Myth and Romance Part 9

Through some strange sense of sight or touch I find what all have found before, The presence I have feared so much, The unknown's immaterial door.

I seek not and it comes to me: I do not know the thing I find: The fillet of fatality Drops from my brows that made me blind.

Point forward now or backward, light!

The way I take I may not choose: Out of the night into the night, And in the night no certain clews.

But on the future, dim and vast, And dark with dust and sacrifice, Death's towering ruin from the past Makes black the land that round me lies.

_The Soul_

An heritage of hopes and fears And dreams and memory, And vices of ten thousand years G.o.d gives to thee.

A house of clay, the home of Fate, Haunted of Love and Sin, Where Death stands knocking at the gate To let him in.

_Conscience_

Within the soul are throned two powers, One, Love; one, Hate. Begot of these, And veiled between, a presence towers, The shadowy keeper of the keys.

With wild command or calm persuasion This one may argue, that compel; Vain are concealment and evasion-- For each he opens heaven and h.e.l.l.

_Youth_

I

Morn's mystic rose is reddening on the hills, Dawn's irised nautilus makes glad the sea; There is a lyre of flame that throbs and fills Far heaven and earth with hope's wild ecstasy.-- With lilied field and grove, Haunts of the turtle-dove, Here is the land of Love.

II

The chariot of the noon makes blind the blue As towards the goal his burning axle glares; There is a fiery trumpet thrilling through Wide heaven and earth with deeds of one who dares.-- With peaks of splendid name, Wrapped round with astral flame, Here is the land of Fame.

III

The purple priesthood of the evening waits With golden pomp within the templed skies; There is a harp of wors.h.i.+p at the gates Of heaven and earth that bids the soul arise.-- With columned cliffs and long Vales, music breathes among, Here is the land of Song.

IV

Moon-crowned, the epic of the night unrolls Its starry utterance o'er height and deep; There is a voice of beauty at the souls Of heaven and earth that lulls the heart asleep.-- With storied woods and streams, Where marble glows and gleams, Here is the land of Dreams.

_Life's Seasons_

I

When all the world was Mayday, And all the skies were blue, Young innocence made playday Among the flowers and dew; Then all of life was Mayday, And clouds were none or few.

II

When all the world was Summer, And morn shone overhead, Love was the sweet newcomer Who led youth forth to wed; Then all of life was Summer, And clouds were golden red.

III

When earth was all October, And days were gray with mist, On woodways, sad and sober, Grave memory kept her tryst; Then life was all October, And clouds were twilight-kissed.

IV

Now all the world's December, And night is all alarm, Above the last dim ember Grief bends to keep him warm; Now all of life's December, And clouds are driven storm.

_Old Homes_

Old homes among the hills! I love their gardens, Their old rock-fences, that our day inherits; Their doors, 'round which the great trees stand like wardens; Their paths, down which the shadows march like spirits; Broad doors and paths that reach bird-haunted gardens.

I see them gray among their ancient acres, Severe of front, their gables lichen-sprinkled,-- Like gentle-hearted, solitary Quakers, Grave and religious, with kind faces wrinkled,-- Serene among their memory-hallowed acres.

Their gardens, banked with roses and with lilies-- Those sweet aristocrats of all the flowers-- Where Springtime mints her gold in daffodillies, And Autumn coins her marigolds in showers, And all the hours are toilless as the lilies.

I love their orchards where the gay woodp.e.c.k.e.r Flits, flas.h.i.+ng o'er you, like a winged jewel; Their woods, whose floors of moss the squirrels checker With half-hulled nuts; and where, in cool renewal, The wild brooks laugh, and raps the red woodp.e.c.k.e.r.