Behind the Arras Part 10

His wreckers, grinning and lean, Are lurking at every curve; But the Driver plays with the throttle-bar; He has the iron nerve.

We are travelling safe and warm, With our little baggage of cares; Why tease the peril that yet would come Unbidden and unawares?

The lonely are lonely still; And the friend has another friend; Only the idle heart inquires The distance and the end.

We pant up the climbing grade, And coast on the tangent mile, While the Driver toys with the throttle-bar, And gathers the track in his smile.

The dreamer weary of dreams, The lover by love released, Stricken and whole, and eager and sad, Beauty and waif and priest,

All these adventure forth, Strangers though side by side, With the tramp of time in the roaring wheels, And haste in their shadowy stride.

The star that races the hills Shows yet the night is deep; But the Driver humors the throttle-bar; So, you and I may sleep.

For He of the sleepless hand Will drive till the night is done-- Will watch till morning springs from the sea, And the rails stand gold in the sun;

Then he will slow to a stop The tread of the driving-rod, When the night express rolls into the dawn; For the Driver's name is G.o.d.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

_The Dustman_

"Dustman, dustman!"

Through the deserted square he cries, And babies put their rosy fists Into their eyes.

There's nothing out of No-man's-land So drowsy since the world began, As "Dustman, dustman, Dustman."

He goes his village round at dusk From door to door, from day to day; And when the children hear his step They stop their play.

"Dustman, dustman!"

Far up the street he is descried, And soberly the twilight games Are laid aside.

"Dustman, dustman!"

There, Drowsyhead, the old refrain, "Dustman, dustman!"

It goes again.

Dustman, dustman, Hurry by and let me sleep.

When most I wish for you to come, You always creep.

Dustman, dustman, And when I want to play some more, You never then are further off Than the next door.

"Dustman, dustman!"

He heckles down the echoing curb, A step that neither hopes nor hates Ever disturb.

"Dustman, dustman!"

He never varies from one pace, And the monotony of time Is in his face.

And some day, with more potent dust, Brought from his home beyond the deep, And gently scattered on our eyes, We, too, shall sleep,--

Hearing the call we know so well Fade softly out as it began, "Dustman, dustman, Dustman!"

_The Sleepers_

The tall carnations down the garden walks Bowed on their stalks.

Said Jock-a-dreams to John-a-nods, "What are the odds That we shall wake up here within the sun, When time is done, And pick up all the treasures one by one Our hands let fall in sleep?" "You have begun To mutter in your dreams,"

Said John-a-nods to Jock-a-dreams, And they both slept again.

The tall carnations in the sunset glow Burned row on row.

Said John-a-nods to Jock-a-dreams, "To me it seems A thousand years since last you stirred and spoke, And I awoke.

Was that the wind then trying to provoke His brothers in their blessed sleep?" "They choke, Who mutter in their nods,"

Said Jock-a-dreams to John-a-nods.

And they both slept again.

The tall carnations only heard a sigh Of dusk go by.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

_At the Granite Gate_

There paused to shut the door A fellow called the Wind.

With mystery before, And reticence behind,

A portal waits me too In the glad house of spring, One day I shall pa.s.s through And leave you wondering.

It lies beyond the marge Of evening or of prime, Silent and dim and large, The gateway of all time.

There troop by night and day My brothers of the field; And I shall know the way Their woodsongs have revealed.

The dusk will hold some trace Of all my radiant crew Who vanished to that place, Ephemeral as dew.

Into the twilight dun, Blue moth and dragon-fly Adventuring alone,-- Shall be more brave than I?

There innocents shall bloom And the white cherry tree, With birch and willow plume To strew the road for me.

The wilding orioles then Shall make the golden air Heavy with joy again, And the dark heart shall dare