A Williams Anthology Part 20

She spoke of hedges, hawthorns, and the powers Of weeds and frost in April, and the blight Of birds and children; prayed her blossoms might Not so allure them to her paths and bowers.

And I turned silently upon my way, And sought His untrod forests and the hills, My free companions of no guile nor art-- Their holy strength is more than rocks and clay; I sought the comfort loneliness instills: Dear Christ! She spoke her own vain, selfish heart.

_Literary Monthly_, 1910.

NOCTURNE

WILLARD ANSLEY GIBSON '08

Over the hills Softly the slumber light Seems to me creeping, Stealing with twilight, While the world sleeping Breathes in the lower light Prayers for its loved ones Over the hills.

Stars watch, and the fire glows, Fading it goes, fainter it glows, Lips of vain speaking silently close-- The breath comes, but the breath goes.

Some mothers stifled lie, Sobbing till life is gone; Some fathers bitter die In their remorse ere dawn;

Stars watch, and the fire glows-- Something comes, something goes.

Far in the night Beckon the locust trees, Whispering, calling, And from their drooping leaves White blossoms falling Float on a magic breeze, Far in a phantom world, Far in the night.

Clocks chime and the night goes, Slowly it goes, brighter it grows, Tired hands folded rest in repose-- The breath comes, but the breath goes.

Some watchers on the hill Wide-eyed await the dawn; Some workers in the mill Wearying are toiling on;

Clocks chime, and the night goes-- Slowly it lighter grows.

_Literary Monthly_, 1910.

THE HIDDEN FACE

BERNARD WESTERMANN '08

The moon hath a hidden face and fair,-- Never we gaze on its features calm; She gazeth afar on the star-lit air, On star-lighted regions whose breath is balm; But never, ah never, her glance doth show To the world of men in the deeps below.

O love, do you know that there dwells in thee A hiddenest spirit that dreams alway, And never the world can her features see, Of the spirit that shunneth the earthly day?

Only I know that she lives, to rise Some day, some night, in your love-lit eyes.

_Literary Monthly_, 1906.

MODERN THOUGHT AND MEDIEVAL DOGMA

SONNET

BERNARD WESTERMANN '08

Are we but truants from a parent stern-- Whose strait commands with fear we long obeyed, Till, gladdened by the sunlight, far we strayed, And lingered by the woodside and the byrne, The bird's sweet pa.s.sion at the sun's return, The flower's grieving at his sight delayed, With wistful, long-pent love, to watch and learn, Till evening come, and we turn home dismayed?

Or have we grown unto our fuller seeing, The manhood of our days, when evermore Our Father speaks and, punishment decreeing, Is high and silent from his sapphire door?

Forever past, the childhood of our being: He stoops to reason who but spake before.

_Literary Monthly_, 1908.

THE GOBLIN KING

A BALLAD

BERNARD WESTERMANN '08

Beside the grim, the grey, cold sea I heard a goblin call to me; Beneath a rock, beside the water, He cried, "Go pray thy lady daughter To bring some wine to me.

"For coldly runs the salt, salt tide, And I am prisoned fast and long, And I was wont to feast and song, And roaming through the woodland wide.

"For coldly runs the salt, salt tide, And I am wont to have my will, And he that brooks it fareth ill, When I may roam the woodland wide.

"Of old, of old I roamed the wood, Of old I dwelt in lordly state, Before they came, the black-heart brood, To make me thus disconsolate.

"For coldly runs the salt, salt tide, And stones are hard that prisons be; Yet here in daily hope I bide, That one will hear and come to me.

"They came with drums and dancing fire, And wreaths and chants and incense sweet; They stole away my heart's desire, That was all fair and lithe and fleet.

"And coldly runs the salt, salt tide; Alone they bound and prisoned me, Nor may I taste of aught beside, Though well I know the sweets there be.

"A thousand gnomes brought golden urns, With red, red wine and crystal filled; And all my couch was flowers and ferns, And whatsoever maid I willed.

"But coldly runs the salt, salt tide, And men ride up the high, white road.

And many a goodly maid beside-- Nor ever glance to my abode.

"The bee sucks sweetness all the day, And dwells in flowers from morn to night; But never, never need he stay, And never feels he gloom nor blight.

"But coldly flows the salt, salt tide, And I am weary of my breath; Though all the world is fair beside, And yet I taste nor life nor death.

"In feasts we sat at silken boards, Endraped with silver gossameres, And 'round me sat my bearded lords, And maidens served whose sires were peers.

"And coldly runs the salt, salt tide; I loved too well and she was fair, And here in bondage dire I bide, Who never thought to know despair.