Afterwhiles Part 6

And well I knew its depths, because I waded it from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, Thinking to reach the light no more.

She would not even touch my hand---.

The winds rose and the cedars fanned The moon out, and the stars fled back In heaven and hid-- and all was black!

But ah! To-night a summons came, Signed with a tear-drop for a name, For as I wondering kissed it, lo A line beneath it told me so.

And now-- the moon hangs over me A disk of dazzling brilliancy, And every star-tip stabs my sights With splintered glitterings of light!

_A Discouraging Model_

Just the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing, With a Gainsborough hat, like a b.u.t.terfly's wing, Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air, And a knot of red roses sown in under there Where the shadows are lost in her hair.

Then a cameo face, carven in on a ground Of that shadowy hair where the roses are wound; And the gleam of a smile, O as fair and as faint And as sweet as the master of old used to paint Round the lips of their favorite saint!

And that lace at her throat-- and fluttering hands Snowing there, with a grace that no art understands, The flakes of their touches-- first fluttering at The bow-- then the roses-- the hair and then that Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat.

Ah, what artist on earth with a model like this, Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss, Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair Nor the gold of her smile-- O what artist could dare To expect a result half so fair?

_Back From a Two-years' Sentence_

Back from a two-years' sentence!

And though it had been ten, You think, I were scarred no deeper In the eyes of my fellow-men.

"My fellow-men--?" Sounds like a satire, You think-- and I so allow, Here in my home since childhood, Yet more than a stranger now!

Pardon--! Not wholly a stranger--, For I have a wife and child: That woman has wept for two long years, And yet last night she smiled--!

Smiled, as I leapt from the platform Of the midnight train, and then-- All that I knew was that smile of hers, And our babe in my arms again!

Back from a two-years' sentence-- But I've thought the whole thing through--, A hint of it came when the bars swung back And I looked straight up in the blue Of the blessed skies with my hat off!

O-ho! I've a wife and child: That woman has wept for two long years, And yet last night she smiled!

_The Wandering Jew_

The stars are falling, and the sky Is like a field of faded flowers; The winds on weary wings go by; The moon hides, and the tempest lowers; And still through every clime and age I wander on a pilgrimage That all men know an idle quest, For that the goal I seek is-- Rest!

I hear the voice of summer streams, And following, I find the brink Of cooling springs, with childish dreams Returning as I bend to drink-- But suddenly, with startled eyes, My face looks on its grim disguise Of long gray beard; and so, distressed, I hasten on, nor taste of rest.

I come upon a merry group Of children in the dusky wood, Who answer back the owlet's whoop, That laughs as it had understood; And I would pause a little s.p.a.ce, But that each happy blossom-face Is like to one His hands have blessed Who sent me forth in search of rest.

Sometimes I fain would stay my feet In shady lanes, where huddled kine Couch in the gra.s.ses cool and sweet, And lift their patient eyes to mine; But I, for thoughts that ever then Go back to Bethlehem again, Must needs fare on my weary quest, And weep for very need of rest.

Is there no end? I plead in vain: Lost worlds nor living answer me.

Since Pontius Pilate's awful reign Have I not pa.s.sed eternity?

Have I not drunk the fetid breath Of every fevered phase of death, And come unscathed through every pest And scourge and plague that promised rest?

Have I not seen the stars go out That shed their light o'er Galilee, And mighty kingdoms tossed about And crumbled clod-like in the sea?

Dead ashes of dead ages blow And cover me like drifting snow, And time laughs on as 'twere a jest That I have any need of rest.

_Becalmed_

1 Would that the winds might only blow As they blew in the golden long ago--!

Laden with odors of Orient isles Where ever and ever the sunshine smiles, And the bright sands blend with the shady trees, And the lotus blooms in the midst of these.

2 Warm winds won from the midland vales To where the tress of the Siren trails O'er the flossy tip of the mountain phlox And the bare limbs twined in the crested rocks, High above as the seagulls flap Their lopping wings at the thunder-clap.

3 Ah! That the winds might rise and blow The great surge up from the port below, Bloating the sad, lank, silken sails Of the Argo out with the swift, sweet gales That blew from Colchis when Jason had His love's full will and his heart was glad-- When Medea's voice was soft and low.

Ah! That the winds might rise and blow!

_To Santa Claus_

Most tangible of all the G.o.ds that be, O Santa Claus-- our own since Infancy!

As first we scampered to thee-- now, as then, Take us as children to thy heart again.

Be wholly good to us, just as of old: As a pleased father, let thine arms infold Us, homed within the haven of thy love, And all the cheer and wholesomeness thereof.

Thou lone reality, when O so long Life's unrealities have wrought us wrong: Ambition hath allured us--, fame likewise, And all that promised honor in men's eyes.

Throughout the world's evasions, wiles, and shifts, Thou only bidest stable as thy gifts--: A grateful king re-ruleth from thy lap, Crowned with a little tinselled soldier-cap:

A mighty general-- a nation's pride-- Thou givest again a rocking-horse to ride, And wildly glad he groweth as the grim Old jurist with the drum thou givest him:

The sculptor's chisel, at thy mirth's command, Is as a whistle in his boyish hand; The painters model fadeth utterly, And there thou standest--, and he painteth thee--:

Most like a winter pippin, sound and fine And tingling-red that ripe old face of thine, Set in thy frosty beard of cheek and chin As midst the snows the thaws of spring set in.

Ho! Santa Claus-- our own since Infancy-- Most tangible of all the G.o.ds that be--!

As first we scampered to thee-- now, as then, Take us as children to thy heart again.

_Where the Children used to Play_

The old farm-home is Mother's yet and mine, And filled it is with plenty and to spare--, But we are lonely here in life's decline, Though fortune smiles around us everywhere: We look across the gold Of the harvests, as of old-- The corn, the fragrant clover, and the hay; But most we turn our gaze, As with eyes of other days, To the orchard where the children used to play.

O from our life's full measure And rich h.o.a.rd of worldly treasure We often turn our weary eyes away, And hand in hand we wander Down the old path winding yonder To the orchard where the children used to play.

Our sloping pasture-lands are filled with herds; The barn and granary-bins are bulging o'ver; The grove's a paradise of singing birds-- The woodland brook leaps laughing by the door; Yet lonely, lonely still, Let us prosper as we will, Our old hearts seem so empty everyway-- We can only through a mist See the faces we have kissed In the orchard where the children used to play.

O from our life's full measure And rich h.o.a.rd of worldly treasure We often turn our weary eyes away, And hand in hand we wander Down the old path winding yonder To the orchard where the children used to play.

_A Glimpse of Pan_

I caught but a glimpse of him. Summer was here.

And I strayed from the town and its dust and heat.

And walked in a wood, while the noon was near, Where the shadows were cool, and the atmosphere Was misty with fragrances stirred by my feet From surges of blossoms that billowed sheer Of the gra.s.ses, green and sweet.