Custer, and Other Poems Part 2

Oh, there's naught else so dreary In household kingdom found As a cold and sullen kettle That does not make a sound.

And I think that love is lacking In the hearts in such a spot, Or the kettle would be singing And the water would be hot.

=Contrasts=

I see the tall church steeples, They reach so far, so far, But the eyes of my heart see the world's great mart, Where the starving people are.

I hear the church bells ringing Their chimes on the morning air; But my soul's sad ear is hurt to hear The poor man's cry of despair.

Thicker and thicker the churches, Nearer and nearer the sky But alack for their creeds while the poor man's needs Grow deeper as years roll by.

=Thy s.h.i.+p=

Hadst thou a s.h.i.+p, in whose vast hold lay stored The priceless riches of all climes and lands, Say, wouldst thou let it float upon the seas Unpiloted, of fickle winds the sport, And of wild waves and hidden rocks the prey?

Thine is that s.h.i.+p; and in its depths concealed Lies all the wealth of this vast universe-- Yea, lies some part of G.o.d's omnipotence The legacy divine of every soul.

Thy will, O man, thy will is that great s.h.i.+p, And yet behold it drifting here and there-- One moment lying motionless in port, Then on high seas by sudden impulse flung,

Then drying on the sands, and yet again Sent forth on idle quests to no-man's land To carry nothing and to nothing bring; Till worn and fretted by the aimless strife And buffeted by vacillating winds It founders on a rock, or springs aleak With all its unused treasures in the hold.

Go save thy s.h.i.+p, thou sluggard; take the wheel And steer to knowledge, glory and success.

Great mariners have made the pathway plain For thee to follow; hold thou to the course Of Concentration Channel, and all things Shall come in answer to thy swerveless wish As comes the needle to the magnet's call, Or sunlight to the prisoned blade of gra.s.s That yearns all winter for the kiss of spring.

=The Tryst=

Just when all hope had perished in my soul, And balked desire made havoc with my mind, My cruel Ladye suddenly grew kind, And sent these gracious words upon a scroll: "When knowing Night her dusky scarf has tied Across the bold, intrusive eyes of day, Come as a glad, triumphant lover may, No longer fearing that he be denied."

I read her letter for the hundredth time, And for the hundredth time my gladdened sight Blurred with the rapture of my vast delight, And swooned upon the page. I caught the chime Of far off bells, and at each silver note My heart on tiptoe pressed its eager ear Against my breast; it was such joy to hear The tolling of the hour of which she wrote.

The curious day still lingered in the skies And watched me as I hastened to the tryst.

And back, beyond great clouds of amethyst, I saw the Night's soft, rea.s.suring eyes.

"Oh, Night," I cried, "dear Love's considerate friend, Haste from the far, dim valleys of the west, Rock the sad striving earth to quiet rest, And bid the day's insistent vigil end."

Down brooding streets, and past the harbored s.h.i.+ps The Night's young handmaid, Twilight, walked with me.

A spent moon leaned inertly o'er the sea; A few, pale, phantom stars were in eclipse.

There was the house, My Ladye's sea-girt bower All draped in gloom, save for one taper's glow, Which lit the path, where willing feet would go.

There was the house, and this the promised hour.

The tide was out; and from the sea's salt path Rose amorous odors, filtering through the night And stirring all the senses with delight; Sweet perfumes left since Aphrodite's bath.

Back in the wooded copse, a whip-poor-will Gave love's impa.s.sioned and impatient call.

On pebbled sands I heard the waves kiss fall, And fall again, so hushed the hour and still.

Light was my knock upon the door, so light, And yet the sound seemed rude. My pulses beat So loud they drowned the coming of her feet The arrow of her taper pierced the gloom-- The portal closed behind me. She was there-- Love on her lips and yielding in her eyes And but the sea to hear our vows and sighs.

She took my hand and led me up the stair.

=Life=

All in the dark we grope along, And if we go amiss We learn at least which path is wrong, And there is gain in this.

We do not always win the race, By only running right, We have to tread the mountain's base Before we reach its height.

The Christs alone no errors made; So often had they trod The paths that lead through light and shade, They had become as G.o.d.

As Krishna, Buddha, Christ again, They pa.s.sed along the way, And left those mighty truths which men But dimly grasp to-day.

But he who loves himself the last And knows the use of pain, Though strewn with errors all his past, He surely shall attain.

Some souls there are that needs must taste Of wrong, ere choosing right; We should not call those years a waste Which led us to the light.

=A Marine Etching=

A yacht from its harbor ropes pulled free, And leaped like a steed o'er the race track blue, Then up behind her, the dust of the sea, A gray fog drifted, and hid her from view.

=The Duel=

Oh many a duel the world has seen That was bitter with hate, that was red with gore, But I sing of a duel by far more cruel Than ever by poet was sung before.

It was waged by night, yea by day and by night, With never a pause or halt or rest, And the curious spot where this battle was fought Was the throbbing heart in a woman's breast.

There met two rivals in deadly strife, And they fought for this woman so pale and proud.

One was a man in the prime of life, And one was a corpse in a moldy shroud; One wrapped in a sheet from his head to his feet, The other one clothed in worldly fas.h.i.+on; But a rival to dread is a man who is dead, If he has been loved in life with pa.s.sion.

The living lover he battled with sighs, He strove for the woman with words that burned, While stiff and stark lay the corpse in the dark, And silently yearned and yearned and yearned.

One spoke of the rapture that life still held For hearts that yielded to love's desire, And one through the cold grave's earthy mold Sent thoughts of a past that were fraught with fire.

The living lover seized hold of her hands-- "You are mine," he cried, "and we will not part!"

But she felt the clutch of the dead man's touch On the tense-drawn strings of her aching heart.