Fires of Driftwood Part 1

Fires of Driftwood.

by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay.

Fires of Driftwood

ON what long tides Do you drift to my fire, You waifs of strange waters?

From what far seas, What murmurous sands, What desolate beaches-- Flotsam of those glories that were s.h.i.+ps!

I gather you, Bitter with salt, Sun-bleached, rock-scarred, moon-harried, Fuel for my fire.

You are Pride's end.

Through all to-morrows you are yesterday.

You are waste, You are ruin, For where is that which once you were?

I gather you.

See! I set free the fire within you-- You awake in thin flame!

Tremulous, mistlike, your soul aspires, Blue, beautiful, Up and up to the clouds which are its kindred!

What is left is nothing-- Ashes blown along the sh.o.r.e!

When as a Lad

WHEN, as a lad, at break of day I watched the fishers sail away, My thoughts, like flocking birds, would follow Across the curving sky's blue hollow, And on and on-- Into the very heart of dawn!

For long I searched the world--ah, me!

I searched the sky, I searched the sea, With much of useless grief and rueing Those winged thoughts of mine pursuing-- So dear were they, So lovely and so far away!

I seek them still and always must Until my laggard heart is dust And I am free to follow, follow, Across the curving sky's blue hollow, Those thoughts too fleet For any save the soul's swift feet!

Laureate

DEATH met a little child who cried For a bright star which earth denied, And Death, so sympathetic, kissed it, Saying: "With me All bright things be!"-- And only the child's mother missed it.

Death met a maiden on the brae, Her eyes held dreams life would betray, And gallant Death was greatly taken-- "Leave," whispered he, "Your dream with me And I will see you never waken."

Death met an old man in a lane; So gnarled was he and full of pain That kindly Death was struck with pity-- "Come you with me, Old man," said he, "I'll set you down in a fair city."

So, kingly Death along the way Scatters rare gifts and asks no pay-- Yet who to Death will write a sonnet?

If any dare, Let him take care No foolish tear be spilled upon it!

Out of Babylon

THEIR looks for me are bitter, And bitter is their word-- I may not glance behind unseen, I may not sigh unheard.

So fare we forth from Babylon, Along the road of stone; And no one looks to Babylon Save I--save I alone!

My mother's eyes are glory-filled (Save when they fall on me) The s.h.i.+ning of my father's face I tremble when I see,

For they were slaves in Babylon, And now they're walking free-- They leave their chains in Babylon, I bear my chains with me!

At night a sound of singing The vast encampment fills; "Jerusalem! Jerusalem!"

It sweeps the nearing hills--

But no one sings of Babylon (Their home of yesterday) And no one prays for Babylon, And I--I dare not pray!

Last night the Prophet saw me; And, while he held me there, The holy fire within his eyes Burned all my secret bare.

"What! Sigh you so for Babylon?"

(I turned away my face) "Here's one who turns to Babylon, Heart traitor to her race!"

I follow and I follow!

My heart upon the rack; I follow to Jerusalem-- The long road stretches back

To Babylon, to Babylon!

And every step I take Bears farther off from Babylon A heart that cannot break.

Last Spring

THIS morning at the door I heard the Spring.

Quickly I set it wide And, welcoming, "Come in, sweet Spring," I cried, "The winter ash, long dried, Waits but your breath to rise On phantom wing."

A brown leaf s.h.i.+vered by, A soulless thing-- My heart in quick dismay Forgot to sing-- Twisted and grim it lay, Kin to the ghost-ash gray, Dead, dead--strange herald this Of jocund Spring!

I spurned it from the door.

I longed that Spring Should come with song and glow And rush of wing, Not this, not this!--But O Dead leaf, a year ago You were the dear first-born Of Hope and Spring!

Presence