MATINS

Good morning, friend! What of the night?
Through yonder cloud one shaft of light,
Shot from the bow of Hunter Day,
Strikes on the world; his hound-winds bay
Down valleys where the wheat and rye
Their gold with green of forest vie.

Lift up your head! Behold how fair
Creation is: The ocean-air
Beats billowing upon the strand
Of endless leagues of summer land,
And freighted ships of scented bales,
Wild blossoms, spread their tinctured sails.

See how God with an artist's grace
Gives soul to every flower-face!
Beneath His touch a leaf is green,
A berry, red! Mark how, between
The captive daisies, come and pass
Phalanxes of the guarding grass!

The night was dark, you say: wild fears
Took shape on torrent-flood of tears;
Dim phantoms of the host of hate
Pursued you down the gulfs of fate,
Smiting you with their harpy-wings
Up steeps of weird imaginings!

My friend! Each in his turn has known
Night and her shapes of fear; the stone
Of striving Sisyphus has torn
All who have dared the mount of Morn:
The tree where Buddha's vision fell
Was planted in a pit of hell!

No soul has seen its promised land,
Who felt not first some Pharaoh's hand—
Behind achievement, stir and stress
Of desert-days and wilderness;
Learn by the way that Jesu trod
How from the brute man grows a god!

Who stands against you in your path
May reap with you your aftermath;
And less of bitterness than bliss
Is stored within a traitor's kiss:
The demon who holds back your soul
Will crown you victor at the goal!

The bugles blow, the trumpets call,
And at their sound the towers fall;
Beleaguered bastions are down
Within yon ancient fortressed town:
Go up and let each cobbled street
Clang back to your triumphant feet!

A CRADLE SONG OF LIFE

Lullaby baby,
Hushaby baby!
After the day
Comes night with a dream!
Dear little hands,
Dear little feet,
Quiet at last;
Closed are the eyes:
Lullaby, hushaby baby!

When you awake
Will you forget
All the old toys,
The lessons you learned,
The bruises that hurt
When you fell down?

Uncouthly you sprawled
And frequently fell,
Learning to walk:
Was falling a sin,
Were bruises a shame,
Baby, my brave little baby?

What dreams do you dream,
What sounds do you hear
Out of the splendour—
Out of the wonder—
Out of the peace
Of Rest-A-While Land?

How little they know
Who call this a grave—
'Tis but a cradle,
And death is a sleep
From which you will waken
To try it again!

How little they know
Who prattle of sin,
And tell on their beads
Misereres for grace:
Baby must fall
That baby may rise!

Renewed by the rest,
Made strong by the dream,
More firmly your feet
Shall find out a way
Past the old blunders
Into the dawn!

Lullaby baby,
Hushaby baby!
After the day
Comes night with a kiss
Soft on the brow,
Hands and the feet—
Folding them,
Holding them—
Feet that are tired from falling;
Hands that are weary from failing;
Brow that is furrowed from weeping:
Brow, hands, feet—resting for mastery!

A SONG OF THE ALL

Brother, my Brother! whoever you are,
Rocked in the atom and nursed in the star,
Swaddled in flesh by the great Elohim—
Lords of the Flame—and whose day is a dream
Known in the night: O my Brother, all hail!

Hither a prophet, a priest or a slave,
Came you, my Brother—a king or a knave,
Black man or red man or brown man or white,
Out of the land of an infinite light?
Here are my heart and my hand to you: hail!

Are you a liar, a sycophant's self
Sold for a shekel and pandering pelf?
Are you a snob or a murderer, thief,
Cringing to hell with the devil for chief?
Here are my robe and my crown to you: hail!

Greet you, my Brother! for I am all things—
Dust of the stars and the music of wings—
Eyes of the angels and Lucifer's mouth—
Wind of the North and a wind of the South—
Here are my sandals and staff to you: hail!

THE SLOW EMERGER

I am the Slow Emerger:
Patience and wait for me,
Nor be afraid that I will fail you—
You holder of fair morning heights—
You dancing with the rosy dawn!

It has been long and hard for me,
This task of slow emergence from the clod.
Brute-shapes still prowl about me in the shadows,
Their fangs are sometimes fastened to my feet;
So that I cannot walk from pain of them,
So that I halt and cry out—lonely in the night!

Sometimes I see you, Woman—
You the watchful, waiting one of ages—
You with the dawn and godlike—
You past all torment that I know—
You the understanding.

Sometimes I see you in a shaft of light
Smiting the mists of valleys where I call,
Dividing them as with a two-edged sword
Swung by an angel! In that vision
Rage of tusk and tooth and fang
Falls like the waves in their wind-drifted foam
Upon the scarlet laughter of wild poppies!

I have deceived you;
You in turn have punished me—
Have punished me with a mere semblance of yourself:
A figure, rose-lipped, white fleshed,
With wild witcheries of ample breasts—
Limbs smooth and dimpled as for kisses—
A dear and tender fiction of yourself;
A fiction of yourself that did escape me,
Leaped up to claim those hills remote from me
Until I learned man must not chain a woman's soul!

O Woman, wait for me—
Be patient; for I strive
Out of the shadow
Where the brute
Still fastens with his fang
My bleeding feet—
My weary, stumbling feet:
Nor be afraid that I will fail you—
You holder of far morning heights—
You dancing with the dawn!

A SONG OF THE NEW GODS

The gods of vast Valhalla
Are silent in their hall;
Zeus looks not from Olympus;
Jehovah's rod has fallen
And Buddha sleeps among his Poppies:
The old gods, the great gods,
Thunder and nod no more!

Yea, though we fiction them,
Pretending that their stone eyes stare—
That their ears of marble harken,
We know that all the gods of yesterday are dead!

Weep not for Apollo;
Sigh not for Cynthia;
Call not for Aphrodite
Coming from the foam;
Beat not the breast for Balder—
Balder the Beautiful,
Slain by dark Loki:
These were but dreams in the night
Of the day that is ours.

Sing for the day that is ours—
For the gods who are here,
Titans whose strength is greater
Than snake-strangling Hercules!

Sing for the gods of the oppressed,
The cleansers of slums,
The Christs of great Golgothas
Mounded of old wrongs
Hurting the people!

Sing for the smiters of tenements—
Lairs of disease, of the white death!

Sing for the slayers of sweat-shop owners—
The taskmasters of children!

Sing for the guardians of girls,
The saviours of modern Madonnas—
Custodians of wells unpolluted
For the renewal of men!

Sing for the wielders of axe and the hammer;
The gods of the crowbar and shovel;
For those who go down to the sea in ships,
Having their business in the great waters;

For those who find out a path
Which no fowl knoweth,
Which the lion's whelps tread not—
The veins of the silver and gold,
Of the carbonized sunlight and laughter!

Sing for the prophets of labour,
Rebukers of Ahab greedy of gardens
Delved and possessed by another!

Sing for the women who claim the lost title:
"Comrade and equal of Man,"
Women who strike from their sisters
Æonian fetters of custom,
Bidding them stand and be free from their masters!

Sing for the priests of the Lord's House,
Who lift up the vessels thereof with clean hands,
Knowing great Christ when He cometh,
Truthful interpreters of signs and of omens!

Sing for the harpers on highways
Who make the world dance to their song,
Turning the laughter of leaves into words!

Brother, this the world wonderful
Transcends Valhalla.
Everywhere falls the ambrosial
Smell of the garlands immortal;
Everywhere tones of an infinite
Iris-bow, bent for achievement,
Pass the promise of Noah—
Ours not promise, ours fulfilment!

This is the day of the ages,
Heaven is here for the claiming—
Now! Now! Rise up and take it.
"I said ye are gods"—?
I say you are gods—
Yea, you are more than God's Image,
You are God's Self! worship none other.

Have done with your idols,
The old gods, the dead gods!
Blow up the trumpets—
Beat on the cymbals—
Strike on the harpstrings—
Let sound the psalteries—
Thunder the tabour!

Shout with the Levites,
White-robed and ready,
Round the old world-walls!

Shatter with sound
Jericho! Jericho!
Topple its bastions,
Bloodstained and brutal,
Down to the dust
Drifting to deserts
Remote and forgotten!

Bring in the New Year,
Brothers, my brothers—
Proclaim this the Sabbath!

THE OPTIMIST

"There is no evil anywhere"—
Said I unto the priest
Who answered: "Life is cursed with care,
Sin makes of man a beast!"

"Care is not any curse"—I cried,
"To fail is not to sin."
"Wherefore upon the rood Christ died,
If not our souls to win?"

"Because a hero must face death,
If death be in the way."
And as I paused to take my breath,
The priest began to say:

"Son, you forget how Adam fell,
Losing his high estate;
And so God doomed him unto hell,
Save for the Master's fate."

"Yes, I forget—and gladly too—
That ancient Hebrew tale:
How God began a thing to do—
Can the Eternal fail?

"Can He who rides upon the storm,
Who breathes and, lo, the stars!
Whose thought begets a flower-form,
With leaves for avatars;

"Can He who crowns the grass with dew,
And gems the wood with rain;
Fail of His purpose?"—My priest drew
His breath and spoke again:

"Alas, my son! Your words are wild
And far from holy faith;
Your reason is of one beguiled
By some infernal wraith—

"Do you not know the written Word
Tells of our father's fall?
Have you not seen, have you not heard
How death rules over all?"

"There is no death"—I quickly said;
And he: "But all must die!"
"Now is Christ risen from the dead!"
Forthwith I made reply.

"Now is Christ risen and become
Firstfruits of them that slept!"
And lo, the fluent priest was dumb—
He was like one who wept!

"Ah, you have suffered, you have sinned,
Have known the dark abyss,
Have felt upon the roaring wind
The phantom of a kiss;

"You have looked in a woman's eyes
Lit with her love of you,
And such a moment made you wise!"
He murmured: "It is true."

"Tell me, O priest, was it not worth
Eternity of hell,
When in your heart dear love had birth?"—
Tears from his closed eyes fell.

"Then your great moment gives the point
To what I said before—
There is no evil. You anoint
The spirit's open door—

"A dying body—set the seal
Of some old covenant,
As though the spirit did not feel
The Comrade-Visitant;

"As though the soul were not God's son
Knowing as he is known,
Who hath by cross and passion won
His place beside the throne!

"If all my life were in the dark
And dread of endless doom,
Think you that I should fail the spark
That gleamed athwart the gloom—

"My moment when I soared to bliss
Upon a woman's lips
And that revealing word—her kiss—
Thrilled to my finger tips?

"Nay; by that instant I should know
Evil—so called—worth while,
Accept the challenge, forward go
Bravely against the mile;

"Till by degrees the lengthened space
Should give me stronger thews,
A firmer tread, a purer face,
A never-empty cruse:

"I then should reach a gentler hand
To cripples by the way,
Strike off the fetters, loose the band,
Turn night into the day.

"My tongue would be a tunèd reed,
My throat a silver horn,
My lips for fuller faith would plead
From even unto morn.

"I should not waste the miracle
Divine—the gift of speech—
With fancied images of hell—
This only would it teach:

"If God with lilies keeps a tryst,
Then He will also keep
Faith with that moment of the Christ
Who walks upon the deep—

"Christ walks upon the deep with him
Who dares the rising wave,
And though his failing faith grow dim,
Finds love is strong to save;

"Knows love is strong to save and lift
The flagging feet that fail,
Hearing across the cloudy drift:
'Courage, O comrade, hail!'

"Who sees the Presence, finds the Face,
And hears the mystic word;
Who moves to his appointed place,
Like any homing bird;

"Who never doubts the highest peak
Of his transcendent hour,
And boldly ventures forth to seek
Fulfilment of his power:

"For him God waits beyond the sun,
His Christ of many scars,
To give for that which he hath done
A heritage of stars."

REVELATION

All is revealed—naught is concealed!
Sudden and swift, like the feet of the spring;
Laughter of children in torrents of tears;
Breathing of blossoms from orchards that fling
Perfumes in prodigal scorn of the years
Empty of fruitage; like the touch of a hand
Soft and compassionate, known in the deep
Valley of Death; like the flame from the brand
Flung from a watchfire to frighten and keep
Back from the fold the striped Terror that stares:
All is revealed!

A SONG OF WORKERS

Hail to the hodmen,
The builders of houses!
Hail to the navvies
Laying pipes for pure water!
Hail to the miners
Prisoned in pits,
Cleaving the coal,
Dauntless of death from the gases!

Here's to you, sailors,
Brave on the boisterous
Breast of the ocean,
Tanned by the sun and the tempest!
Here's to you, trainmen—
Couplers and stokers—
All you conductors—
You with your hand on the throttle!

Gloria! Doctors,
Nurses and mothers,
Teachers of children,
Patient with feet that are plodding;
Gloria! Students,
Lovers of nature,
And you scientists—
Priests of the veiled, vast Shekinahs!

A SONG OF BATTLES

You will not do this thing again!
What thing?
Mistake of owning overmuch:
Great palaces and princely halls,
Gardens of Babylon that hang
High on a many-terraced hill,
Created at the cost of slaves
Dead by the thousands; that some queen
Might gaze in rapture of her lord.

Strange how the saddened centuries
Stood clothed in garments red with blood
Poured from the veins of innocents,
Their mothers glad to give them birth,
Their fathers driven forth to slay
And to be slain on battle fields!

Why?—Why?
Because a few men sold their souls
For little heaps of minted gold—
Round pieces stamped with Cæsar's face
Or Alexander's awful brow—
Gold pieces whose possession gives
Command of battle ships and legions armed for enemies,
Raised up because of gold! gold! gold!

For when man gathers overmuch
God is exchanged for paltry dust;
And when God goes the devil comes
In panoply of armies:
Drums beating—
Trumpets blowing—
Flags fluttering—-
Men hating, fighting, bleeding, dying;
Women wailing and beating their breasts;
Cities in conflagration;
Tall towers tumbling to an accompaniment of thunder,
Tumbling down among the statues and the pictures,
Silencing the song of the singers,
Making the beautiful ugly,
Smothering in wide encompassing smoke
The children—the glad, the wonderful children—
God's lilies of laughter—
His immaculate ones!

I tell you gold is the cause of war,
That war is the price we pay for gold—
Gold for which we give God!

You will not do this thing again!
What thing?
Mistake of owning overmuch.

CAN YOU FORGET

Can you forget the pyramids, Persepolis and Tyre?
Can you forget the barges on the Nile,
The sculptor with his chisel and his artist-soul a-fire
With a dream of Mother Isis and her smile?
His dream that made immortal
One pillar of the portal—
'Tis broken now but beautiful above the yellow Nile!

Can you forget the reedy pipes, the cymbals and the songs;
The sun upon the desert like a targe;
The shaking of the sistrum and the beating of the gongs;
The fury of the spear-thrust in the charge?
O leave your milk and honey,
Your little bags of money,
And dream the ancient dream again above the yellow Nile!

BARTIMÆUS

Bartimæus at the highroad,
Begging from the passer by
Just enough to stop his hunger—
Hear him cry!

Blind is he and lone and ragged,
With no friendly hand to lead—
And the sky all blue above him!
Hear him plead.

There are olives and pomegranates
Green and gold among the hills,
Miles of vineyards through the valleys
Fed by rills.

In the distance is a city
Walled and white beneath the sun,
Domed and delicate with towers—
One by one

Rising up like fingers lifted
High in a perpetual prayer
To Jehovah God who pities
Want and care.

Near the blind man, gray and broken
Is an ancient olive-press—
Blue and scarlet blossoms give it
Tenderness,

Weave a spell of summer-beauty
On each stained and splintered stone,
Give the pile a royal grandeur
Of a throne.

On the road are many people—
Laughing as they hurry down
To the little homes that wait them
In the town.

Comes a merchant on his camel—
Silk from Araby he sells:
Listen to the rhythmic clangour
Of the bells!

Comes a priest back from the Temple,
Pondering the written Law,
Blind to all the lovely blossoms
In the awe,

In the testamented terror
Of the lengthened scroll he reads;
While the beggar at the highroad
Vainly pleads!

Comes a wanton in her madness,
Drifting down the human stream;
In her eyes the haunting horror
Of a dream!

Comes a harpist gaily singing,
Brave above the smitten cords,
Glancing at the royal huleh
And the gourds.

Come two lovers from betrothal—
She is on a milk-white ass,
And he strides in strength beside her;
As they pass,

Bartimæus pleads for pity:
"Give the blind man of our all,"
Breathes the maiden, and the young man—
Straight and tall—

Gives three shekels to the beggar,
Turns and looks into her eyes;
Then they journey to their waiting
Paradise!

*****

Strange!—That day three people only
Heard blind Bartimæus' cry—
These, and Jesus Christ of Nazareth
Passing by!

THE COCK

A cross within the portico,
And leaning near an oaken door
Through which the people come and go,
As they have never done before.

A cock upon the transverse beam
Is perched. Within the High Priest's hall
A man's voice rises to a scream:
"God's Face! I know Him not at all!"

A noise of laughter and of blows:
"Ha! Prophet, tell us—who smote Thee?"
"In sooth, this fellow Jesu knows!"
"Art Thou the Christ? Come answer me!"

The morning star pales in the sky—
The paschal moon dips down the hills—
The vineyards in the valley lie
Veiled in the mist of many rills.

A gleam of silver in the east;
The cock awakes and spreads his wings;
And he who of the day is priest,
This canticle of Jesu sings:

Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem—
This is the day
That men will slay
The starry Son of Bethlehem!

Like one lone cedar straight and tall,
He stands within the High Priest's hall.
His hands are bound, His breast is bare,
There is no pity anywhere.
His eyes are dim—
They laugh at Him;
And since He will not to them speak,
A man now smites Him on the cheek!

Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem—
This is the day
That men will slay
The starry Son of Bethlehem!
Above the burning coals there stands
One who is stretching forth his hands:
Three times has he his Friend denied
Who must this day be crucified!
Those eyes so dim
Have looked at him;
And he who thrice denied and swore
Is running blindly to the door!

Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem—
The silver dawn
Is coming on—
A star hangs over Bethlehem!
A breath of buds is in the air;
The feet of Spring are on the stair,
Descending to her olive-press
From Winter's palace, and her dress
Is wrought with flowers
Of summer showers;
A tear of woe is in her eye—
She mourns that Mary's Son must die!

Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem—
The night is spent—
Repent! Repent!
What do ye down in Bethlehem?
Cedron is calling soft and low;
Gethsemane will never know
Again the touch of Jesu's feet:
O Nazareth,
This day the death
Of Him who loved you is your loss—
I call this to you from His cross!

THE STREAM

How many Christs have we two crucified;
How many prophets have we sawn asunder;
What wild woe have we wrought: how deep, how wide
The wrong committed! In the sky God's thunder
Threatens, His lightning cleaves the clouds apart
To show an awful Face—
The Judge is in His place
Of Judgment! Oh, the love
That we have lost! Above,
Beneath and all around us sounds the cry
Of Rachel weeping over little hands
And little feet! Her babes are dead! You, I,
Alone are guilty; for while error stands
Must all the starry Christs be crucified!

Nay, do not hang your head:
Though Christs be crucified,
And Rachel's babes are dead,
One river floweth wide
Out of the urge of God;
Of that eternal stream—
Its mother-bosom broad
With vision and with dream—
Are you, Comrade and I!
Yea, all its ancient shores
That river runneth by
Have we touched. Where it pours
Past leagues of desert-sand,
Jungles and miry places,
Palms of an unknown land,
Ferns and their fronded faces;
Have we gone forth from God!

Where slimy serpents crawl,
And crocodiles are torpid in the sun;
Where snarling tigers sprawl,
And elephants come slowly one by one
Down the yellow ridges
Of the banyan's broken bridges
To the river where the little shells are strawed;
Where chattering monkeys leap,
And the flamingo struts among the reeds;
Where parrots pause and peep,
And all day long the greedy ibis feeds:
We went flowing, flowing,
And eternally out-going
From the impulse of the mighty love of God!

Lift up your head, O my Brother, my friend!
Know that your shame is the shame of the stream—
Memory floods all its banks, but the end—
What is the end? 'Tis a realized dream
Dreamt in the depths of an infinite peace
Ere the first star of the morning arose
Over the earth! Since that river's release
From the pure spring, how it flows! How it flows,
Bears on its bosom the sorrows of man,
Sin and the wreckage of faith and of truth,
Lust and hot murder, the primitive ban:
"Eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth"!

Yet that same bosom babe Moses did bare
Safe in his cradle of wattles! Its tide
Floated the tree on which Christ, crucified,
Bled for His love of the stream and His share
Of the Past!

                            Lift up your head and endure!
Are we not part of the All, and as pure?

THE ONE OBLATION

God does not need your virtue
Proclaimed in any place,
Who knows a better beauty
Than such a pious face!
The stars keep His commandments,
The suns observe His law
And all the countless comets
Bow down to Him in awe.

God does not want your temples,
Whose domes are in the sky;
With archangelic anthems
How dare we mortals vie?
One thing alone, my brothers,
Rivals that bliss above:
Not incense on an altar,
But man's oblation—Love!

A QUESTION

Have you Christ found—
Whose eyes are cold
And lips are set?
How you forget
That day of old,
When on the ground
He wrote one tender word:
"Let him who has not erred
Be first of these alone
To cast a stone!"

COMBATANTS

My God and I met at the ford—
Lightning of wrath was on His face,
And in His hand He held a sword!

He whom of old I had adored
Now challenged me! I paused a space—
My God and I met at the ford.

Dauntless I stood, and daring poured
Hot words of anger—stepped one pace;
And in my hand I held a sword.

Steel clashed on steel! Together warred
Comrades of old in that fell place!
My God and I met at the ford.

One moment's thrust and He had scored;
I of His mercy pleaded grace:
God smiled on me and dropped His sword!

ON THE WIDE, WHITE ROAD

The Question:
Minstrel with a song
On the wide, white road—
Loafing with the lilies of the June—
What makes you so strong
Underneath your load,
Lilting such a joyous little tune?

Tell me, little brother,
What I want to know—
Why your lips are tremulous with joy—
Why you, like a mother,
Soothe and love me so,
As she used to when I was a boy.

All the way behind
Fades into a dream
Hideous with faces in the gloom;
Phantom-terrors blind
With a lurid gleam
Glowing from Gehenna-gulfs of doom!

The Answer:
Comrade, I will tell you
How I laugh and sing,
Loafing with the lilies by the way.
Comrade, what befell you
That you missed the King
Crowned with purple pansies of the day?

Brother, Him I know—
Lord of earth and star—
Find Him with the ferns beside the pool;
All the splendours grow
Dim and fade afar,
When He walks at shut of day and cool.

Fear not to address Him—
Cosmic-Comrade He—
Lonely for the love He wants from you!
Up at once and bless Him—
Lift a jubilee
With the host of loyal hearts and true!

THAT ONE SHOULD LOVE ME

That one should love me is enough,
Be my path smooth or be it rough;
Though on my head no splendours shine,
Love crowns me with the victor-vine.

If on my ears no plaudits fall
Proclaiming me from stall to stall,
Behind the scenes I wait my turn,
Who saw two eyes with longing burn.

Somewhere within that audience
Gleamed golden Love's magnificence;
I stood triumphant for a space
Held by the rapture on one face.

Out of the discord of to-day,
Hark how the well-tuned harp-strings play!
Peace, O my Soul! One song is true,
Though thunder-clouds conceal the blue.

Down in the lowest deep of hell
One word of love upon me fell;
Forthwith my flame-scarred face was bold,
Uplifted to a gate of gold.

Upon my path a phantom form
Threatened with terror as of storm,
Smote me with lightning; I was strong,
Hearing the cadence of a song.

A while within an awful wood,
Uncertain of the path I stood;
A shout of laughter from a tree
Where lurked a devil, frightened me.

Then there was whispering of leaves,
Soft as of swallows under eaves:
"I love you, love you!" Lo! a light
Sundered the murkiness of night.

Three times I fell, three times I rose
To face the menacing of foes—
What gave me strength again to stand?
Out of the dark I felt a hand!

Out of the dark and dread of death,
Upon my brow I felt a breath;
And by the brink of that abyss
The consolation of a kiss.

Past many moors of pain I trod
Impeded by the clinging clod,
Until within one waking morn
Love in response to love was born.

Love in response to love was mine!
The water-jar was filled with wine,
The broken cruse again restored,
And green had grown the withered gourd.

RAHAB

Rahab hath vermilion lips,
Breasts of ivory, and her hips
Taper down to little feet
That go dancing on the street.

Gossips call dear Rahab bold;
Say her love is bought for gold,
Barters kisses for a purse:
Well, some women have done worse!

Saw you ever Rahab's eyes—
All the blue of Canaan's skies
Smiles a moment, and you see
Beauty's best in Galilee.

Heard you ever Rahab's song,
You would murmur: "Surely wrong
Lives not in that lovely voice—
I with Rahab will rejoice!"

I came up the winding way
Through the vines at shut of day
Out of Orphir, bearing balms;
And I saw among the palms

Rahab wistful by the wall:
She was slender, she was tall,
And I trembled as her eyes
Turned on me in swift surprise.

Tyrian purple was her gown;
Gold her girdle; and a crown
Made of myrtle held her hair
Oval on her forehead fair;

Little sandals shod her feet.
Rahab, smiling, murmured: "Greet
You, my brother! Are you come,
Laden with sweet spice and gum,

"Out of Orphir?" and I said:
"Rahab!" All the evening shed
Light and perfume on her face
Turned to me, I paused a space,

Breathless. Nothing I could say
But her name. A dear dismay
Of her beauty made me mute,
Like a stringless harp or lute!

Then she laughed at me and flung
High her hands! She tipped her tongue
Saucily and danced along—
Feet in fellowship with song.

I pursued her through the vines
Growing where the bank confines
Jordan; followed her until
I forgot my master's will—

Master of the Caravan
Out of Orphir! As I ran,
Love arose and went with me
Through the grapes of Galilee!

Little leaves laughed as I sped
After Rahab. Overhead
Two white doves were on the wing,
And I heard a throstle sing.

Where my feet fell on the brown,
Furrowed vineyard, shaken down
By her body from the vine,
Grapes were crushed to make me wine!

Day was gazing from the west
On high Hermon with confessed
Love of her whose ample brow
Crimsoned; and from every bough

Twilight twitterings were heard.
How my pulses leaped and stirred—
Wild with longing for her lips,
Like two red pomegranate pips!

I stretched forth my hands and cried:
"Rahab!" and she turned aside
From the vineyard where a wood
Near a purple wine-press stood.

There she paused and looked on me,
Laughing: "Boy, what do you see
In my eyes, you tremble so?"
"Fate!" I answered. "Could you know,

"Rahab, what is in my heart,
You would pity, you would part
With one kiss and one caress
Here beside the purple press!"

"Boy," she murmured, "gossips say
Rahab's poisoned lips will slay
Whom she kisses; that her breasts
Are two hidden adders' nests!"

"Though I die upon your mouth,
Kiss me, Rahab! for the drouth
Of the desert makes my soul
Empty as an empty bowl.

"Dreary days of journeying
Where the sands go billowing
Miles and miles beneath the sun
Leave me broken and undone.

"All my youth was in the sere,
Dim the eye and deaf the ear
Unto beauty until now;
Rahab, harken to my vow:

"Give me vision, give me sense
Of lost beauty's immanence—
Give me these and I will pay,
Careless of what gossips say,

"All you ask in turn for this:
Soul of you within one Kiss!"
Rahab's eyes were suddenly
Misted over, and to me

Came her whisper: "O my Heart!
Take the minstrel's gift—his art—
With my lips on yours; the price
Be your spirit's sacrifice—

"Pain of vision! You shall know
Summits of eternal snow,
Depths of fire! You shall be torn,
Twixt the twilight and the morn,

"By strange dreams of angel-faces
Bending from their starry places,
Blent with devils out of hell!"
Rahab kissed me—! Lo, there fell

Veils of violet and gold
From the sunset—fold on fold—
Till the tangled vines were caught
And with mist the fields were fraught;

Notes that I had never heard
In the tall bulrushes stirred,
Trembled from the swaying trees,
Fluting strange, wild melodies.

Rahab's kiss and tender glance
Taught me earth's significance;
Opened wide eternal doors,
Where the flood of beauty pours

Out of heaven! out of God!
Quickening the stone and clod,
Leaf and shrub and bird and beast
For the artist—nature's priest,

Sleepless when her altar lights
Burn through balmy summer nights,
Wakeful when upon the day
Pours the pollen smoke alway!

*****

Rahab kissed me by the press—
Bound me with dear Love's duress—
Laughed and clapped her hands in glee
Mid the grapes of Galilee.