Dreams and Days: Poems Part 13

THE FLOWN SOUL

(FRANCIS HAWTHORNE LATHROP)

FEBRUARY 6, 1881

Come not again! I dwell with you Above the realm of frost and dew, Of pain and fire, and growth to death.

I dwell with you where never breath Is drawn, but fragrance vital flows From life to life, even as a rose Unseen pours sweetness through each vein And from the air distills again.

You are my rose unseen; we live Where each to other joy may give In ways untold, by means unknown And secret as the magnet-stone.

For which of us, indeed, is dead?

No more I lean to kiss your head-- The gold-red hair so thick upon it; Joy feels no more the touch that won it When o'er my brow your pearl-cool palm In tenderness so childish, calm, Crept softly, once. Yet, see, my arm Is strong, and still my blood runs warm.

I still can work, and think and weep.

But all this show of life I keep Is but the shadow of your s.h.i.+ne, Flicker of your fire, husk of your vine; Therefore, you are not dead, nor I Who hear your laughter's minstrelsy.

Among the stars your feet are set; Your little feet are dancing yet Their rhythmic beat, as when on earth.

So swift, so slight are death and birth!

Come not again, dear child. If thou By any chance couldst break that vow Of silence at thy last hour made; If to this grim life unafraid Thou couldst return, and melt the frost Wherein thy bright limbs' power was lost; Still would I whisper--since so fair This silent comrades.h.i.+p we share-- Yes, whisper 'mid the unbidden rain Of tears: "Come not, come not again!"

SUNSET AND Sh.o.r.e

Birds that like vanis.h.i.+ng visions go winging, White, white in the flame of the sunset's burning, Fly with the wild spray the billows are flinging, Blend, blend with the nightfall, and fade, unreturning!

Fire of the heaven, whose splendor all-glowing Soon, soon shall end, and in darkness must perish; Sea-bird and flame-wreath and foam lightly blowing;-- Soon, soon tho' we lose you, your beauty we cherish.

Visions may vanish, the sweetest, the dearest; Hush'd, hush'd be the voice of love's echo replying; Spirits may leave us that clung to us nearest:-- Love, love, only love dwells with us undying!

THE PHOEBE-BIRD

(A REPLY)

Yes, I was wrong about the phoebe-bird.

Two songs it has, and both of them I've heard: I did not know those strains of joy and sorrow Came from one throat, or that each note could borrow Strength from the other, making one more brave And one as sad as rain-drops on a grave.

But thus it is. Two songs have men and maidens: One is for hey-day, one is sorrow's cadence.

Our voices vary with the changing seasons Of life's long year, for deep and natural reasons.

Therefore despair not. Think not you have altered, If, at some time, the gayer note has faltered.

We are as G.o.d has made us. Gladness, pain, Delight and death, and moods of bliss or bane, With love and hate, or good and evil--all, At separate times, in separate accents call; Yet 't is the same heart-throb within the breast That gives an impulse to our worst and best.

I doubt not when our earthly cries are ended, The Listener finds them in one music blended.

A STRONG CITY

For them that hope in Thee.... Thou shalt hide them in the secret of Thy face, from the disturbance of men.

Thou shalt protect them in Thy tabernacle from the contradiction of tongues.

Blessed be the Lord, for He hath shewn His wonderful mercy to me in a fortified city.--_Psalm x.x.x._

Beauty and splendor were on every hand: Yet strangely crawled dark shadows down the lanes, Twisting across the fields, like dragon-shapes That smote the air with blackness, and devoured The life of light, and choked the smiling world Till it grew livid with a sudden age-- The death of hope.

O squandered happiness; Vain dust of misery powdering life's fresh flower!

The sky was holy, but the earth was not.

Men ruled, but ruled in vain; since wretchedness Of soul and body, for the ma.s.s of men, Made them like dead leaves in an idle drift Around the plough of progress as it drove Sharp through the glebe of modern days, to plant A civilized world. Ay; civilized--but not Christian!

Civilization is a clarion voice Crying in the wilderness; a prophet-word Still unfulfilled. And lo, along the ways Crowded with nations, there arose a strife; Disturbance of men; tongues contradicting tongues; Madness of noise, that scattered mult.i.tudes; A trample of blind feet, beneath whose tread Truth's bloom shrank withered; while incessant mouths Howled "Progress! Change!"--as though all moods of change Were fiats of truth eternal.

'Mid the din Two pilgrims, faring forward, saw the light In a strong city, fortified, and moved Patiently thither. "All your steps are vain,"

Cried scoffers. "There is mercy in the world; But chiefly mercy of man to man. For we Are good. We help our fellows, when we can.

Our charity is enormous. Look at these Long rolls of rich subscriptions. We are good.

'T is true, G.o.d's mercy plays a part in things; But most is left to us; and we judge well.

Stay with us in the field of endless war!

Here only is health. Yon city fortified You dream of--why, its ramparts are as dust.

It gives no safety. One a.s.saulting sweep Of our huge cohorts would annul its power-- Crush it in atoms; make it meaningless."

The pilgrims listened; but onward still they moved.

They pa.s.sed the gates; they stood upon a hill Enclosed, but in that strong enclosure free!

Though earth opposed, they held the key to heaven.

On came the turbulent mult.i.tude in war, Das.h.i.+ng against the city's walls; and swept Through all the streets, and robbed and burned and killed.

The walls were strong; the gates were always open.

And so the invader rioted, and was proud.

But sudden, in seeming triumph, the enemy host Was stricken with death; and still the city stayed.

Skyward the souls of its defenders rose, Returning soon in mist intangible That flashed with radiance of half-hidden swords; And those who still a.s.saulted--though they crept Into the inmost vantage-points, with craft-- Fell, blasted namelessly by this veiled flash, Even as they shouted out, "The place is ours!"

So those two pilgrims dwelt there, fortified In that strong city men had thought so frail.

They died, and lived again. Fiercest attack Was as a perfumed breeze to them, which drew Their souls still closer unto G.o.d. And there Beauty and splendor bloomed untouched. The stars Spoke to them, bidding them be of good cheer, Though hostile hordes rushed over them in blood.

And still the prayers of all that people rose As incense mingled with music of their hearts.

For Christ was with them: angels were their aid.

What though the enemy used their open gates?