The eyrie clung to the shattered cliff
That the glacier's torrent thundered under;
And the unfledged eaglet's lifted eye
Looked out on the world of peak and sky
In silent wonder.
That the glacier's torrent thundered under;
And the unfledged eaglet's lifted eye
Looked out on the world of peak and sky
In silent wonder.
The mountain daisy, dainty white,
That grew by the side of the lofty eyrie,
Saw the young wings beat on the eagle's breast,
And the restless eyes in the fagot-nest
Grow grim and fiery.
That grew by the side of the lofty eyrie,
Saw the young wings beat on the eagle's breast,
And the restless eyes in the fagot-nest
Grow grim and fiery.
The days went by and the wings grew strong,
And the crag-built home was at last deserted;
But, close to the nest that her love had left,
The daisy clung to the rocky cleft,
Half broken-hearted.
And the crag-built home was at last deserted;
But, close to the nest that her love had left,
The daisy clung to the rocky cleft,
Half broken-hearted.
The days went by and the wan, white flower
Waited and watched in the autumn weather;
Far down the valley, far up the height,
The forest blazed, and a wizard light
Crowned hill and heather.
Waited and watched in the autumn weather;
Far down the valley, far up the height,
The forest blazed, and a wizard light
Crowned hill and heather.
And he came at last one eventide,
His breast was pierced and his plumes were gory;
For home is best when we come to die,
And we love the love that our youth puts by,—
And there's my story.
His breast was pierced and his plumes were gory;
For home is best when we come to die,
And we love the love that our youth puts by,—
And there's my story.
SUNSET IN THE CITY.
Down at the end of the iron lane
I see the sunset's glare,
And the red bars lie across the sky
Like steps of a wondrous stair.
I see the sunset's glare,
And the red bars lie across the sky
Like steps of a wondrous stair.
Below, the throng, with unlifted eye,
Sweeps on in its heedless flight
Where the street's black funnel pours its tide
Out into the deepening night.
Sweeps on in its heedless flight
Where the street's black funnel pours its tide
Out into the deepening night.
And no one has stopped to read God's word
On the fiery heavens scrolled
Save an old man dreaming of boyhood's days,
And a boy who would fain be old.
On the fiery heavens scrolled
Save an old man dreaming of boyhood's days,
And a boy who would fain be old.
THE ADMIRAL'S RETURN.
(Written on the occasion of the bringing of the body of Admiral John Paul Jones to the United States for reburial.)
Brave ships are these that bear thee home again
From under far-off skies—brave flags that fly
Above the deck whereon thine ashes lie,
Waiting their urn beyond the alien main;
The nations pause to view thy funeral train
As slowly moving up 'twixt sea and sky
It comes with stately pomp, and Liberty
Holds out her hands and calls thy name in vain.
And yet, mayhap, in vision vague and sweet,
Another sight thou seest beyond the boast
Of patriot pride—beside the new-born fleet,
Spectral and strange, no guest for such a host,
Yet making thy home-coming all complete,
The old "Bon Homme Richard's" unlaid ghost.
From under far-off skies—brave flags that fly
Above the deck whereon thine ashes lie,
Waiting their urn beyond the alien main;
The nations pause to view thy funeral train
As slowly moving up 'twixt sea and sky
It comes with stately pomp, and Liberty
Holds out her hands and calls thy name in vain.
And yet, mayhap, in vision vague and sweet,
Another sight thou seest beyond the boast
Of patriot pride—beside the new-born fleet,
Spectral and strange, no guest for such a host,
Yet making thy home-coming all complete,
The old "Bon Homme Richard's" unlaid ghost.
THE DUNGEONED ANARCHIST.
He crouches, voiceless, in his tomb-like cell,
Forgot of all things save his jailer's hate
That turns the daylight from his iron grate
To make his prison more and more a hell;
For him no coming day or hour shall spell
Deliverance, or bid his soul await
The hand of Mercy at his dungeon gate:
He would not know even though a kingdom fell!
The black night hides his hand before his eyes,—
That grim, clenched hand still burning with the sting
Of royal blood; he holds it like a prize,
Waiting the hour when he at last shall fling
The stain in God's face, shrieking as he dies:
"Behold the unconquered arm that slew a king!"
Forgot of all things save his jailer's hate
That turns the daylight from his iron grate
To make his prison more and more a hell;
For him no coming day or hour shall spell
Deliverance, or bid his soul await
The hand of Mercy at his dungeon gate:
He would not know even though a kingdom fell!
The black night hides his hand before his eyes,—
That grim, clenched hand still burning with the sting
Of royal blood; he holds it like a prize,
Waiting the hour when he at last shall fling
The stain in God's face, shrieking as he dies:
"Behold the unconquered arm that slew a king!"
AT THE PLAY.
The poet painted a woman's soul,
Human, trusting and kind,
And then he drew the soul of a man,
Brutal and base and blind;
Human, trusting and kind,
And then he drew the soul of a man,
Brutal and base and blind;
And the woman loved in the old, old way,
And the man in the way of men,
And the poet christened their lives "A Play,"
And he sat down to watch it, and then ...
And the man in the way of men,
And the poet christened their lives "A Play,"
And he sat down to watch it, and then ...
A woman rose with a bitter laugh,
And her eyes were as dry as stone
As she bowed her head at the poet's stall
And said in a strange, cold tone:
And her eyes were as dry as stone
As she bowed her head at the poet's stall
And said in a strange, cold tone:
"He paints the best who has dipped his brush
In the heart's own blood, they say;
You took my love and you took my life,
But you gave the world—a play!"
In the heart's own blood, they say;
You took my love and you took my life,
But you gave the world—a play!"
THE DERELICT.
North and south with the fickle tides,
With the wind from east to west,
The death-ship follows her track of doom,
But finds no port or rest.
With the wind from east to west,
The death-ship follows her track of doom,
But finds no port or rest.
Day after day the far white sails
Come up and glimmer and die,
And night by night the twinkling lights
Crawl down the distant sky.
Come up and glimmer and die,
And night by night the twinkling lights
Crawl down the distant sky.
Day after day her black hull lifts
And sinks with the swell's long roll,
And the white birds cling to her rotting shrouds
Like prayers of a stricken soul,
And sinks with the swell's long roll,
And the white birds cling to her rotting shrouds
Like prayers of a stricken soul,
But ever the death-ship keeps her track
While the ships of men sail on,
For God is her skipper and helmsman, too,
And knoweth her port alone.
While the ships of men sail on,
For God is her skipper and helmsman, too,
And knoweth her port alone.
ZOROASTER.
I.
The light of a new day was on his brow,
The faith of a great dawn was on his tongue;
Out of the dark he raised his voice and sung
The high Messiah who should overthrow
The gods that Superstition crowned with might
And set above the world,—the coming Christ
Whose unshed blood should be the holy tryst
'Twixt man and his lost Eden, washing white
From his rebellious soul the serpent's blight.
The faith of a great dawn was on his tongue;
Out of the dark he raised his voice and sung
The high Messiah who should overthrow
The gods that Superstition crowned with might
And set above the world,—the coming Christ
Whose unshed blood should be the holy tryst
'Twixt man and his lost Eden, washing white
From his rebellious soul the serpent's blight.
II.
The fire that on the Magi's altars glowed
Spake to his soul in symbols and expressed
The immortal purity that without rest
Strives with the mortal grossness whose abode
Is in the heart. Their symboled fire showed One
Whose spirit on the altar of the world
Burns ceaselessly,—where, if all vice be hurled,
It shall be purged with fire that shall atone,—
Christ's love the flame, man's sin th' alchemic stone.
Spake to his soul in symbols and expressed
The immortal purity that without rest
Strives with the mortal grossness whose abode
Is in the heart. Their symboled fire showed One
Whose spirit on the altar of the world
Burns ceaselessly,—where, if all vice be hurled,
It shall be purged with fire that shall atone,—
Christ's love the flame, man's sin th' alchemic stone.
III.
The light of a new day was on his brow,
The faith of a great dawn was on his tongue;
Above the old Chaldean myths he sung
The message of the peace that men should know
Through God's own Son. Out of the hopeless night
He saw the star of Bethlehem arise,
And o'er the wasted gates of Paradise
Beheld it mount, and heard, to hail its light,
The everlasting groan of hell's despite.
The faith of a great dawn was on his tongue;
Above the old Chaldean myths he sung
The message of the peace that men should know
Through God's own Son. Out of the hopeless night
He saw the star of Bethlehem arise,
And o'er the wasted gates of Paradise
Beheld it mount, and heard, to hail its light,
The everlasting groan of hell's despite.
THE NORTH WIND.
I.
Wind of the North, I know your song
Out on the frozen plain,
But here in the city's streets you seem
Only a cry of pain.
Out on the frozen plain,
But here in the city's streets you seem
Only a cry of pain.
II.
I know the note of your lusty throat
Where the black boughs toss and roar,
But here it is part of the old, old cry
Of the hungry, homeless poor.
Where the black boughs toss and roar,
But here it is part of the old, old cry
Of the hungry, homeless poor.
III.
I know the song that you sing to God,
Joyous and high and wild,
But here where His creatures herd and die,
'Tis the sob of a little child.
Joyous and high and wild,
But here where His creatures herd and die,
'Tis the sob of a little child.
WHERE IS GOD?
(Written during the hostilities in the Far East in 1900.)
Hard by the gates of Eden,
Where God first walked with man,
In the light of the new creation,
Ere the race of Cain began,
The world-wide hosts have gathered,
And their swords are drawn to slay:
God was with man in Eden,
But where is God today?
Where God first walked with man,
In the light of the new creation,
Ere the race of Cain began,
The world-wide hosts have gathered,
And their swords are drawn to slay:
God was with man in Eden,
But where is God today?
From the ice-bound steppes of the Cossack;
From the home of the fleur-de-lis,
From the vineyards that crown the Rhineland
To the shores of the phosphor sea,
The clans have gathered for battle,
And each for the signal waits,
While a million swords are flaming
At Eden's Eastern gates.
From the home of the fleur-de-lis,
From the vineyards that crown the Rhineland
To the shores of the phosphor sea,
The clans have gathered for battle,
And each for the signal waits,
While a million swords are flaming
At Eden's Eastern gates.
By the sign of the yellow dragon,
By the tri-color's bars of light;
By the double-throated eagle
That screams with the lust of fight,
By the Union Jack of Britannia,
By Columbia's stars and bars,
They pray to the god of battle
For the meed of a hundred wars.
By the tri-color's bars of light;
By the double-throated eagle
That screams with the lust of fight,
By the Union Jack of Britannia,
By Columbia's stars and bars,
They pray to the god of battle
For the meed of a hundred wars.
THE STORY OF MOSES.
This is the story of Moses,
The earliest scribe that we keep:
Void was the earth and formless,
And dark was the face of the deep,
Till God's word flashed in lightning,
Beautiful, bountiful, bright,
And night was the name of the darkness,
And day was the name of the light.
The earliest scribe that we keep:
Void was the earth and formless,
And dark was the face of the deep,
Till God's word flashed in lightning,
Beautiful, bountiful, bright,
And night was the name of the darkness,
And day was the name of the light.
This is the story of Moses—
(Doubt it, if ever you can)—
The world was too good to begin with,
So God made Adam, the man;
And for Adam He made the woman,
And He gave them laws to obey;
And, lastly, He sent the serpent
To follow and tempt and betray.
(Doubt it, if ever you can)—
The world was too good to begin with,
So God made Adam, the man;
And for Adam He made the woman,
And He gave them laws to obey;
And, lastly, He sent the serpent
To follow and tempt and betray.
This is the story of Moses—
Eve got a man from the Lord,
And his name was Cain, and another
Called Abel, the evil-starred;
And the brothers quarreled at their worship,
And Abel, the meek, was slain,
And Death shook hands with the slayer,
His first and best friend, Cain.
Eve got a man from the Lord,
And his name was Cain, and another
Called Abel, the evil-starred;
And the brothers quarreled at their worship,
And Abel, the meek, was slain,
And Death shook hands with the slayer,
His first and best friend, Cain.
PARTHENOPE TO ULYSSES.
O king! what is the quest that evermore
Foredooms thy feet to roam, yet blinds thine eyes?
Why seek ye still for life's imperfect prize,
Or turn thy weary sail from shore to shore,
When here thou layest aside the ills of yore
To calm thy soul with dreams? Let it suffice—
This heart-sick burden of the worldly-wise—
That ye have borne it and the task is o'er,
Here see the world fade like a spark of fire,
While all thy restless ways grow full of peace,
And wear the fittest crown for them that tire
Their souls with life's unraveled mysteries,—
Above the old red roses of desire
The languid lotus of desire's surcease!
Foredooms thy feet to roam, yet blinds thine eyes?
Why seek ye still for life's imperfect prize,
Or turn thy weary sail from shore to shore,
When here thou layest aside the ills of yore
To calm thy soul with dreams? Let it suffice—
This heart-sick burden of the worldly-wise—
That ye have borne it and the task is o'er,
Here see the world fade like a spark of fire,
While all thy restless ways grow full of peace,
And wear the fittest crown for them that tire
Their souls with life's unraveled mysteries,—
Above the old red roses of desire
The languid lotus of desire's surcease!
DEATH.
I am the outer gate of life where sit
Faith and Unfaith, those two interpreters
That spell in diverse ways what God has writ
In symbols on the archway of the years.
Faith and Unfaith, those two interpreters
That spell in diverse ways what God has writ
In symbols on the archway of the years.
Backward I swing for many feet to pass;
Some come in stormy haste, some grave and slow,
And all like windy shadows on the grass:
Beyond my pale I know not where they go.
Some come in stormy haste, some grave and slow,
And all like windy shadows on the grass:
Beyond my pale I know not where they go.
THE LIGHT CELESTIAL.
(Written on the ter-centenary of John Milton, December 9, 1908.)
Immortal singer, in whose glorious brain
Unearthly melodies were born to make
A nocturn for the blessed Master's sake,
I see thee pass through heaven's gates again;
I hear thee singing that majestic strain,
Which soothed the heart affliction could not break,
And proved the faith no worldly ills could shake;
And then I see thee join God's holy train,
But, wonder of all wonders! where the light
Breaks from a thousand suns, the seraphs, shod
With flaming sandals, lead thee; and my sight
Dims with the vision, till fresh from His rod,
I see thee lift those orbs, once quenched in night,
And gaze into the steadfast eyes of God!
Unearthly melodies were born to make
A nocturn for the blessed Master's sake,
I see thee pass through heaven's gates again;
I hear thee singing that majestic strain,
Which soothed the heart affliction could not break,
And proved the faith no worldly ills could shake;
And then I see thee join God's holy train,
But, wonder of all wonders! where the light
Breaks from a thousand suns, the seraphs, shod
With flaming sandals, lead thee; and my sight
Dims with the vision, till fresh from His rod,
I see thee lift those orbs, once quenched in night,
And gaze into the steadfast eyes of God!
CUPID TO A SKULL.
I came your way in the years gone by,
In the summers that now are old,
And then there was light in your beaming eye,
And love was living and hopes were high
At the Sign of the Heart of Gold.
In the summers that now are old,
And then there was light in your beaming eye,
And love was living and hopes were high
At the Sign of the Heart of Gold.
I come today and the lights are fled,
And the trail of the mold and rust
Has saddened the hall where the feast was spread,
And love has vanished and youth is dead
At the Sign of the Heart of Dust.
And the trail of the mold and rust
Has saddened the hall where the feast was spread,
And love has vanished and youth is dead
At the Sign of the Heart of Dust.
THE PASSING RACE.
I.
Silent as ever, stoic as of old,
The scattered nomads of that dusky race
Whose story shall forever be untold,
Sit mid the ruins of their dwelling place
And watch the white man's empire grow apace.
Passive as one who knows his earthly doom,
And only waits with calm but hopeless face
The while the seasons go with blight and bloom,
So live they day by day beside their nation's tomb.
The scattered nomads of that dusky race
Whose story shall forever be untold,
Sit mid the ruins of their dwelling place
And watch the white man's empire grow apace.
Passive as one who knows his earthly doom,
And only waits with calm but hopeless face
The while the seasons go with blight and bloom,
So live they day by day beside their nation's tomb.
II.
In the deep woods and by the rolling streams
They made their home, and knew no other clime;
They lived their lives and dreamed barbaric dreams,
Nor heard the menace of relentless Time
As on his thunderous legions swept sublime
Bearing the torch of progress through the night,
Till lo! the primal wastes were all a-chime
With traffic's strange new music, and the might
Of busy hordes that wrought to spread the new-born light.
They made their home, and knew no other clime;
They lived their lives and dreamed barbaric dreams,
Nor heard the menace of relentless Time
As on his thunderous legions swept sublime
Bearing the torch of progress through the night,
Till lo! the primal wastes were all a-chime
With traffic's strange new music, and the might
Of busy hordes that wrought to spread the new-born light.
III.
They were strange wanderers on life's sad deep,
And paused a moment in God's mystic plan
A little vigil on time's shores to keep,
Then passed forever from the tribes of man.
They heard a voice and a strange face did scan,
And what of conquest or of kingly sway
Had filled their dreams, they gave the white man's clan,
And with the dawning of a wondrous day,
They spread their sails again and, voiceless, passed away.
And paused a moment in God's mystic plan
A little vigil on time's shores to keep,
Then passed forever from the tribes of man.
They heard a voice and a strange face did scan,
And what of conquest or of kingly sway
Had filled their dreams, they gave the white man's clan,
And with the dawning of a wondrous day,
They spread their sails again and, voiceless, passed away.
IV.
Silent as ever, stoic as of old,
Their children sit with empty hands to wait
The sequel that the future shall unfold,—
The unwritten "Finis" of remorseless fate.
Vanquished they stand before oblivion's gate,
Knowing that soon the everlasting seal
Of destiny shall all obliterate
Their finished story, which, for woe or weal,
Shall be with Him who writ to hide or to reveal.
Their children sit with empty hands to wait
The sequel that the future shall unfold,—
The unwritten "Finis" of remorseless fate.
Vanquished they stand before oblivion's gate,
Knowing that soon the everlasting seal
Of destiny shall all obliterate
Their finished story, which, for woe or weal,
Shall be with Him who writ to hide or to reveal.
KENOTAPHION.
O wanderer! whoever thou mayest be,
I beg of thee to pass in silence here
And leave me with my empty sepulchre
Beside the ceaseless turmoil of the sea;
Pass me as one whom life's old tragedy
Hath made distraught—who now in dreams doth keep
His cherished dead, unmindful of her sleep
In ocean's bosom locked eternally!
Scorn not the foolish grave that I have made
Beside the deep sea of my soul's unrest,
But let me hope that when the storms are stayed
My phantom ship shall sail from out the west
Bringing the boon for which I long have prayed—
The broken vigil and the ended quest.
I beg of thee to pass in silence here
And leave me with my empty sepulchre
Beside the ceaseless turmoil of the sea;
Pass me as one whom life's old tragedy
Hath made distraught—who now in dreams doth keep
His cherished dead, unmindful of her sleep
In ocean's bosom locked eternally!
Scorn not the foolish grave that I have made
Beside the deep sea of my soul's unrest,
But let me hope that when the storms are stayed
My phantom ship shall sail from out the west
Bringing the boon for which I long have prayed—
The broken vigil and the ended quest.
THE RED CROSS.
St. George, I learned to love thee in my youth
When of thy deeds I read in deathless song;
And now, when I behold the dragon Wrong
Hard by the castle-gates of Love and Truth,
I feel the world's great need of thee, forsooth,
To strike the heavy blow delayed too long.
Then turning from the mediæval throng,
Where thou wert bravest, yet the first in ruth,
I watch thy votaries by land and sea
Armed with thy sacred sign go forth to fight
Anew the battle of humanity
Beneath the flag of mercy and of right;
No holier band a holier realm e'er trod
Than this—the world's knight-errantry of God!
When of thy deeds I read in deathless song;
And now, when I behold the dragon Wrong
Hard by the castle-gates of Love and Truth,
I feel the world's great need of thee, forsooth,
To strike the heavy blow delayed too long.
Then turning from the mediæval throng,
Where thou wert bravest, yet the first in ruth,
I watch thy votaries by land and sea
Armed with thy sacred sign go forth to fight
Anew the battle of humanity
Beneath the flag of mercy and of right;
No holier band a holier realm e'er trod
Than this—the world's knight-errantry of God!
MIDSUMMER NOON.
Through shimmering skies the big clouds slowly sail;
A faint breeze lingers in the rustling beech;
Atop the withered oak with vagrant speech
The brawling crows call down the sleepy vale;
Unseen the glad cicadas trill their tale
Of deep content in changeless vibrant screech,
And where the old fence rambles out of reach,
The drowsy lizard hugs the shaded rail.
Warm odors from the hayfield wander by,
Afar the homing reaper's noontide tune
Floats on the mellow stillness like a sigh;
One butterfly, ghost of a vanished June,
Soars dimly where in realms of purple sky
Dips the wan crescent of the vapory moon.
A faint breeze lingers in the rustling beech;
Atop the withered oak with vagrant speech
The brawling crows call down the sleepy vale;
Unseen the glad cicadas trill their tale
Of deep content in changeless vibrant screech,
And where the old fence rambles out of reach,
The drowsy lizard hugs the shaded rail.
Warm odors from the hayfield wander by,
Afar the homing reaper's noontide tune
Floats on the mellow stillness like a sigh;
One butterfly, ghost of a vanished June,
Soars dimly where in realms of purple sky
Dips the wan crescent of the vapory moon.
THE SNOW MAN.
Poor shape grotesque that careless hands have wrought!
Frail wistful thing, left gaping at the sun
With empty grin, 'tis well no blood shall run
Within thy frozen veins, no kindling thought
Light up those eyeless sockets wherein naught
But hate could dwell if once they flashed the fire
Of being, or the doom-gift of Desire
Should curse thy life, unbidden and unsought.
Poor snow man with thy tattered hat awry,
And broomstick musket toppling from thy hands,
'Tis well thou hast no language to decry
Thy poor creator or his vain commands;
No tear to shed that thou so soon must die,
No voice to lift in prayer where no god understands!
Frail wistful thing, left gaping at the sun
With empty grin, 'tis well no blood shall run
Within thy frozen veins, no kindling thought
Light up those eyeless sockets wherein naught
But hate could dwell if once they flashed the fire
Of being, or the doom-gift of Desire
Should curse thy life, unbidden and unsought.
Poor snow man with thy tattered hat awry,
And broomstick musket toppling from thy hands,
'Tis well thou hast no language to decry
Thy poor creator or his vain commands;
No tear to shed that thou so soon must die,
No voice to lift in prayer where no god understands!
OUR SISTER OF THE STREETS.
She comes not with the conscious grace
Of gentle, winsome womanhood,
Nor yet, withal, the flaunting face
Of men and women understood,
But rather as a thing apart,
A wind-blown petal of a rose,
A specter with a specter's heart
That cometh once—and goes.
Of gentle, winsome womanhood,
Nor yet, withal, the flaunting face
Of men and women understood,
But rather as a thing apart,
A wind-blown petal of a rose,
A specter with a specter's heart
That cometh once—and goes.
Her eyes some trace of cold, white light
Within their haunted depths still hold,
Though hunger's fever made them bright,
And lack of pity made them cold.
We know her when she passes by,
Whom no one loves or chides or greets—
The woman with the cold, bright eye—
Our sister of the streets.
Within their haunted depths still hold,
Though hunger's fever made them bright,
And lack of pity made them cold.
We know her when she passes by,
Whom no one loves or chides or greets—
The woman with the cold, bright eye—
Our sister of the streets.
We know the tawdry arts she tries,
The tint of cheek, the gold of hair,
To mimic nature for the eyes
Of those who scorn her paltry care,
And spurn those charms—if aught abide
Within her beauty's narrowed scope—
Now touched with less a wanton's pride
Than with an outcast's hope.
The tint of cheek, the gold of hair,
To mimic nature for the eyes
Of those who scorn her paltry care,
And spurn those charms—if aught abide
Within her beauty's narrowed scope—
Now touched with less a wanton's pride
Than with an outcast's hope.
THE EARTHWORM AND THE STAR.
An Earthworm once loved a Star. In the hush of the summer night,
He lay quite close to the ground and gazed on its golden light;
He looked from his house of clay, and dreamed of wonderful things,
Till, lo! (as he thought) his longing brought forth miraculous wings.
He lay quite close to the ground and gazed on its golden light;
He looked from his house of clay, and dreamed of wonderful things,
Till, lo! (as he thought) his longing brought forth miraculous wings.
The Butterfly soared in the air, straight toward the beckoning spark;
His wings grew weary and chill, but the Star smiled through the dark;
His wings grew heavy and cold, the wings that he dreamed love gave,
And he folded them there in the starlight, and the dust became his grave.
His wings grew weary and chill, but the Star smiled through the dark;
His wings grew heavy and cold, the wings that he dreamed love gave,
And he folded them there in the starlight, and the dust became his grave.
THE RIDDLE OF THE SPHINX.
From age to age the haggard human train
Creeps wearily across Time's burning sands
To look into her face, and lift weak hands
In supplication to the calm disdain
That crowns her stony brow.... But all in vain
The riddle of mortality they try:
Doom speaks still from her unrelenting eye—
Doom deep as passion, infinite as pain.
From age to age the voice of Love is heard
Pleading above the tumult of the throng,
But evermore the inexorable word
Comes like the tragic burden of a song.
"The answer is the same," the stern voice saith:
"Death yesterday, today and still tomorrow—Death!"
Creeps wearily across Time's burning sands
To look into her face, and lift weak hands
In supplication to the calm disdain
That crowns her stony brow.... But all in vain
The riddle of mortality they try:
Doom speaks still from her unrelenting eye—
Doom deep as passion, infinite as pain.
From age to age the voice of Love is heard
Pleading above the tumult of the throng,
But evermore the inexorable word
Comes like the tragic burden of a song.
"The answer is the same," the stern voice saith:
"Death yesterday, today and still tomorrow—Death!"
THE MOTHERS.
Beyond the tumult and the proud acclaim,
Beyond the circle where the glory beats
With withering light upon the mighty seats,
They hear the far-resounding trump of fame;
On other lips they hear the one-loved name
In vaunting or derision, and they weep
To know that they shall never lull to sleep
Those tired heads, crowned with desolating flame.
Beyond the hot arena's baleful glow,
Beyond the towering pomp they dimly see,
They sit and watch the fateful pageants go
Through war's red arch, or up to Calvary,
The First Love still within their hearts impearled—
Mothers of all the masters of the world!
Beyond the circle where the glory beats
With withering light upon the mighty seats,
They hear the far-resounding trump of fame;
On other lips they hear the one-loved name
In vaunting or derision, and they weep
To know that they shall never lull to sleep
Those tired heads, crowned with desolating flame.
Beyond the hot arena's baleful glow,
Beyond the towering pomp they dimly see,
They sit and watch the fateful pageants go
Through war's red arch, or up to Calvary,
The First Love still within their hearts impearled—
Mothers of all the masters of the world!
IN THE NIGHT.
The Child.
I hear you weeping, mother, dear,—
I hear you wake and weep;
What brings the tears into your eyes
When you should be asleep?
I hear my name upon your lips;
What is it that you say
Of one who broke a trusting heart,
But now is far away?
I hear you wake and weep;
What brings the tears into your eyes
When you should be asleep?
I hear my name upon your lips;
What is it that you say
Of one who broke a trusting heart,
But now is far away?
The Mother.
I weep for you, my pretty lass,
Frail flower of love unblessed,
Because I can not always hold
You close unto my breast;
I weep that you some day must go
Alone your way to find,
For, oh, you have your mother's eyes,
And men are seldom kind!
Frail flower of love unblessed,
Because I can not always hold
You close unto my breast;
I weep that you some day must go
Alone your way to find,
For, oh, you have your mother's eyes,
And men are seldom kind!
FORGIVEN.
I might have met his anger with a smile
For so it was that I had set my heart
To mask deception with a wanton's guile,
And save the tears that now begin to start.
For so it was that I had set my heart
To mask deception with a wanton's guile,
And save the tears that now begin to start.
I might have worn my guilty crown of thorn,—
Yea, even worn it gladly like a prize;
But, oh! more bitter than his rage or scorn,
He left me with forgiveness in his eyes.
Yea, even worn it gladly like a prize;
But, oh! more bitter than his rage or scorn,
He left me with forgiveness in his eyes.
A WOMAN, AND SOME MEN.
Once in a dream of Babylon
I sat with Lilith and Cain
At the world-old drama, "From God to God,"
In the House of Things Profane;
Trumpets and lights, and the players
Swung to the stage, and then
I saw as I looked in their faces
A woman, and some men.
I sat with Lilith and Cain
At the world-old drama, "From God to God,"
In the House of Things Profane;
Trumpets and lights, and the players
Swung to the stage, and then
I saw as I looked in their faces
A woman, and some men.
Men with the eyes of the psalmist,
Men with the hearts of Saul,
Strong with the wine of valor,
But faint with the woman's thrall;
Calm were her eyes as she held them
Charmed to her soulless sway,
For she had the face of the Magdalene,
And the heart of Aholiba.
Men with the hearts of Saul,
Strong with the wine of valor,
But faint with the woman's thrall;
Calm were her eyes as she held them
Charmed to her soulless sway,
For she had the face of the Magdalene,
And the heart of Aholiba.
Wine and kisses and gusty words,
Kisses and wine again,
And her lips and brow were red with stains
From the hairy mouths of men,
Red as the stain on the brow of Cain
That burned with his Maker's hate,
Or the lips of the witch that Adam loved
Ere God revealed his mate.
Kisses and wine again,
And her lips and brow were red with stains
From the hairy mouths of men,
Red as the stain on the brow of Cain
That burned with his Maker's hate,
Or the lips of the witch that Adam loved
Ere God revealed his mate.
Trumpets and lights and the players
Swung from the stage, and then
The curtain fell on the drama
Of a woman and some men;
While cleaving the dome of the temple
Fell the Avenger's rod,
And lo! when I looked again I saw
We were face to face with God.
Swung from the stage, and then
The curtain fell on the drama
Of a woman and some men;
While cleaving the dome of the temple
Fell the Avenger's rod,
And lo! when I looked again I saw
We were face to face with God.
And Lilith, the witch, dropped down and prayed
That her child a soul might have,
And the blood red stain on the brow of Cain
Be wiped out in the grave;
And this was my dream of Babylon
When I sat with Lilith and Cain
At the world-old drama, "From God to God,"
In the House of Things Profane.
That her child a soul might have,
And the blood red stain on the brow of Cain
Be wiped out in the grave;
And this was my dream of Babylon
When I sat with Lilith and Cain
At the world-old drama, "From God to God,"
In the House of Things Profane.
THE NEWLY DEAD.
I.
With the light just quenched in their eyes
They lie in their graves 'neath the skies,
And the fresh clod rests
Heavy upon their breasts.
The white rose dies
Upon the new-made mound, and underneath
The lily shrivels in the shriveling hand.
Pale guests of sovereign Death,
They sought their silent beds at his command,
And it seems
Strange that their life-long dreams
Shall find them no more,—never bid them arise
And go forth with a glory in their eyes.
They lie in their graves 'neath the skies,
And the fresh clod rests
Heavy upon their breasts.
The white rose dies
Upon the new-made mound, and underneath
The lily shrivels in the shriveling hand.
Pale guests of sovereign Death,
They sought their silent beds at his command,
And it seems
Strange that their life-long dreams
Shall find them no more,—never bid them arise
And go forth with a glory in their eyes.
II.
Still, voiceless, cold,
They lie in their shrouds and hold
The crumbling links that make
A chain for Memory's sake,
Broken, alas! too soon.
Blithe morn and brazen noon
And eve with garb of gray and gold,
Know them no more in the dark ways they take.
They have forgot the sun,
And the fiery worlds that run
About it. Something—(what, let no man say,)—
Begot of mystery is in mystery done:
The rest shall be with them and God alway.
They lie in their shrouds and hold
The crumbling links that make
A chain for Memory's sake,
Broken, alas! too soon.
Blithe morn and brazen noon
And eve with garb of gray and gold,
Know them no more in the dark ways they take.
They have forgot the sun,
And the fiery worlds that run
About it. Something—(what, let no man say,)—
Begot of mystery is in mystery done:
The rest shall be with them and God alway.
THE FIRST BORN.
I.
"He has eyes like the Christ,"
The mother said, and smiled;
"He will be wise and good,
My wondering little child.
God grant him strength to do
Whate'er his tasks may be,
But spare him, if Thou wilt,
O, spare him Calvary!"
The mother said, and smiled;
"He will be wise and good,
My wondering little child.
God grant him strength to do
Whate'er his tasks may be,
But spare him, if Thou wilt,
O, spare him Calvary!"
II.
Grim where the black bars cast
Their shadows o'er his bed,
He waits to pay the cost
Of blood his hands have shed.
The mother kneels and sobs:
"God, he shall always be,
In spite of Cain's red brand,
A stainless child to me."
Their shadows o'er his bed,
He waits to pay the cost
Of blood his hands have shed.
The mother kneels and sobs:
"God, he shall always be,
In spite of Cain's red brand,
A stainless child to me."
THE VOICE OF THE NORTH.
You have builded your ships in the sun-lands,
And launched them with song and wine;
They are boweled with your stanchest engines,
And masted with bravest pine;
You have met in your closet councils,
With your plans and your prayers to God
For a fortunate wind to waft you
Where never a foot has trod.
And launched them with song and wine;
They are boweled with your stanchest engines,
And masted with bravest pine;
You have met in your closet councils,
With your plans and your prayers to God
For a fortunate wind to waft you
Where never a foot has trod.
And now you follow the polar star
To the seat of the old Norse Kings,
Past the death-white halls of Valhalla,
Where the Norn to the tempest sings—
Follow the steady needle
That cleaves to its steady star
To the uttermost realms of Odin
And the warlike thunderer, Thor.
To the seat of the old Norse Kings,
Past the death-white halls of Valhalla,
Where the Norn to the tempest sings—
Follow the steady needle
That cleaves to its steady star
To the uttermost realms of Odin
And the warlike thunderer, Thor.
Far through the icy silence,
Where the glacier's teeth hang white,
And even the sun-god Baldur,
Looks down in vague affright,
You flutter like startled spectres,
With a prayer on your lips for the goal—
To stand for one thrilling moment
At the awful, nameless Pole.
Where the glacier's teeth hang white,
And even the sun-god Baldur,
Looks down in vague affright,
You flutter like startled spectres,
With a prayer on your lips for the goal—
To stand for one thrilling moment
At the awful, nameless Pole.
1903
TO C. 33.
(Oscar Wilde.)