Fires of Driftwood | Page 9

the far bourne you alone may know--?There would I seek what some one is hiding,?There would I find where my longings go!
To some deep calm would I drift and nestle?Close to the heart of the Great Surprise.?O strong wind, do you laugh to see us??We are so little and oh, so wise!
The Prophet
HE trod upon the heights; the rarer air?Which common people seek, yet cannot bear,?Fed his high soul and kindled in his eye?The fire of one who cries "I prophesy!"
"Look up!" he said. They looked but could not see.?"Help us!" they cried. He strove, but uselessly--?The very clouds which veiled the heaven they sought?Hid from his eyes the hearts of them he taught!
Give Me a Day
GIVE me a day, beloved, that I may set?A jewel in my heart--I'll brave regret,?If, on the morrow, you shall say "forget"!
One golden day when dawn shall blush to noon?And noon incline to dark, and, oversoon,?My joy lie buried 'neath a rounded moon.
Only a day--it's worth you scarce could tell?From other days; but in my life 'twill dwell?An oasis with palm trees and a well!
Little Brown Bird
O LITTLE brown bird in the rain,?In the sweet rain of spring,?How you carry the youth of the world?In the bend of your wing!?For you the long day is for song?And the night is for sleep--?With never a sunrise too soon?Or a midnight too deep!
For you every pool is the sky,?Breaking clouds chasing through,--?A heaven so instant and near?That you bathe in its blue!--?And yours is the freedom to rise?To some song-haunted star?Or sink on soft wing to the wood?Where your brown nestlings are.
So busy, so strong and so glad,?So care-free and young,?So tingling with life to be lived?And with songs to be sung,?O little brown bird!--with your heart?That's the heart of the Spring--?How you carry the hope of the world?In the bend of your wing!
The Watcher
THE long road and the low shore, a sail against the sky,?The ache in my heart's core, and hope so hard to die--?Ah me, but the day's long--and all the sails go by!
The long road and the dark shore, pools with stars aflame,?The ache in my heart's core, the hope I dare not name--?Ah, me, but the night's long--and every night the same!
Possession
A YOUTH sat down on a wayside stone,?A pack on his back and a staff at his knee.?He whistled a tune which he called his own,?"It's a fine new tune, that tune!" said he.
In his pack he carried a crust of bread,?And he drank from his hands at a brook hard by;?"Spring water is wonderful cool," he said,?"And wonderful soft is the summer sky!"
He looked to the hill which his steps had passed,?He looked to the slope where a brooklet purled,?He looked to the distance blue and vast?And "Ah," cried he, "what a fine, wide world!"
The youth passed on down the winding track?That led to the beckoning distance dim,?And though he carried but staff and pack,?The world and its giving belonged to him.
To Arcady
"TELL me, Singer, of the way?Winding down to Arcady??Of the world's roads I am weary--?You, with song so brave and cheery,?Happy troubadour must be?On the way to Arcady?"
Pausing on a muted note,?Song forsook the Singer's throat,?"Friend," sighed he, "you come too late,?Once I could the way relate,?Once--but long ago; Ah me,?Far away is Arcady!"
"Tell me, Poet, of the way?Winding down to Arcady??Haunting is your verse and airy?With the grace and gleam of faery--?Dweller you must surely be?In the land of Arcady?"
Slow the Poet raised his eyes,?Sad were they as winter skies,?"Once, I sojourned there," he said;?Then, no more--but with bent head?Whispered low, "Ask not of me?That lost road to Arcady!"
Tell me, Lover, of the way?Winding down to Arcady??Some sweet bourne your haste confesses--?Know you paths no other guesses??Does your gaze, so far away,?See the road to Arcady?
In the Lover's eyes there gleamed?Radiance of all things dreamed--?"Nay, detain me not," he cried?"I am hasting to my bride;?What have roads to do with me,?Love's at home in Arcady!"
The Fields of Even
O STILLER than the fields that lie?Beneath the morning heaven,?And sweeter than day's gardens are?The purple fields of even!
The vapor rises, silver-eyed,?Leaving the dew-wet clover,?With groping, mist-white hands outspread?To greet the sky, her lover.
Ripples the brook, a thread of sound?Close-woven through the quiet,?Blending the jarring tones that day?Would stir to noisy riot.
And all the glory seems so near?A common man may win it--?When every earth-bound lakelet holds?A million stars within it.
A common man, who in the day?Lifts not his eyes above him,?Roaming the fields of even through?May find a God to love him!
I Love My Love
I LOVE my love for she is like a garden in the dawn,?Pale, yet pink-flushed, with softly waking eyes,?And primrose hair that brightens to gold skies,?And petalled lips for dew to linger on.
I love my love for she is like the mirror of the