The Dreamers | Page 7

me smiling.
I may not ponder much on future wrath;
Of all those loves of mine,
some six or seven,
Surely ere this have climbed that thorny path

That leads at last to Heaven.
My bold, brown beauties, eh, my delicate
And golden damsels with
uncensuring eyes,
Not long once did you make your Lovelace wait

Outside of Paradise.
Much am I minded of a certain night--
A night of moon and drifting
clouds that hid
The convent wall from overmuch of light
Whereby
one watched forbid.
Watched, till he heard within the trembling sound
Of white, girl
fingers on the rusting key
That turned her heart as well, till each
unbound
Let in felicity.
Ah well, I have small fear--her eyes were blue;
Blue eyes remember
though it cost them tears.
Who knows but that same hand shall lead

me through
Another Gate of Fears.
In the same fashion, brave, yet most afraid,
Bold for her love yet
trembling for her sin--
So, Saints were tricked before. My blue-eyed
maid,
Be there to let me in.
III
Since I loved you for a day--Ah, a day, the fleetest--
Since I sighed
and rode away when our love was sweetest, So shall you remember me,
now that youth is over,
Fairly, of your courtesy, as your fondest
lover.
Since I turned and said good-bye when my heart was truest, Since we
parted, you and I, when our joy was newest,
Love might never turn to
doubt and from doubt to scorning. We but lived his sweetness out twixt
a night and morning.
So shall you remember me, eager in pursuing,
Faithful as a man must
be in his time o' wooing.
Greater loves but stay and pine so, now
youth is over, Smiling shall you think of mine--mine, your fondest
lover.
SHADE
The kindliest thing God ever made,
His hand of very healing laid

Upon a fevered world, is shade.
His glorious company of trees
Throw out their mantles, and on these

The dust-stained wanderer finds ease.
Green temples, closed against the beat
Of noontime's blinding glare
and heat,
Open to any pilgrim's feet.
The white road blisters in the sun;
Now, half the weary journey done,

Enter and rest, Oh weary one!

And feel the dew of dawn still wet
Beneath thy feet, and so forget

The burning highway's ache and fret.
This is God's hospitality,
And whoso rests beneath a tree
Hath
cause to thank Him gratefully.
THE VAGABOND
The little dream she had forgot
Oh, long and long ago,
Came back
across the April fields
And touched her garment so
(As might a
wind-blown primrose cling
And one scarce guess or know.)
A little beggared outcast dream
Forgot of Love and men,
And all
because a fiddler played
An old song in the glen,
And two Young
Lovers hand in hand,
Sent back its tune again.
The little dream she had forgot
Crept near and clung and stayed--
A
roving, ragged vagabond
Half daring, half afraid,
And all because
young love went by
And one old fiddler played.
DISTANCE
A hundred miles between us
Could never part us more
Than that
one step you took from me
What time my need was sore.
A hundred years between us
Might hold us less apart
Than that one
dragging moment
Wherein I knew your heart.
Now what farewell is needed
To all I held most dear,
So far and far
you are from me
I doubt if you could hear.
THE GYPSYING
I wish we might go gypsying one day the while we're young-- On a
blue October morning
Beneath a cloudless sky,
When all the
world's a vibrant harp
The winds o' God have strung,
And gay as

tossing torches the maples light us by;
The rising sun before us--a
golden bubble swung--
I wish we might go gypsying one day the
while we're young.
I wish we might go gypsying one day before we're old--
To step it
with the wild west wind
And sing the while we go,
Through far
forgotten orchards
Hung with jewels red and gold;
Through cool
and fragrant forests where never sun may show, To stand upon a high
hill and watch the mist unfold--
I wish we might go gypsying one day
before we're old.
I wish we might go gypsying, dear lad, the while we care-- The while
we've heart for hazarding,
The while we've will to sing,
The while
we've wit to hear the call
And youth and mirth to spare,
Before a
day may find us too sad for gypsying,
Before a day may find us too
dull to dream and dare--
I wish we might go gypsying, dear lad, the
while we care.
GOOD-BYE, PIERRETTE
Good-bye, Pierrette. The new moon waits
Like some shy maiden at
the gates
Of rose and pearl, to watch us stand
This little moment,
hand in hand--
Nor one red rose its watch abates.
The low wind through your garden prates
Of one this twilight
desolates.
Ah, was it this your roses planned?
Good-bye, Pierrette.
Oh, merriest of little mates,
No sadder lover hesitates
Beneath this
moon in any land;
Nor any roses, watchful, bland,
Look on a sadder
jest of Fate's.
Good-bye, Pierrette.
THE AWAKENING
When the white dawn comes
I shall kneel to welcome it;
The dread
that darkened on my eyes
Shall vanish and