The Dreamers | Page 5

thing.)
But there came a day of terror, when a cry too sharp and long Tore through the streets of the city, through the soft, sweet song.
She bade her singers be silent--silent they stood in awe; She raised the gold from the window; she looked down and saw. (She leaned and looked on the highway,?She looked down and saw.)
She saw men driven like cattle, she heard the woman's cry, She saw the white-faced children toil, and the weaklings die.
She saw the bound and the beaten beneath her like shifting sands, And--she dropped the cloth on her window with her own white hands, (She shut out her people's crying?With her own white hands.)
As a child may turn from a picture that he may not understand, She turned to fragrance and music,--to soft things and bland.
_If the Princess is blind to anguish, if the Princess is deaf to woe,_ _If the streets of her city may run with blood, and she not know,_ _Now theirs is the blame who have closed her in ease as in
folded wings,_?_Who have barred the doors and windows, what time her minstrel sings,_ _Lest her eyes look down on the highway,_?_And look on unlovely things._
YOUTH
What do they know of youth, who still are young??They but the singers of a golden song?Who may not guess its worth or wonder--flung?Like largesse to the throng.?We only,--young no longer,--old so long?Before its harmonies, stand marvelling--?Oh! we who listen--never they who sing.
Not for itself is beauty, but for us?Who gaze upon it with all reverent eyes;?And youth which sheds its glory luminous,?Gives ever in this wise:--?Itself the joy it may not realise.?Only we know, who linger overlong?Youth that is made of beauty and of song.
THE EMPTY HOUSE
April will come to the quiet town?That I left long ago,?Scattering primroses up and down--?Row upon happy row.?(Oh, little green lane, will she come your way,?To a certain path I know?)
April will pause by cottage and gate?In the wild, sweet evening rain,?Where the garden borders run brown and straight,?To coax them to bloom again.?(Oh, little sad garden that once was gay,?Must she call to you all in vain?)
April will come to cottage and hill,?Laughing her lovers awake.?(Oh, little closed house, so cold and still,?Will she find you for old joy's sake,?And leave one primrose beside your door,?Lest the heart of your garden break?)
THE BROKEN LUTE
Good-bye, my song--I, who found words for sorrow,?Offer my joy to-day a useless lute.?In the deep night I sang me of the morrow;?The sun is on my face and I am mute.
Good-bye, my song, in you was all my yearning,?The prayer for this poor heart I wore so long.?Now love heaps roses where the wounds were burning;?What need have I for song?
Long since I sang of all one loves and misses;?How may I sing to-day who know no wrong??My lips are all for laughter and for kisses.?Good-bye, my song.
ORCHARDS
Orchards in the Spring-time! Oh, I think and think of them,-- Filmy mists of pink and white above the fresh, young green, Lifting and drifting,--how my eyes could drink of them, _I'm staring at a dirty wall beyond a big machine._
Orchards in the Spring-time! Deep in soft, cool shadows,-- Moving all together when the west wind blows?Fragrance upon fragrance over road and meadows--?_I'm smelling heat and oil and sweat, and thick, black clothes._
Orchards in the Spring-time! The clean white and pink of them Lifting and drifting with all the winds that blow.?Orchards in the Spring-time! Thank God I still can think of them! _You're not docked for thinking,--if the foreman doesn't know._
TWILIGHT
Below them in the twilight the quiet village lies,?And warm within its holding, the old folks and the wise, But here within the open fields the paths of Eden show, And, hand in hand, across them the little lovers go.
Below them in the village are peaceful folk and still,?They gossip of old yesterdays, of merry times or ill.?But here beyond the twilight stray two who only see?The promise of to-morrow--the dawn that is to be.
Below them in the village the quiet hearth-flames glow, With friendly word and greeting the neighbours come and go, But here the silence folds them together, each to each, And lights within the mating eyes the dream beyond their speech.
Below them in the village stay honest toil and truth,-- They rest there who adventured the road of love and youth. Smile out, old hearts, when once again two take the path you know, And, hand in hand, at twilight the little lovers go.
A LOVE SONG
My love it should be silent, being deep--?And being very peaceful should be still--?Still as the utmost depths of ocean keep--?Serenely silent as some mighty hill.
Yet is my love so great it needs must fill?With very joy the inmost heart of me,?The joy of dancing branches on the hill,?The joy of leaping waves upon the sea.
OLD