Fires of Driftwood Part 11

The silence woke to soft reply "When Heaven stoops--demand not why!"

"Alas, sweet maid, love's potent charm I cannot beg or buy, I cannot wrest it from the wind Or steal it from the sky--"

Breathless, I caught her whisper low, "I love you--why, I do not know!"

You

SLANTING rain and a sky of gray, Drifting mist and a wind astray, The leaden end of a leaden day And you--away!

Light in the west! The sky's pale dome Gemmed with a star; a scented gloam Of bursting buds and rain-wet loam And you--at home!

The Mother

LAST night he lay within my arm, So small, so warm--a mystery To which G.o.d only held the key-- But mine to keep from fear and harm!

Ah! He was all my own, last night, With soft, persuasive, baby eyes, So wondering and yet so wise, And hands that held my finger tight.

Why was it that he could not stay-- Too rare a gift? Yet who could hold A treasure with securer hold Than I, to whom love taught the way?

As with a flood of golden light The first sun tipped earth's golden rim So all my world grew bright with him And with his going fell the night--

O G.o.d, is there an angel arm More strong, more tender than the rest?

Lay Thou my baby on his breast To keep him safe from fear and harm!

The Va.s.sal

WIND of the North, O far, wild wind Born of a far, lone sea-- When suns are soft and breezes kind Why are you kin to me?

Uncounted years above the sea, Rock-fortressed from its rage, The fishermen, your fathers, kept A barren heritage-- Grim as the sea they forced to pay The sea-toll of their wage.

And lo! The fate which made you hers And gave you of her best And set you in a sunny place, Down-sloping to the West, Forgot to change your fisher's heart Serf to the sea's unrest!

Wind of the North! O bitter wind, I hear the wild seas fret-- In the dim s.p.a.ces of the mind They claim me va.s.sal yet!

The Troubadour

THE wind blows salt from off the sea And sweet from where the land lies green; I travel down the great highway That runs so straight and white between-- I watch the sea-wind strain the sheet, The land-wind toss the yellow wheat!

Song is my mistress, fickle she, Yet dear beyond all dearth of speech; Child of the winds of land and sea She charms me with the charm of each-- Full soft and sweet she sings and then She sings wild songs for sailor-men!

No staff I carry in my hand, No pack I carry on my back, No foot of earth I call my own, For castle or for cot I lack-- I travel fast, I travel slow, And where my mistress bids I go!

My gems, the pearl upon the leaf At mystic hour of the morn; My gold, the gold that rims the sea A moment ere the day is born; And on my breezy couch o' nights The stars s.h.i.+ne down--my taper lights!

Happy am I that sing of love, Yet from the thrall of love am free; Happy am I that sing of pain And quick forget what pain may be!

I sing of death--and lo! To me Life is supremest ecstacy!

Indian Summer

I HAVE strayed from silent places, Where the days are dreaming always; And fair summer lies a-dying, Roses withered on her breast.

I have stolen all her beauty, All her softness, all her sweetness; In her robe of folden suns.h.i.+ne I am drest.

I will breathe a mist about me Lest you see my face too clearly, Lest you follow me too boldly I will silence every song.

Through the haze and through the silence You will know that I am pa.s.sing; When you break the spell that holds you, I am gone!

The Unchanged

IF we could salvage Babylon From times's grim heap of dust and bones; If we could charm cool waters back To sing against her thirsty stones; If, on a day, We two should stray Down some long, Babylonian way-- Perhaps the strangest sight of all Would be the street boys playing ball.

If through Pompeii's agelong night A yellow sun again might s.h.i.+ne, And little, sea-born breezes lift The hair of lovers sipping wine, If, in some fair, Dim temple there, We watched Pompeii come to prayer-- Not the strange altar would surprise But strangeness of familiar eyes!

Ay, should our magic straightly wake Atlantis from her sea-rocked sleep And we on some Processional Look down where dancing maidens leap, If one flushed maid Beside us stayed To tie more firm her loosened braid-- Would not the shaking wonder be To find her just like you and me?

Indifference

A BIRD, a wild-flower and a tree-- I care for them, not they for me.

I see all heaven in a pool-- But the frog there takes me for a fool.

To this dead thrush a tear I gave-- All Spring shall sing above my grave,