The Congo and Other Poems Part 15

I walked that wall a fairy-prince And, pacing quaint and slow, Beside me were my pages, Two giant, friendly birds.

Half-swan they were, half peac.o.c.k.

They spake in courtier-words.

Their inner wings a chariot, Their outer wings for flight, They lifted me from dreamland.

We bade those trees good-night.

Swiftly above the stars we rode.

I looked below me soon.

The white-walled garden I had ruled Was one lone flower--the moon.

III. Written for a Musician

Hungry for music with a desperate hunger I prowled abroad, I threaded through the town; The evening crowd was clamoring and drinking, Vulgar and pitiful--my heart bowed down-- Till I remembered duller hours made n.o.ble By strangers clad in some surprising grace.

Wait, wait, my soul, your music comes ere midnight Appearing in some unexpected place With quivering lips, and gleaming, moonlit face.

IV. The Moon is a Painter

He coveted her portrait.

He toiled as she grew gay.

She loved to see him labor In that devoted way.

And in the end it pleased her, But bowed him more with care.

Her rose-smile showed so plainly, Her soul-smile was not there.

That night he groped without a lamp To find a cloak, a book, And on the vexing portrait By moonrise chanced to look.

The color-scheme was out of key, The maiden rose-smile faint, But through the blessed darkness She gleamed, his friendly saint.

The comrade, white, immortal, His bride, and more than bride-- The citizen, the sage of mind, For whom he lived and died.

V. The Encyclopaedia

"If I could set the moon upon This table," said my friend, "Among the standard poets And brochures without end, And n.o.ble prints of old j.a.pan, How empty they would seem, By that encyclopaedia Of whim and glittering dream."

VI. What the Miner in the Desert Said

The moon's a bra.s.s-hooped water-keg, A wondrous water-feast.

If I could climb the ridge and drink And give drink to my beast; If I could drain that keg, the flies Would not be biting so, My burning feet be spry again, My mule no longer slow.

And I could rise and dig for ore, And reach my fatherland, And not be food for ants and hawks And perish in the sand.

VII. What the Coal-heaver Said

The moon's an open furnace door Where all can see the blast, We shovel in our blackest griefs, Upon that grate are cast Our aching burdens, loves and fears And underneath them wait Paper and tar and pitch and pine Called strife and blood and hate.

Out of it all there comes a flame, A splendid widening light.

Sorrow is turned to mystery And Death into delight.

VIII. What the Moon Saw

Two statesmen met by moonlight.

Their ease was partly feigned.

They glanced about the prairie.

Their faces were constrained.

In various ways aforetime They had misled the state, Yet did it so politely Their henchmen thought them great.

They sat beneath a hedge and spake No word, but had a smoke.

A satchel pa.s.sed from hand to hand.

Next day, the deadlock broke.

IX. What Semiramis Said

The moon's a steaming chalice Of honey and venom-wine.

A little of it sipped by night Makes the long hours divine.

But oh, my reckless lovers, They drain the cup and wail, Die at my feet with shaking limbs And tender lips all pale.

Above them in the sky it bends Empty and gray and dread.

To-morrow night 'tis full again, Golden, and foaming red.

X. What the Ghost of the Gambler Said

Where now the huts are empty, Where never a camp-fire glows, In an abandoned canyon, A Gambler's Ghost arose.

He muttered there, "The moon's a sack Of dust." His voice rose thin: "I wish I knew the miner-man.

I'd play, and play to win.

In every game in Cripple-creek Of old, when stakes were high, I held my own. Now I would play For that sack in the sky.

The sport would not be ended there.

'Twould rather be begun.

I'd bet my moon against his stars, And gamble for the sun."