Fires of Driftwood Part 7

Murmur not, sleeper!

Yours is the key To all things that were and To all things that be-- While the lark's trilling, While the grain's filling, Laugh with the wind At Life's Riddle-me-ree!

How you were born of it?

Why was the thorn of it?

Where the new morn of it?

Yours is the Key!

Sleep deeper, brother!

Sleep and forget Red lips that trembled Eyes that were wet-- Though love be weeping, Turn to your sleeping, Life has no giving That death need regret.

Here at the end of all Hear the Beginning call, Life's but death's seneschal-- Sleep and forget!

The Tyrant

ONE comes with foot insistent to my door, Calling my name; Nor voice nor footstep have I heard before, Yet clear the calling sounds and o'er and o'er-- It seems the sunlight burns along the floor With paler flame!

"'Tis vain to call with morning on the wing, With noon so near, With Life a dancer in the masque of Spring And Youth new wedded with a golden ring-- When falls the night and birds have ceased to sing My heart may hear!

"'Tis vain to pause. Pa.s.s, friend, upon your way!

I may not heed; Too swift the hours; too sweet, too brief the day: Only one life, one spring, one perfect May-- I crush each moment, with its sweets to stay Life's joyous greed!

"Call not again! The wind is roaming by Across the heath-- The Wind's a tell-tale and will bear your sigh To dim the smiling gladness of the sky Or kill the spring's first violets that lie In purple sheath--

"If you must call, call low! My heart grows still, Still as my breath, Still as your smile, O Ancient One! A chill Strikes through the sun upon the window-sill-- I know you now--I follow where you will, O tyrant Death!"

The Gifts

I GIVE you Life, O child, a garden fair; I give you Love, a rose that blossoms there-- I give a day to pluck it and to wear!

I give you Death, O child--a boon more great-- That, when your Rose has withered and 'tis late, You may pa.s.s out and, smiling, close the gate!

The Town Between

A WALL impregnable surrounds The Town wherein I dwell; No man may scale it and it has Two gates that guard it well.

One opened long ago, and I A vagrant soul, slipped through, Bewildered and forgetting all The wider world I knew.

I love the Town, the narrow ways, The common, yellow sun, The handclasp and the jesting and The work that must be done!

I shun the other gate that stands Beyond the crowded mart-- I need but glance that way to feel Cold fingers on my heart!

It stands alone and somberly Within a shaded place, And every man who turns that way Has quiet on his face.

And every man must rise and leave His pleasant homely door To vanish through this silent gate And enter in no more--

Yet--once--I saw its opening throw A brighter light about And glimpsed strange glory on the brow Of someone pa.s.sing out!

I wonder if Outside may be One fair and great demesne Where both gates open, careless of The Town that lies between?

On the Mountain

THE top of the world and an empty morning, Mist sweeping in from the dim Outside, The door of day just a little bit open-- The wind's great laugh as he flings it wide!

O wind, here's one who would travel with you To the far bourne you alone may know-- There would I seek what some one is hiding, There would I find where my longings go!

To some deep calm would I drift and nestle Close to the heart of the Great Surprise.

O strong wind, do you laugh to see us?

We are so little and oh, so wise!

The Prophet

HE trod upon the heights; the rarer air Which common people seek, yet cannot bear, Fed his high soul and kindled in his eye The fire of one who cries "I prophesy!"

"Look up!" he said. They looked but could not see.

"Help us!" they cried. He strove, but uselessly-- The very clouds which veiled the heaven they sought Hid from his eyes the hearts of them he taught!

Give Me a Day

GIVE me a day, beloved, that I may set A jewel in my heart--I'll brave regret, If, on the morrow, you shall say "forget"!

One golden day when dawn shall blush to noon And noon incline to dark, and, oversoon, My joy lie buried 'neath a rounded moon.

Only a day--it's worth you scarce could tell From other days; but in my life 'twill dwell An oasis with palm trees and a well!