The Miracle and Other Poems | Page 3

Virna Sheard
below; Noteth well the players as they quickly come and go; Queens and kings and maidens fair, motley fools and friars, Lords and ladies, stately dames, mounted knights and squires.
Well he knoweth all of them, all the grave and gay, These are they he dreamt of in the far and far away; Saints and sinners, see they come down the bygone years, And the world still shares with them its laughter and its tears.
Still we haunt the greenwood for love of Rosalind, Still we hear the Jester's bells ajingle on the wind, Still the frenzied Moor we fear--Ah! and even yet Breathless wait before the tomb of all the Capulet.
Though the slow years pass away, yet on land and sea, Follow we the Danish Prince in sad soliloquy; And I fancy sometimes when the round moon saileth high Yet in Venice meet the Jew--as he goeth by.
(Just above the boxes and where the high lights fall Looketh down a carven face from out the gilded wall.)

CHRISTMAS
With all the little children, far and near, God wot! to-day we'll sing a song of cheer! To rosy lips and eyes, that know not guile, We one and all will give back smile for smile; And for the sake of all the small and gay We will be children also for to-day.
Holly we'll hang, with mistletoe above! God wot! to-day we'll sing a song of love! And we will trip on merry heel and toe With all the fair who lightly come and go; We will deny the years that lie behind And say that age is only in the mind.
And to the needy, in whatever place, God wot! to-day we'll lend a hand of grace; For where is he who hath not need himself, Although he dine on silver or on delf? And we who pass and nod this Christmas Day May never meet again on life's highway.
But when the lights are lit, and day has flown-- God wot! there will be some who sit alone; Who sit and gaze into the embers' glow, And watch strange things that flitter to and fro-- The ghosts of dreams; and faces--long unseen; Shadows of shadows--things that once have been.

THE HEART COURAGEOUS
Who hath a heart courageous Will fight with right good cheer; For well may he his foes out-face Who owns no foe called Fear!
Who hath a heart courageous Will fight as knight of old For that which he doth count his own-- Against the world to hold.
Who hath a heart courageous Will fight both night and day, Against the Host Invisible-- That holds his soul at bay,
Who hath a heart courageous Rests with tranquillity, For Time he counts not as his foe, Nor Death his enemy.

A SONG
Love maketh its own summer time, 'Tis June, Love, when we are together, And little I care for the frost in the air, For the heart makes its own summer weather.
Love maketh its own winter time, And though the hills blossom with heather, If you are not near, 'tis December, my dear, For the heart makes its own winter weather.

THE CALL
Across the dusty, foot-worn street Unblessed of flower or tree, Faint and far-off--there ever sounds The calling of the sea.
From out the quiet of the hills, Where purple shadows lie, The pine trees murmur, "Come and rest And let the world go by."
The west wind whispers all night long "Oh, journey forth afar To the green and pleasant places Where little rivers are!"
And the soft and silken rustling Of bending yellow wheat Says, "See the harvest moon--that dims The arc-lights of the street."
Though the city holds thee captive By trick, and wile, and lure, Out yonder lies the loveliness Of things that shall endure.
The river road is wide and fair, The prairie-path is free, And still the old earth waits to give Her strength and joy to thee.

THE KNIGHT-ERRANT
Keen in his blood ran the old mad desire To right the world's wrongs and champion truth; Deep in his eyes shone a heaven-lit fire, And royal and radiant day-dreams of youth!
Gracious was he to both beggar and stranger, And for a rose tossed from fair finger-tips He would have ridden hard-pressed through all danger, The rose on his heart and a song on his lips!
All the king's foes he counted his foemen; His not to say that a cause could be lost; Spirits like his faced the enemies' bowmen On long vanished fields--nor counted the cost.
Wide was his out-look and far was his vision; Soul-fretting trifles he sent down the wind; Small griefs gained only his cheerful derision,-- God's weather always was fair to his mind.
But he would comfort a child who was crying, Knightly his deed to all such in distress; Never a beast by the road-side lay dying He did not stoop to with gentle caress.
And by the
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