A Lonely Flute Part 4

VISTAS

As I walked through the rumorous streets Of the wind-rustled, elm-shaded city Where all of the houses were friends And the trees were all lovers of her, The spell of its old enchantment Was woven again to subdue me With magic of flickering shadows, Blown branches and leafy stir.

Street after street, as I pa.s.sed, Lured me and beckoned me onward With memories frail as the odor Of lilac adrift on the air.

At the end of each breeze-blurred vista She seemed to be watching and waiting, With leaf shadows over her gown And sunshine gilding her hair.

For there was a dream that the kind G.o.d Withheld, while granting us many-- But surely, I think, we shall come Sometime, at the end, she and I, To the heaven He keeps for all tired souls, The quiet suburban gardens Where He Himself walks in the evening Beneath the rose-dropping sky And watches the balancing elm trees Sway in the early starshine When high in their murmurous arches The night breeze ruffles by.

A NUN

One glance and I had lost her in the riot Of tangled cries.

She trod the clamor with a cloistral quiet Deep in her eyes As though she heard the muted music only That silence makes Among dim mountain summits and on lonely Deserted lakes.

There is some broken song her heart remembers From long ago, Some love lies buried deep, some pa.s.sion's embers Smothered in snow, Far voices of a joy that sought and missed her Fail now, and cease....

And this has given the deep eyes of G.o.d's sister Their dreadful peace.

LOVE AMONG THE CLOVER

"If you dare," she said, And oh, her breath was clover-sweet!

Clover nodded over her, Her lips were clover red.

Blackbirds fluted down the wind, The bobolinks were mad with joy, The wind was playing in her hair, And "If you dare," she said.

Clover billowed down the wind Far across the happy fields, Clover on the breezy hills Leaned along the skies And all the nodding clover heads And little clouds with silver sails And all the heaven's dreamy blue Were mirrored in her eyes.

Her laughing lips were clover-red When long ago I kissed her there And made for one swift moment all My heaven and earth complete.

I've loved among the roses since And love among the lilies now, But love among the clover...

Her breath was clover-sweet.

O wise, wise-hearted boy and girl Who played among the clover bloom!

I think I was far wiser then Than now I dare to be.

For I have lost that Eden now, I cannot find my Eden now, And even should I find it now, I've thrown away the key.

CERTAIN AMERICAN POETS

They cowered inert before the study fire While mighty winds were ranging wide and free, Urging their torpid fancies to aspire With "Euhoe! Bacchus! Have a cup of tea."

They tripped demure from church to lecture-hall, Shunning the snare of farthingales and curls.

Woman they thought half angel and half doll, The Muses' temple a boarding-school for girls.

Quaffing Pierian draughts from Boston pump, They toiled to prove their homiletic art Could match with nasal tw.a.n.g and pulpit thump In maxims glib of meeting-house and mart.

Serenely their ovine admirers graze.

Apollo wears frock-coats, the Muses stays.

THE SINGER'S QUEST

I've been wandering, listening for a song, Dreaming of a melody, all my life long ...

The lilting tune that G.o.d sang to rock the tides asleep And crooned above the cradled stars before they learned to creep.

O, there was laughter in it and many a merry chime Before He had turned moralist, grown old before His time, And He was happy, trolling out His great blithe-hearted tune, Before He slung the little earth beneath the sun and moon.

But I know that somewhere that song is rolling on, Like flutes along the midnight, like trumpets in the dawn; It throbs across the sunset and stirs the poplar tree And rumbles in the long low thunder of the sea.

First-love sang me one note and heart-break taught me two, A child has told me three notes, and soon I'll know it through; And when I stand before the Throne I'll hum it low and sly, Watching for a great light of welcome in His eye...

"Put a white raiment on him and a harp into his hand And golden sandals on his feet and tell the saints to stand A little farther off unless they wish to hear the truth, For this blessed lucky sinner is going to sing about my youth!"

DEAD MAGDALEN

Cover her over with pallid white roses, Her who had none but red roses to wear; All that her last grim lover bestows is Virginal white for her bosom and hair.

Cover the folds of the glimmering sheet Clear from her eyelids weary and sweet Down to her nevermore wayward feet.

Then They may find her fair.

Lovingly, tenderly, let us array her Fair as a bride for the way she must go, Leaving no lingering stain to betray her, Letting them see we have sullied her so.

Over the curve of the fair young breast Leave we this maidenly lily to rest White as the snow in its snow-soft nest.

Now They will never know.

THE ADVENTURER

He came not in the red dawn Nor in the blaze of noon, And all the long bright highway Lay lonely to the moon,

And nevermore, we know now, Will he come wandering down The breezy hollows of the hills That gird the quiet town.

For he has heard a voice cry A starry-faint "Ahoy!"

Far up the wind, and followed Unquestioning after joy.

But we are long forgetting The quiet way he went, With looks of love and gentle scorn So sweetly, subtly blent.

We cannot cease to wonder, We who have loved him, how He fares along the windy ways His feet must travel now.