Never mind; She's good; she's kind; Age can never bend or win her; There's a heart of youth within her.
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ON BEING ASKED FOR A SONG
CONCERNING THE DEDICATION OF A MOUNTAIN IN SAMOA TO THE MEMORY OF STEVENSON
A Letter to I. O. S.
BUT friend of mine — and his — I am afraid! How can I make a song When the true song is made! For this you say :
Because that Tusitala loved the birds They who named Tusitala (weaver of charmed words —
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Teller of Tales)
Have given his mountain to the birds forever!
There all day long
Bright-plumaged island-birds make gay the dales,
From off the sea the swift white bosun over the
mountain sails, From many a large-leaved tree The gray dove cooes its low insistent song. From those green heights and vales They shall be absent never — To show what love can be from man to man. Lovers of Birds and Poets — this is glory ! It is a poem, — that whicn these Chiefs have
done, — In memory of him, the only one.
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And yet our Tusitala could have sung again the
pretty story, — Alas, none other can!
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TO AUSTIN DOBSON
LAUREATE of the Gentle Heart! Only art like your own art, Limpid, gracious, happy-phrased, Could praise you as you should be praised. Many a lyric you have writ, Grave with pathos, gay with wit Or conceived in larger mood, Shall outlast the clattering brood That usurp our noisy day; Shall, with all that's noble, stay 72
Poems and Inscriptions
In our well-loved English tongue
Till the ending song is sung;
For no purer tone was heard
Since men sought Beauty and the Word.
13
TO L. R. S.
LISA Romana! no mean city gave Thee to the world, sired by as true a knight As e'er the flying paynim's helmet clave, Leading a hope forlorn in glorious fight! And thou, dear, stately maid, no knight of old, That eastward battles down the pleasant page Of chivalry, ever in heart did hold A queenlier image, — face more brightly grave. 74
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Be kind to her, ye seas, ye winds that blow, On the long journey homeward, and one day, Ocean and wild sea-winds! swift make return
Of her ye take from us; — aye, let her yearn Back, back to us once more; before this gray Whitens, and hearts that love her are laid low.
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M
MANY THE NAMES"
ANY the names, the souls, the faces dear That I have longed to frame in verse sincere; But one high name, sweet soul, and face of love Seemed ever my poor art, oh far above. Like Mary's, stricken with sorrow was that face; Like hers it wore a most majestic grace. That soul was tender as the sunset sky, And full of lofty dream her days went by; That name — than God's alone there is no other Holy as thine to me, O sacred Mother!
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JOHN GEORGE NICOLAY
WASHINGTON, D. C, SEPTEMBER I9OI
THIS man loved Lincoln, him did Lincoln love; Through the long storm, right there, by Lin- coln's side, He stood, his shield and servitor; when died The great, sweet, sorrowful soul, — still high
above All other passions, that for the spirit fled! 77
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To this one task his pure life was assigned : He strove to make the world know Lincoln's mind: He served him living, and he served him dead. So shall the light from that immortal fame Keep bright forever this most faithful name.
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AT THE PRESIDENT'S GRAVE
GARFIELD: SEPTEMBER 1 88 1
1
i
ALL summer long the people knelt And listened at the sick man's door: Each pang which that pale sufferer felt Throbbed through the land from shore to shore ; ii And as the all-dreaded hour drew nigh,
What breathless watching, night and day! What tears, what prayers! Great God on high, — Have we forgotten how to pray ! 79
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m O broken-hearted, widowed one,
Forgive us if we press too near! Dead is our husband, father, son, —
For we are all one household here.
IV
And not alone here by the sea, And not in his own land alone,
Are tears of anguish shed with thee- In this one loss the world is one.
EPITAPH
A man not perfect, but of heart So high, of such heroic rage,
That even his hopes became a part Of earth's eternal heritage,
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THE COMFORT OF THE TREES
MCKINLEY: SEPTEMBER 19OI
GENTLE and generous, brave-hearted, kind, And full of love and trust was he, our chief; He never harmed a soul! Oh, dull and blind And cruel, the hand that smote, beyond beJief ! Strike him? It could not be! Soon should we find 'Twas but a torturing dream — our sudden
grief! Then sobs and wailings down the northern wind
Like the wild voice of shipwreck from a reef! 81
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By false hope lulled (his courage gave us hope!) By day, by night we watched, — until unfurled At last the word of fate ! Our memories
Cherish one tender thought in their sad scope : He, looking from the window on this world, Found comfort in the moving green of trees.
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THE CITY OF LIGHT
THE PAN-AMERICAN EXPOSITION
WHAT shall we name it As is our bounden duty, — This new, swift-builded fairy city of Beauty, — What name that shall not shame it, Shall make it live beyond its too short living With praises and thanksgiving.
Its name — how shall we doubt it,