WHISTLE-FANTASY edit
OUT in the dark the train passes
And the whistle calls to the child,
Desolate, piercing, wild,
From the track in the meadow-grasses . . .
"Far, far away," it screams,
"Far, far away,
Out in the distance are dreams
Dreams you shall follow some day
Far through the endless wild . . .
Distance . . . dreams . . ."
Backward the faint call streams:
Far in the dark the train passes,
And the whistle calls to the child.
ONCE WHEN WE BOUGHT VALENTINES edit
(For Kenneth)
CLOSE upon the window-glass pressed our eager faces–
Hearts and torches all aflare, frame on frame of laces,
Wreathing roses all abloom, Cupids all awing,
Valentines– and valentines! swung along the string,
Lights from out the window-pane glinted on the snow
Once when we bought valentines– how long, how long ago!
Slow we tiptoed in the shop, scarlet-cheeked and shy,
Half-elate, half-afraid to be asked to buy,
Sidling toward the prettiest on their swaying strings,
Laughing at the ugliest, monstrous painted things.
(Still the little thrill of fear– life was strange, you knew–
What if someone sometime sent one of those to you?)
Tense we watched the lagging mail, furtive hearts abeat . . .
Surely it would never come down the endless street!
Surely all the valentines would be gone before
(Out of sight, into sight) it could reach our door.
Surely all the envelopes sealed with hearts of red
(Were they there? Were they ours?) would be gone instead!
Hearts and doves, wreaths and loves wonderful to see!
Could He mean the shiny words, "I Can Love But Thee?"
Would he look across the desks when next morning came,
He who sent (If He sent) all those hearts aflame?
Would He know the straggling hand, all in print and bent
Up and down on the folds of the one you sent?
* * * * * *
We're too old to buy them now– all the loves and laces,
We can only watch above other little faces.
Glowing at the prettiest, laughing at the plain,
Still the eager faces crowd by the lighted pane.
Once we too saw wonderlights glinting on the snow,
Once we too bought valentines– too long, too long ago!
WHEN I WAS A YOUNG GIRL edit
(A Song of Old Ballads)
WHEN I was a young girl, all in a green arbor,
When I was a young girl in Springtimes gone by
All the long days I went singing and smiling,
Down by the roses the sweet days beguiling,
Love in the arbor and love in the sky . . .
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, how happy was I!
Oh, the long days I must sit at my sampler,
Oh, the slow way that the still time would go!
I longed to be running across the bright heather,
"Off with the silk gown and on with the leather,
Following the raggle-taggle gypsies, oh!"
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, a long time ago!
When I was a young girl in days that were golden,
When I was a young girl, and life had no smart,
All the world seemed a place for my playing,
Full of great lovers to come to me, saying,
"Madam, I give you the keys of my heart . . ."
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, and dreaming apart!
When I was a young girl, I dreamed of my lover,
A tall cavalier who should whisper me low,
"Love, on your lips are red roses a-blowing,
I am your true love, and fast is time going
Am I your true love? Oh, say yes or no!"
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl–
When I was a young girl, a long time ago!
When I was a young girl there came my true lover,
Swiftly I knew him in glad days gone by;
Never a sword or a lovelock or feather,
But oh, at his touch 'twas our hearts came together,
Love in the arbor and love in the sky . . .
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, how happy was I!
THE GARDEN edit
THERE were many flowers in my mother's garden,
Sword-leaved gladiolus, taller far than I,
Sticky-leaved petunias, pink and purple-flaring,
Velvet-painted pansies staring at the sky;
Scentless portulacas crowded down the borders,
White and scarlet-petaled, satin-rose and gold,
Clustered sweet alyssum, lacy-white and scented,
Sprays of gray-green lavender to keep till you were old;
In my mother's garden were green-leaved hiding-places,
Nooks between the lilacs– oh, a pleasant place to play!
Still my heart can hide there, still my eyes can dream it,
Though the long years lie between and I am far away;
When the world is hard now, when the city's clanging
Tires my ears and tires my heart and dust lies everywhere,
I can dream the peace still of the soft wind's shining,
I can be a child still and hide my heart from care.
Lord, if still that garden blossoms in the sunlight,
Grant that children laugh there now among its green and gold,
Grant that little hearts still hide its memoried sweetness,
Locking one bright dream away for light when they are old!
OCTOBER edit
DONE with the Spring's unrest and gleam,
The summer's toil and rich unrest,
With nothing left to seek or keep
Before she turns to Winter sleep
Earth lays her golden head, to dream
One month against the gold sky's breast.
HEART OF YOUTH edit
WHEN I come back in the gloom
To my lighted house once more
My heart says, "Haste tonight!
There is something you do not know,
Something to give you joy,
On the other side of the door
There in the firelight's glow,
There in the lighted room."�
My quick heart whispers me,
"The kinsman gone oversea,
The one they have always said
Would surely come back some day,
Waits for you, brown, windblown . . .
Or the lover you have not known
Is waiting you there tonight–
Do you wonder that I rejoice?
Or the dearest one of the dead
Waits in the ring of light
With the old glad face and voice
As if he were never away . . .
Hasten!" my heart has said.
But when I open the door
There are only the old lights
And the old accustomed faces
And the firelight on the floor. . . .
SONG: I WISH I WERE OLD NOW edit
</poem> I WISH I were old now,
And maybe content;
I'd look back the long way
My footsteps were bent,
And say, "'Tis all done now–
What odds how it went?"
For all would look smooth then
And most would look gay,
And "Oh, I was sure then,
And strong then," I'd say,
And show the wild young things
My wise-traveled way.
I'd have naught to strive for
And no thought to form
But how to rest easy
And how to sleep warm,
And "Pity the poor souls
Abroad in the storm!"
I wish I were old now
With living put by,
And peace on the hearthstone
And peace in the sky,
But– "Oh, to be young now,
But young now!" they cry!
</poem>
TO YOUTH AFTER PAIN edit
WHAT if this year has given
Grief that some year must bring,
What if it hurt your joyous youth,
Crippled your laughter's wing?
You always knew it was coming,
Coming to all, to you,
They always said there was suffering–
Now it is done, come through.
Even if you have blundered,
Even if you have sinned,
Still is the steadfast arch of the sky
And the healing veil of the wind . . .
And after only a little,
A little of hurt and pain,
You shall have the web of your own old dreams
Wrapping your heart again.
Only your heart can pity
Now, where it laughed and passed,
Now you can bend to comfort men,
One with them all at last,
You shall have back your laughter,
You shall have back your song,
Only the world is your brother now,
Only your soul is strong!
OLD BOOKS edit
THE people up and down the world that talk and laugh and cry,
They're pleasant when you're young and gay, and life is all to try,
But when your heart is tired and dumb, your soul has need of ease,
There's none like the quiet folk who wait in libraries–
The counselors who never change, the friends who never go,
The old books, the dear books that understand and know!
"Why, this thing was over, child, and that deed was done,"
They say, "When Cleopatra died, two thousand years agone,
And this tale was spun for men and that jest was told
When Sappho was a singing-lass and Greece was very old,
And this thought you hide so close was sung along the wind
The day that young Orlando came a-courting Rosalind!"
The foolish thing that hurt you so your lips could never tell,
Your sister out of Babylon she knows its secret well,
The merriment you could not share with any on the earth
Your brother from King Francis' court he leans to share your mirth,
For all the ways your feet must fare, the roads your heart must go,
The old books, the dear books, they understand and know!
You read your lover's hid heart plain beneath some dead lad's lace,
And in a glass from some Greek tomb you see your own wet face,
For they have stripped from out their souls the thing they could not speak
And strung it to a written song that you might come to seek,
And they have lifted out their hearts when they were beating new
And pinned them on a printed page and given them to you.
The people close behind you, all their hearts are dumb and young,
The kindest word they try to say it stumbles on the tongue,
Their hearts are only questing hearts, and though they strive and try,
Their softest touch may hurt you sore, their best word make you cry.
But still through all the years that come and all the dreams that go
The old books, the dear books, they understand and know!
THE WIRES edit
THE wires gleamed far and silver,
Lines on a morning sky;
I heard the white wires singing
Their song as I went by;
Far and far away they led, and I was bound and young,
And sharp the wind blew overhead, and gave the wires a tongue–
Young folk must wander far,
Young feet must roam
'Tis a long way to everywhere,
But oh, a short way home!
The wires gleamed far and golden–
I followed in their track,
Far and far the gold wires led,
And never road led back;
Far and far the gold wires went, and oh, I followed fast,
Roads to work ere youth was spent, and joy while youth should last:
Rough roads to fame and gold
Gay roads to roam,
Roads to hate and roads to love,
But never roads toward home!
The wires show far and darkened,
Lines on a sunset sky,
And still the black wires sing me
Their song as I plod by–
Far and far the black wires wind, and I am old and tired,
And naught is left to seek or find of all that I desired:
Old folk are wise too late,
Old feet cannot roam,
'Tis a short way to everywhere,
But oh, a lost way home!