Custer | Page 4

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, reassuring 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 ships?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 impassioned 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 God.
As Krishna, Buddha, Christ again,?They passed 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 fashion;?But a rival to dread is a man who is dead,?If he has been loved in life with passion.
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.?Yet the touch was of ice, and she shrank with fear--?Oh! the hands of the dead are cold, so cold--?And warm were the arms that waited near?To gather her close in their clinging fold.
And warm was the light in the living eyes,?But the eyes of the dead, how they stare and stare!?With sudden surrender she turned to the tender?And passionate lover who wooed her there.?Farewell to sorrow, hail, sweet to-morrow!?The battle was over, the duel was done.?They swooned in the blisses of love's fond kisses,?And the dead man stared on in the dark alone.
="Love Thyself Last"=
Love thyself last. Look near, behold thy duty?To those who walk beside thee down life's road;?Make glad their days by little acts of beauty,?And help them bear the burden of earth's load.
Love thyself last. Look far and find the stranger,?Who staggers 'neath his sin and his despair;?Go lend a hand, and lead him out of danger,?To hights where he may see the world is