Afterwhiles Part 5

Beneath the sagging trellisings, In lush, lack-l.u.s.tre cl.u.s.terings,

Great torpid grapes, all fattened through With moon and suns.h.i.+ne, shade and dew,

Until their swollen girths express But forms of limp deliciousness--

Drugged to an indolence divine With heaven's own sacramental wine.

_Their Sweet Sorrow_

They meet to say farewell: Their way Of saying this is hard to say--.

He holds her hand an Instant, wholly Distressed-- and she unclasps it slowly,

He lends his gaze evasively Over the printed page that she Recurs to, with a new-moon shoulder Glimpsed from the lace-mists that infold her.

The clock, beneath its crystal cup, Discreetly clicks-- "Quick! Act! Speak up!"

A tension circles both her slender Wrists-- and her raised eyes flash in splendor,

Even as he feels his dazzled own--.

Then blindingly, round either thrown, They feel a stress of arms that ever Strain tremblingly-- and "Never! Never!"

Is whispered brokenly, with half A sob, like a belated laugh--, While cloyingly their blurred kiss closes--, Sweet as the dew's lip to the rose's.

_John McKeen_

John McKeen, in his rusty dress, His loosened collar, and swarthy throat, His face unshaven, and none the less, His hearty laugh and his wholesomeness, And the wealth of a workman's vote!

Bring him, O Memory, here once more, And tilt him back in his Windsor chair By the kitchen stove, when the day is o'er And the light of the hearth is across the floor, And the crickets everywhere!

And let their voices be gladly blent With a watery jingle of pans and spoons, And a motherly chirrup of sweet content, And neighborly gossip and merriment, And old-time fiddle-tunes!

Tick the clock with a wooden sound, And fill the hearing with childish glee Of rhyming riddle, or story found In the Robinson Crusoe, leather-bound Old book of the Used-to-be!

John McKeen of the Past! Ah John, To have grown ambitious in worldly ways--!

To have rolled your s.h.i.+rt-sleeves down, to don A broadcloth suit, and forgetful, gone Out on election days!

John ah, John! Did it prove your worth To yield you the office you still maintain--?

To fill your pockets, but leave the dearth Of all the happier things on earth To the hunger of heart and brain?

Under the dusk of your villa trees, Edging the drives where your blooded span Paw the pebbles and wait your ease--, Where are the children about your knees, And the mirth, and the happy man?

The blinds of your mansion are battened to; Your faded wife is a close recluse; And your "finished" daughters will doubtless do Dutifully all that is willed of you, And marry as you shall choose--!

But O for the old-home voices, blent With the watery jingle of pans and spoons, And the motherly chirrup of glad content, And neighborly gossip and merriment, And the old-time fiddle-tunes!

_Out of Nazareth_

"He shall sleep unscathed of thieves Who loves Allah and believes."

Thus heard one who shared the tent, In the far-off Orient, Of the Bedouin ben Ahrzz-- n.o.bler never loved the stars Through the palm-leaves nigh the dim Dawn his courser neighed to him!

He said: "Let the sands be swarmed With such thieves as I, and thou Shalt at morning rise unharmed, Light as eyelash to the brow Of thy camel amber-eyed, Ever munching either side, Striding still, with nestled knees, Through the midnight's oases."

"Who can rob thee an thou hast More than this that thou hast cast At my feet-- this dust of gold?

Simply this and that, all told!

Hast thou not a treasure of Such a thing as men call love?"

"Can the dusky band I lead Rob thee of thy daily need Of a whiter soul, or steal What thy lordly prayers reveal?

Who could be enriched of thee By such h.o.a.rd of poverty As thy n.i.g.g.ard hand pretends To dole me-- thy worst of friends?

Therefore shouldst thou pause to bless One indeed who blesses thee: Robbing thee, I dispossess But myself--. Pray thou for me!"

He shall sleep unscathed of thieves Who loves Allah and believes.

_September Dark_

1 The air falls chill; The whippoorwill Pipes lonesomely behind the Hill: The dusk grows dense, The silence tense; And lo, the katydids commence.

2 Through shadowy rifts Of woodland lifts The low, slow moon, and upward drifts, While left and right The fireflies' light Swirls eddying in the skirts of Night.

3 O Cloudland gray And level lay Thy mists across the face of Day!

At foot and head, Above the dead O Dews, weep on uncomforted!

_We To Sigh Instead of Sing_

"Rain and rain! And rain and rain!"

Yesterday we muttered Grimly as the grim refrain That the thunders uttered: All the heavens under cloud-- All the suns.h.i.+ne sleeping; All the gra.s.ses limply bowed With their weight of weeping.

Sigh and sigh! And sigh and sigh!

Never end of sighing; Rain and rain for our reply-- Hopes half drowned and dying; Peering through the window-pane, Naught but endless raining-- Endless sighing, and as vain, Endlessly complaining,

s.h.i.+ne and s.h.i.+ne! And s.h.i.+ne and s.h.i.+ne!

Ah! To-day the splendor--!

All this glory yours and mine-- G.o.d! But G.o.d is tender!

We to sigh instead of sing, Yesterday, in sorrow, While the Lord was fas.h.i.+oning This for our To-morrow!

_The Blossoms on the Trees_

Blossoms crimson, white, or blue, Purple, pink, and every hue, From sunny skies, to tintings drowned In dusky drops of dew, I praise you all, wherever found, And love you through and through--; But, Blossoms On The Trees, With your breath upon the breeze There's nothing all the world around As half as sweet as you!

Could the rhymer only wring All the sweetness to the lees Of all the kisses cl.u.s.tering In juicy Used-to-bes, To dip his rhymes therein and sing The blossoms on the trees--, "O Blossoms on the Trees,"

He would twitter, trill, and coo, "However sweet, such songs as these Are not as sweet as you--: For you are blooming melodies The eyes may listen to!"

_Last Night-- And This_

Last night-- how deep the darkness was!