The Miracle and Other Poems | Page 2

golden depths The Sun rose in his might-- The light from whose white, hidden fires were lit The torches of the night;
The Light that shining on a thing of clay Giveth it Life and Will: The Light that with an unknown power can blast And bid all life be still;
The Light that calls a ray of its own light A man's undying soul-- The Light that lifts the broken lives of earth, Touches and makes them whole.
Up towards the Radiance Bartimeus went, Alone, and poor, and blind-- Feeling his way, if haply it led on To One he fain would find.
Then spoke the Voice again. Oh, mystic words Of a compelling grace: The curtain rose from off his darkened sight-- He saw the King's own face.
So strangely beautiful--so strangely near-- He worshipped with his eyes, Unheeding that for him at last there shone The sunlit noonday skies.
What though the clamouring crowd echoed his name Unto its utmost rim, He only saw the Christ--and in the light He rose and followed Him.
* * * * *
Oh, Bartimeus of the mask-like face, And patient, outstretched hand, Was it for this God set on thee the mark No man might understand?

THE CROW
Hail, little herald!--Art thou then returning From summer lands, this wild and wind-torn day? Hast brought the word for which our hearts are yearning, That spring is on the way? Hark! Now there comes a clear, insistent calling,
From hill tops crested with untarnished snow; The trumpet notes are drifting--floating--falling-- Whene'er the breezes blow!
"Winter is over, and the spring is coming!" Glad is thy message, little page in black-- "Winter is over, and the spring is coming-- The spring is coming back!"
Tell me, 0 prophet, bird of sombre feather, Who taught thee all the mysteries of spring?-- Didst note each passing mood of wind and weather, While flying to the North on buoyant wing?
Or didst thou rest upon the bare brown branches And hear the sap go singing through the trees?-- Didst watch with keen, far-seeing downward glances, The leaves unlock their cells with fairy keys?
What though thy voice hath not a trace of sweetness It thrills one through and through, With promises of Joy in all completeness What time the skies are blue. When robins from the apple-trees are flinging Out on the air their silver shower of song,-- In lilac days, when children run a-singing, No single thought shall do thy memory wrong.
"Winter is over and the spring is coming!" Sweet are thy tidings, little page in black-- "Winter is over and the spring is coming-- The spring is coming back!"

WHEN APRIL COMES!
When April comes with softly shining eyes, And daffodils bound in her wind-blown hair, Oh, she will coax all clouds from out the skies, And every day will bring some sweet surprise,-- The swallows will come swinging through the air When April comes!
When April comes with tender smile and tear, Dear dandelions will gild the common ways, And at the break of morning we will hear The piping of the robins crystal clear-- While bobolinks will whistle through the days, When April comes!
When April comes, the world so wise and old, Will half forget that it is worn and grey; Winter will seem but as a tale long told-- Its bitter winds with all its frost and cold Will be the by-gone things of yesterday, When April comes!

KISMET
Love came to her unsought, Love served her many ways, And patiently Love followed her Throughout the nights and days.
Love spent his life for her And hid his tears and sighs; He bartered all his soul for her, With tender pleading eyes.
Her scarlet mouth that smiled, Mocked lightly at his woe, And while she would not bid him stay She did not bid him go.
But hope within him failed Until he pled no more-- And cold and still he turned his face Away from her heart's door.
* * * * *
Long were the days she watched For one who never came;-- Through sleepless nights her white lips bore The burden of a name.

A SONG OF SUMMER DAYS
As pearls slip off a silken string and fall into the sea, These rounded summer days fall back into eternity.
Into the deep from whence they came; into the mystery-- At set of sun each one slips back as pearls into the sea.
They are so sweet--so warm and sweet--Love fain would hold them fast: He weeps when through his finger tips they slip away at last.

AT THE PLAY
Just above the boxes and where the high lights fall Looketh down a carven face from out the gilded wall.
Van Dyke beard and broidered ruff silently confess That he lived--and loved perchance--in days of Good Queen Bess. (Laces fine and linen sheer, curled and perfumed hair Well became those gentlemen of gay, insouciant air.)
See! He gazeth evermore at the stage