Poems of Experience

All in the time when Earth did most deplore
   The cold, ungracious aspect of young May,
Sweet Summer came, and bade him smile once more;
   She wove bright garlands, and in winsome play
   She bound him willing captive.  Day by day
She found new wiles wherewith his heart to please;
   Or bright the sun, or if the skies were gray,
They laughed together, under spreading trees,
By running brooks, or on the sandy shores of seas.

One golden day, as he reclined beneath
   The arching azure of enchanting skies,
Fair Summer came, engirdled with a wreath
   Of gorgeous leaves all scintillant with dyes.
   Effulgent was she; yet within her eyes,
There hung a quivering mist of tears unshed.
   Her crimson-mantled bosom shook with sighs;
Above him bent the glory of her head;
And on his mouth she pressed a splendid kiss, and fled.

All roads that lead to God are good;
   What matters it, your faith, or mine;
   Both centre at the goal divine
Of love’s eternal Brotherhood.

The kindly life in house or street;
   The life of prayer, and mystic rite;
   The student’s search for truth and light;
These paths at one great junction meet.

Before the oldest book was writ,
   Full many a prehistoric soul
   Arrived at this unchanging goal,
Through changeless love, that led to it.

What matters that one found his Christ
   In rising sun, or burning fire;
   If faith within him did not tire,
His longing for the truth sufficed.

A thousand creeds have come and gone;
   But what is that to you or me?
   Creeds are but branches of a tree,
The root of love lives on and on.

Though branch by branch proves withered wood,
   The root is warm with precious wine;
   Then keep your faith, and leave me mine;
All roads that lead to God are good.

Then next I heard the roar of mills; and moving through the noise,
Like phantoms in an underworld, were little girls and boys.
Their backs were bent, their brows were pale, their eyes were sad and old;
But by the labour of their hands greed added gold to gold.
Again the Presence and the Voice: ‘Behold the crimes I see,
As ye have done it unto these, so have ye done to me.’

Oh! by and by we shall hear the cry,
   ‘This is the way to Mars.’
Come take a trip, on the morning Ship;
   It sails by the Isle of Stars.

‘A glorious view of planets new
   We promise by night and day.
Past dying suns our good ship runs,
   And we pause at the Milky Way.’

I am almost sure we will take that tour
   Together, my dear, my dear.
For, ever have we, by land and sea,
   Gone journeying far and near.

Out over the deep—o’er mountain steep,
   We have travelled mile on mile;
And to sail away to the Martian Bay,
   Oh! that were a trip worth while.

Through the nebulous spawn where planets are born,
   We shall pass with sails well furled,
And with eager eyes we will scan the skies,
   For the sights of a new-made world.

From the derelict barque of a sun gone dark,
   Adrift on our fair ship’s path,
A beacon star shall guide us afar,
   And far from the comet’s wrath.

Oh! many a start of pulse and heart
   We have felt at the sights of land.
But what would we do if the dream came true,
   And we sighted the Martian strand?

So, if some day you come and say,
   They are sailing to Mars, I hear.
I want you to know I am ready to go,—
   All ready, my dear, my dear.

In books I read, how men have lived and died,
   With hopeless love deep in their bosoms hidden.
While she for whom they long in secret sighed,
   Went on her way, nor guessed this flame unbidden.

In real life, I never chanced to see
   The woman who was loved, and did not know it,
And observation proves this fact to me:
   No man can love a woman and not show it.

There is no progress in the world of bees,
However wise and wonderful they are.
Their wisdom makes not increase.  Lies the bar,
To wider goals, in that tense strife to please
A Sovereign Ruler?  Forth from flowers to trees
Their little quest is; not from star to star.
This is not growth; the mighty avatar
Comes not to do his work with such as these.

So in the world of men; when legions toil
To feed a Monarch, and begem a crown,
They build before high heaven a narrowing wall
And the great purpose of Creation spoil.
Not on, and upward, is the trend, but down;
The Race can rise but with the rise of all.

The roses all were pink and red,
Before the Bumble Bee,
A lover bold, with cloak of gold,
Came singing merrily
Along the sunlit ways that led
From woodland, and from lea.

He paused beside an opening rose,
The garden’s pet and pride;
She burst in flower that very hour,
While wooing zephyrs sighed;
No smile had she for one of those,
And hope within them died.

The ardent butterfly in vain
On radiant wings drew near;
The hapless moth in vain grew wroth—
The fair rose leaned to hear
The deep-voiced stranger’s low refrain
That thrilled upon her ear.

I look to Science for the cure of Crime;
To patient righting of a thousand wrongs;
To final healing of a thousand ills.
Blind runner now, and cruel egotist
It yet leads on to more than mortal sight,
And the large knowledge that means humbleness,
And tender love for all created things.

I look to Science for the Coming Race
Growing from seed selected; and from soil
Love fertilised; and pruned by wisdom’s hand,
Till out of mortal man spring demi-gods,
Strong primal creatures with awakened souls
And normal passions, governed by the will,
Leaving a trail of glory where they tread.

They prize not most the opulence of June
Who from the year’s beginning to its close
Dwell, where unfading verdure tireless grows,
And where sweet summer’s harp is kept in tune.
We must have listened to the winter’s rune,
And felt impatient longings for the rose,
Ere its full radiance on our vision glows,
Or with its fragrant soul, we can commune.

Not they most prize life’s blessings, and delights,
Who walk in safe and sunny paths alway.
But those, who, groping in the darkness, borrow
Pale rays from hope, to lead them through the night,
And in the long, long watches wait for day.
He knows not joy who has not first known sorrow.

I love the tropics, where sun and rain
Go forth together, a joyous train,
To hold up the green, gay side of the world,
And to keep earth’s banners of bloom unfurled.

I love the scents that are hidden there
By housekeeper Time, in her chests of air:
Strange and subtle and all a-rife,
With vague lost dreams of a bygone life.

They steal upon you by night and day,
But never a whiff can you take away:
And never a song of a tropic bird
Outside of its palm-decked land is heard.

And nowhere else can you know the sweet
Soft, ‘joy-in-nothing,’ that comes with the heat
Of tropic regions.  And yet, and yet,
If in evergreen worlds my way were set

Oh, never is felt in a tropic clime,
Where the singing of birds is a ceaseless chime,
That leap o’ the blood, and the rapture thrill,
That comes to us here, with the first bird’s trill;
And only the eye that has looked on snows
Can see the beauty that lies in a rose.
The lure of the tropics I understand,
But ho! for the Spring in my native land.

A drop of water risen from the ocean
Forgot its cause, and spake with deep emotion
Unto a passing breeze.  ‘How desolate
And all forlorn is my unhappy fate.
I know not whence I came, or where I go.
Scorched by the sun, or chilled by winds that blow,
I dwell in space a little time, then pass
Out into the night and nothingness—alas!’

‘Nay,’ quoth the breeze, ‘my friend, that cannot be.
Thou dost reflect the Universe to me.
Look at thine own true self, and there behold
A world of light, all scintillant with gold.’
Just there the drop sank back into the wave
From whence it came.  Nay, that was not its grave!

Oh! I feel the growing glory
Of our life upon this sphere,
Of the life that like a river
Runs forever and forever,
From the somewhere to the here,
And still on and onward flowing,
Leads us out to larger knowing,
Through the hidden, to the clear.

And I feel a deep thanksgiving
For the sorrows I have known;
For the worries and the crosses,
And the grieving and the losses,
That along my path were sown.
Now the great eternal meaning
Of each trouble I am gleaning,
And the harvest is my own.

And I feel the exaltation
Of a child that loves its play,
Though the ranks of friends are thinning,
Still the end is but beginning
Of a larger, fuller day,
And the joy of life is spilling
From my spirit, as all willing
I go speeding on my way.

So much one thought about the life beyond
He did not drain the waters of his pond;
And when death laid his children ’neath the sod
He called it—‘the mysterious will of God.’
He would not strive for worldly gain, not he.
His wealth, he said, was stored in God’s To Be.
He kept his mortal body poorly drest,
And talked about the garments of the blest.
And when to his last sleep he laid him down,
His only mourner begged her widow’s gown.

‘Only be still, and in the silence grow,’
If thou art seeking what the gods bestow.
   This is the simple, safe, and certain way
   That leads to knowledge for which all men pray
Of higher laws to govern things below.

But in our restless discontent we go
   With noisy importuning day on day—
   Drowning the inner voice that strives to say
‘Only be still, and in the silence grow.’

We doubt, we cavil, and we talk of woe—
We delve in books, and waste our forces so;
   We cling to creeds that were not meant to stay,
   And close our ears to Truth’s immortal lay.
Oh wouldst thou see, and understand, and know?
‘Only be still, and in the silence grow.’

I’m pardoned out.  Again the stars
   Shine on me with their myriad eyes.
So long I’ve peered ’twixt iron bars,
   I’m awed by this expanse of skies.
The world is wider than I thought,
   And yet ’tis not so wide, I know,
But into its remotest spot
   My tale of shame can go.

I’m pardoned out.  Old Father Time
   Who seemed to halt in horror, when
I stained my manhood by a crime,
   With steady step moves on again,
And through the black appalling night,
   That walled me in a gloom accurst,
The wonder of the morning light
   In sudden glory burst.

I’m pardoned out, ah God! to roam
   Like some whipped dog among my kind.
I have no friends, I have no home,
   Save these bleak walls I leave behind.
How can I face the world of men,
   My comrades in the days of yore?
Oh! hide me in my cell again,
   And, warden, lock the door.

Oh, vain is the stern protesting
   Of winds, when the tide runs high;
And vainly the deep-sea waters
   Call out, as the waves speed by;
For, deaf to the claim of the ocean,
   To the threat of the loud winds dumb,
Past reef and bar, to shores afar,
   They rush when the hour is come.

Vainly the tempest thunders,
   Of unsexed waves that roam,
Away from the mid-sea calmness,
   Where Nature made their home.
For the voice of the great Moon-Mother,
   Has spoken and said, ‘Be free.’
And the tide must go to the strong full flow,
   In the time of the perigee.

Many are hurt in the crowding,
   The light of the home burns dim;
And man is aghast at the changes,
   Though all can be traced to him.
They sat too long at the hearthstone,
   And sat too oft alone:
And the silence spoke, and their souls awoke,
   And now they must claim their own.

Let no man hope to hinder,
   Let no man bid them pause:
They are moved by a hidden purpose,
   They follow resistless laws.
And out of the wreck and chaos
   Of the order that used to be,
A strong new race shall take its place
   In a world we are yet to see.

To each progressive soul there comes a day
   When all things that have pleased and satisfied
Grow flavourless, the springs of joy seem dried.
   No more the waters of youth’s fountains play;
Yet out of reach, tiptoeing as they may,
   The more mature and higher pleasures hide.
Life, like a careless nurse, fails to provide
   New toys for those the soul has cast away.

Upon a strange land’s border all alone,
   Awhile it stands dismayed and desolate.
Nude too, since its old garments are outgrown;
   Till clothed with strength befitting its estate,
It grasps at length those raptures that are known
   To souls who learn to labour, and to wait.

Not we who daily walk the city’s street
Not those who have been cradled in its heart,
Best understand its architectural art
Or realise its grandeur.  Oft we meet
Some stranger who has staid his passing feet
And lingered with us for a single hour,
And learned more of cathedral, and of tower,
Than we who deem our knowledge quite complete.

Not always those we hold most loved and dear,
Not always those who dwell with us, know best
Our greater selves.  Because they stand so near
They cannot see the lofty mountain crest,
The gleaming sun-kissed height, which fair and clear
Stands forth—revealed unto the some-time guest.

There is no summit you may not attain,
   No purpose which you may not yet achieve,
   If you will wait serenely and believe.
Each seeming loss is but a step to’rd gain.

Between the mountain-tops lie vale and plain;
   Let nothing make you question, doubt, or grieve;
   Give only good, and good alone receive;
And as you welcome joy, so welcome pain.

That which you most desire awaits your word;
   Throw wide the door and bid it enter in.
Speak, and the strong vibrations shall be stirred;
   Speak, and above earth’s loud, unmeaning din
Your silent declarations shall be heard.
   All things are possible to God’s own kin.

There is a room serene and fair,
All palpitant with light and air;
Free from the dust, world’s noise and fuss—
God’s Tower-room in each of us.

Oh! many a stair our feet must press,
And climb from self to selflessness,
Before we reach that radiant room
Above the discord and the gloom.

So many, many stairs to climb,
But mount them gently—take your time;
Rise leisurely, nor strive to run—
Not so the mightiest feats are done.

Well doing of the little things:
Repression of the word that stings;
The tempest of the mind made still
By victory of the God-like will.

Rise leisurely; the stairs once trod
Reveal the mountain peaks of God;
And from its upper room the soul
Sees all, in one united whole.

He never made a fortune, or a noise
In the world where men are seeking after fame;
But he had a healthy brood of girls and boys
Who loved the very ground on which he trod.
They thought him just a little short of God;
Oh you should have heard the way they said his name—
   ‘Father.’

There seemed to be a loving little prayer
In their voices, even when they called him ‘Dad.’
Though the man was never heard of anywhere,
As a hero, yet you somehow understood
He was doing well his part and making good;
And you knew it, by the way his children had
   Of saying ‘Father.’

He never preached or scolded; and the rod—
Well, he used it as a turning pole in play.
But he showed the tender sympathy of God
To his children in their troubles, and their joys.
He was always chum and comrade with his boys,
And his daughters—oh, you ought to hear them say
   ‘Father.’

Now I think of all achievements ’tis the least
To perpetuate the species; it is done
By the insect and the serpent, and the beast.
But the man who keeps his body, and his thought,
Worth bestowing on an offspring love-begot,
Then the highest earthly glory he has won,
When in pride a grown-up daughter or a son
   Says ‘That’s Father.’

EXPLANATORY

Kamehameha First, of the Hawaiian Islands, conquered his foes in a great battle, driving them over the high mountain peak known as Pali—one of the famous scenic views of the world, and the goal of all visitors in Honolulu.

The Hula (pronounced hoola) was the national muscle and abdominal dance of Hawaii, and the late King Kalakua was its enthusiastic patron.  The costume of the dancers was composed chiefly of skirts of grass.  The Hula (so attired) is now forbidden by law.  The Hula Kui is a modification of the dance and exceedingly graceful.

Many charming young self-supporting woman in Honolulu trace their ancestry back to Kamehameha with great pride.  The chant is a weird sing-song which relates the conquests of the race.

It is the custom in Honolulu to present guests at feasts and festivals, or departing visitors, with long wreaths of natural flowers, and which are worn by men, as well as women, about the head, hat, and neck.  These wreaths, called lais (pronounced lays), sometimes reach below the waist.

The flower-sellers are one of the national features of Honolulu.

Scene made to represent grounds at Hawaiian hotel.  Sort of open café or pavilion with palms, vines, and tropic flowers.  Ralph sitting alone with a dreamy air.

Enter Ethel—in short travelling suit—typical American girl—blonde and petite.

Oh, here you are.  Your sister and your mother
Commissioned me detective, sleuth, and spy,
To find the disappearing son and brother;
And tell him that the time is slipping by.
Our boat will sail in just two hours, you know.
Dear Honolulu, how I hate to go.

Ralph

Don’t mention it; I shun the very thought.

Ethel

You see this is the sort of thing one hears
And don’t believe, until one sees the spot.
We left New York in snow up to its ears;
And now a Paradise! the palm, the rose,
The Boaganvillia, and the breath of summer.

Ralph

I tell you, Honolulu is a hummer.
It pays for six long days upon the ocean—
And those sad memories of a ship’s queer motion

There’s one thing, though, that’s disappointed me,—
The much exploited Honolulu maid.
I haven’t seen a beauty in the town.

Ralph

They’re thick as ripe bananas on a tree.
You have not been observing, I’m afraid.

Ethel (shrugging her shoulders)

Oh well, tastes differ; I don’t care for brown,
At least for this pronounced Hawaiian shade;
I really can’t imagine how a man
Could love a girl dyed to a chronic tan.

Ralph

Some one has said, ‘Love goes where it is sent.’

Ethel (sadly)

I think that true; one can not guide its bent.
But I must go; and will you come along?
Your mother said to bring you.

Ralph

[Exit Ethel, looking disappointed.

Ralph (sitting down in a reverie)

A nice girl, Ethel; but, by Jove, it’s queer
The way a fellow’s stubborn mind will turn
To something that he should forget.  That face—
I saw once on a San Francisco street,
How well I do recall the time and place.
‘A girl from Honolulu,’ some one said.
I wonder where she is now!  Married?  Dead?

[A silent reverie for a moment.  Then speaks again.]

I planned this trip with just one crazy thought—
To look upon that strange girl’s face once more.
That is the luny project which has brought
The four of us to this idyllic shore.

[Laughs and lights a cigar.]

My scheme was worked with such consummate care
That mother thinks she planned the whole affair.
Then she invited Ethel as her guest.

[Silence for a moment.]

Well, sometimes mothers know just what is best
For wayward sons.

[Reverie.  A chant is heard outside.  The man listens.  The chant ceases and then a maiden slowly approaches calling out her flower wares, which she carries in a basket; she wears several lais herself, on hat and neck.  She does not observe the man at first.]

Flower Girl (calls in a musical voice)

Lais, lais, royal lais, beautiful flowers in bloom;
Colours of splendour, fragrance so tender,
Blossoms to brighten your room;
Lais, lais, royal lais, who buys—

Ralph (leans forward and says aside)

(Eve and the serpent meet in Paradise.)

[He moves forward as the maid enters the doorway.  Recognition shows in both faces.  Then the maiden recovers her self-possession and starts to go.]

I’ll buy you out, in case you then are free
To stay awhile, beneath this banyan tree,
And tell me all about your lovely land.

Flower Girl (with dignity)

Your pardon, sir, I do not understand.

Ralph (who seems drunk with exhilaration)

Oh well, ’tis plain enough; from realms of snow
I landed here, some little time ago,
A lonely orphan, without kith or kin.
I need a friend.

[Flower Girl gives him an indignant, surprised glance.  Then speaks with quiet sarcasm.]

   Sir, they will take you in
On Hotel Street.  The Y.M.C.A. there
Shelters all homeless youths within its pale.

Ralph (shaking his head sadly)

They wouldn’t take me in.  I am from Yale.

Girl (with mock sympathy)

Ralph (reproachfully)

You’re making game
Of me, and of my College, cruel girl.

[Approaches her excitedly.]

Come, drop those flowers, and let us have a whirl.
I’ll give you both the Yale Yell and the Boola,
If you will dance for me your famous Hula.

Girl (drawing back haughtily)

I dance the Hula?  You mistake, my friend;
You heard my chant, but did not comprehend
The meaning of it.  Hark, while I repeat it.

[Repeats the chant.]

Ralph (puzzled)

I’m sure there’s nothing in the world can beat it;
But—er—the language is a little queer;
I did not quite catch all the words, I fear;
Besides, I’m so distracted by your face.

That chant relates the conquests of my race;
Though I am poor, and hawk about these lais
To earn my bread, yet in the olden days
There was no prouder family on earth
Than mine.  But Polynesian pride of birth
Is quite beyond the white man’s scope of brain,
And so perchance I speak to you in vain.

[Takes her flowers and starts to go.]

Ralph (intercepts her)

Great Scott! but you are splendid when you’re mad
Now, please, don’t go; I’m really not so bad:
I don’t mean half I say.

Girl (turns blazing eyes upon him)

[Turns her back upon him and starts to go.]

Ralph (pleadingly)

Oh, say now, let a fellow have a show.
I never meant to rouse your anger so;
I only meant—I—well, you see the change
Of climate was so sudden; and the strange
And gorgeous scenery, and your glorious eyes
Upset my brain.  But you have put me wise.
I own that I had heard—

[Hesitates, and Girl breaks forth again.]

Ralph (interrupting)

Oh, ’pon my honour, I was not so bold—

Girl (ignoring, and with vehemence)

You thought the old time licence still prevailed;
You did not know across the heavens had sailed
A beautiful star in brilliancy arrayed,
The Self Respecting New Hawaiian Maid—
Who prides herself upon her blood and birth
And holds her virtue at its priceless worth;
And stands undaunted in her rightful place
Snow white of soul, however brown of face,
Warmer in blood than your white women are
And yet more moral in her life by far
Than many a leader in your halls of fashion.

Ralph (gazing at her with admiration)

Girl (smiling and softened)

You mean Kamehameha First, I’m sure.
Yes, I am of his line.

Ralph

   May it endure
Until the end of time; for you are great;
The world needs women like you.

[Girl turns to go.

Ralph

[A Hawaiian Band is heard approaching.]

Girl (laughingly, as she hangs lais about his neck)

Well, there’s your band; and since you are so kind,
To purchase all my flowers, I’ve half a mind
To favour you with, not the Hula, sir,
But something more refined, and prettier.
I’ll teach it to you; ask the band out there
To play the Hula Kui dancing air;
Then follow all I do, and copy me.
This is the way it starts, now one, two, three.

[After the dance ends, Ralph approaches the Girl with tense face and speaks with great seriousness.]

Girl, though I do not even know your name,
Yet here I stand, and offer you my own;
It was for you I came, for you alone,
Across the half world.  I have never known
Forgetfulness, since first your face I saw.
In coming here, I but obeyed Love’s law;
I thought it fancy, passion, or caprice;
I know now it is Love.

   I pray you, cease;
You do not understand yourself; go, go;

[Urges him towards exit.

Ralph (seizing her hand)

I will not go until I hear you say
That you remember even as I do
That brief encounter on the street one day.

[Flower Girl turns her face away and tries to free her hand.]

Ralph (exultantly)

Oh, it is Fate; and Fate we must obey.

[Takes ring from his finger.]

Let the ship go; but with my heart I stay.

[Attempts to place ring on Girl’s finger.  She wrenches her hand free, and stands with both hands behind her as she speaks with suppressed emotion.]

[Repels RALPH as he starts forward.]

   But I know your race,
Too well, too well.  I know how such dreams end,
You could not claim me in your land, my friend,
For colour prejudice is rampant there.

Ralph (impetuously)

But I will stay for ever here, I swear,—

Flower Girl

Nay, do not swear, you would but break the vow
As many another has.  Our tropic sun
Affects men like a fever; when ’tis run,
Then their delusions pass.  Oh leave me now;
I hear the whistle of your ship,—adieu!
Alohoa oie—may God be with you.

[Enter Ethel hurriedly]

Come, Ralph, your mother and your sister wait
Quite frantic at the pier, lest you be late.
They sent me for you.