Fires of Driftwood | Page 7

from the broad Pacific rolls

And sunset marks a mystic way
To the far-shining Port of Souls.
We, watching on the darkening shore,
Wave you farewell, and strain
our eyes
Till that bright speck which is your sail
Is lost in the
enfolding skies.

Brave Heart, Sweet Singer! Speed you well
To those dim islands of
the blest,
Far--far--and ever farther, till
The end of distance brings
you rest!
0. For Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake.)
The Way to Wait
O WHETHER by the lonesome road that lies across the lea
Or
whether by the hill that stoops, rock-shadowed, to the sea, Or by a sail
that blows from far, my love returns to me!
No fear is hidden in my heart to make my face less fair,
No tear is
hidden in my eye to dim the brightness there--
I wear upon my cheek
the rose a happy bride should wear.
For should he come not by the road, and come not by the hill And come
not by the far seaway, yet come he surely will--
Close all the roads of
all the world, love's road is open still!
My heart is light with singing (though they pity me my fate And drop
their merry voices as they pass the garden gate)
For love that finds a
way to come, can find a way to wait!
The Passer-By
WE are as children in a field at play
Beside a road whose way we do
not know,
Save that somewhere it meets the end of day.
Upon the road there is a Passer-By
Who, pausing, beckons one of
us--and lo!
Quickly he goes, nor stays to tell us why.
One day I shall look up and see him there
Beckoning me, and with
the Passer-By
I, too, shall take the road--I wonder where?
First Love
BY the pulse that beats in my throat
By my heart like a bird
I know

who passed through the dusk
Though he spoke no word!
I cannot move in my place,
I am chained and still;
I pray that the
moon pause not
By my window-sill.
I have hidden my face in my hair
And my eyes are veiled--
Not
even a star must know
How my lips have paled--
Was ever a night so quick
'Neath a moon so round?
I hear the earth
as it turns--
And my heart's low sound!
Sad One, Must You Weep
"SAD one, must you weep alway?
Youth's ill wedded with despair;

Ringless hand and robe of grey
Mock the charms which they
declare."
Sad and sweetly answered she,
"What are comely robes to me?
I
would wear a grass green dress,
Dew pearls for my gems--no less

Now can comfort me."
"Sweet, the shining of your hair
(All forgotten and undone)

Squanders 'neath the veil you wear
Gold whose loss bereaves the
sun."
Very sad and low said she,
"What is shining hair to me?
When from
out the rain-wet mold
Kingcups borrow of its gold
Sweet and sweet
'twill be."
"Love, O Love! your hand is chill
As a snowflake lost in spring,

Wild it flutters--then lies still
As a bird with prisoned wing!"
Sad and patient answered she,
"As a bird I would be free;
As the
spring I would find birth
In the sweet, forgetful earth--
Pray you, let
it be!"

Joseph
NEVER in all her sweet and holy youth
Seemed she so beautiful! The
tired lines
Etch her white face with look so wholly pure
I
tremble--dare I speak to her of aught?--
She is so wrapt in silence.
Yet her lips
Part on a word whose honey she doth taste
And fears to
lose by uttering too soon.
I know the word; its meaning is plain writ

In the wide eyes she turns upon the Child.
I dare not speak. No
word of mine could find
Its way into a soul close sealed with God

And busy with the thousand mysteries
Revealed to every mother. The
soft hair
Veiling her placid brow is all unbound,
Ungentle hands are
mine but, trained by love,
She might conceive them gentle--yet, I
pause--
I'll not disturb her thought . . . . .
What meant those men,
Far-famed and wise, who came to see the
Child?
Their gifts lie by forgotten, though the Babe
Smiled on the
shining treasure in his hands.
(Those tiny hands like crumpled bits of
gauze)
Their sayings were mysterious to me.
"A King!" they said.
What King?
The mother smiled
As one who knew; and it is true they knelt
As to
a King. The thing disturbs me much!
I'll ask--but no . . . . .
The breathless shepherds, too;
Plain men, blank-eyed with awe, in
broken speech
Stumbling some strange, glad tale of midnight sky

A-shine with angel wings! And at their word
Again the mother
smiled, as one who sees
No wonder but what well might happen since

A child is born to her. Are mothers so?
And are they prone to
dream the careless earth
And distant heaven wait upon their joy?
I'll
speak to her . . . . .
What is that in her look
Which answers me--yet leaves me wondering
still,
With wonder so like rapture that I seem
Caught up a breathless
second into Heaven?

She turns deep eyes upon me, and she smiles,


Always she