Fires of Driftwood Part 12

And naught I spend my heart upon Know lack or loss that I am gone--

A bird, a wild-flower and a tree, I cherish them; they suffer me!

Last Things

THERE is no one to do it for me, But I know what I shall do When the last dawn breaks o'er me And the last night is through.

I shall set in pleasant order The little books I knew, With flowers on the window ledge In a shallow bowl of blue.

I'll leave the out door swinging, (As it might swing for you) And on the clean swept door-sill Wild roses I shall strew--

So when pale Death comes trailing Her branch of sodden rue She'll gather up my gay content And know contentment too!

Callous Cupid

CUPID does not care for sighs Does not care for lover's weeping!

Fair One, dry your pretty eyes, Cupid does not care for sighs, Laugh with him if you are wise, Steel the heart he has in keeping; Cupid does not care for sighs Does not care for lover's weeping!

The Meeting

SHE flitted by me on the stair-- A moment since I knew not of her.

A look, a smile--she pa.s.sed! but where She flitted by me on the stair Joy cradled exquisite despair; For who am I that I should love her?

She flitted by me on the stair-- A moment since I knew not of her!

The Piper

I'VE heard the pipes of Pan Somewhere, just beyond,-- Over the edge of dawn, I think, Where the clouds hang soft on the world's dim brink, Where the red suns rise and the blue stars sink, I heard the pipes of Pan!

Hus.h.!.+ what you heard was the wind, The feet of the wind through the leaves, Or the sigh of the waking night as it stirred.

Or a bird's note afar, Or the deep breath of June, Or the fall of a star, Or the s.h.i.+mmering skirts of the sea-slipping tide In the wake of the wandering moon!

Nay! 'twas the pipes of Pan!

Somewhere--just beyond-- My soul awoke with a rapturous sigh (Would I wake my soul for a night bird's cry?) I heard the winds of the worlds sweep by To follow the pipes of Pan!

Stay! 'twas a voice that you heard, A voice that you love, in the wood, The vibrating note of a half spoken word-- For the great Pan is slain, Of his pipings we know not one magical strain, They have fled down the years of a world that was young Oh, ages and ages ago!

Nay, 'twas the pipes of Pan!

Somewhere--just beyond-- Far as a star, yet piercing sweet, A pa.s.sionate, poignant, rhythmic beat-- Till my mad blood raced with my racing feet To follow the piper--Pan!

Wanderl.u.s.t

THE highways and the byways, the kind sky folding all, And never a care to drag me back and never a voice to call; Only the call of the long, white road to the far horizon's wall.

The glad seas and the mad seas, the seas on a night in June, And never a hand to beckon back from the path of the new-lit moon; Never a night that lasts too long or a dawn that breaks too soon!

The shrill breeze and the hill breeze, the sea breeze, fierce and bold, And never a breeze that gives the lie to a tale that a breeze has told; Always the tale of the strange and new in the countries strange and old.

The lone trail and the known trail, the trail you must take on trust, And never a trail without a grave where a wanderer's bones are thrust-- Never a look or a turning back till the dust shall claim the dust!

Gold

WHEN life wakened in the Spring All the world was gold and green!

Sunlight lay on everything, Sailing cloud and soaring wing, Emerald banks where snow had been, Drifts of daffodils between.

When Life's pulse beat strong and high Shone the world in gold and blue!

Canopied with turquoise sky Summer pa.s.sed superbly by, Bluest midnight cupped the dew Golden morn might sparkle through!

Now that life would rest again Soft she lies in gold and brown, Brown the fields and gold the grain, Brown the little pools of rain, Gold the leaves that falter down To brown pavements in the town.

The Materialist

MY soul has left its tent of clay And seeks from star to star, 'Mid flaming worlds that are to be, And fruitful worlds that are, The Voice which spake and said "Live on!"

(When Death said, "You may die") And sent my spirit wandering The stairway of the sky.

Still must I seek what on the earth I sought as fruitlessly-- The world I knew, the heaven I scorned Lost in infinity: Alone, and on the ageless breath Of cosmic whirlwinds spun, I hurtle through the outer dark Toward some fantastic sun!--

O G.o.d! how happy is the leaf, A sweet and soulless thing, Dying to live but in the green Of yet another Spring-- These heights, these depths, these flaming worlds, This stairway of the sky I'd give, had no Voice said "Live on!"

When Death said, "You may die."