The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 46

Yours is a garden of old-fashioned flowers; Joyous children delight to play there; Weary men find rest in its bowers, Watching the lingering light of day there.

Old-time tunes and young love-laughter Ripple and run among the roses; Memory's echoes, murmuring after, Fill the dusk when the long day closes.

Simple songs with a cadence olden-- These you learned in the Forest of Arden: Friendly flowers with hearts all golden-- These you borrowed from Eden's garden.

This is the reason why all men love you; Truth to life is the finest art: Other poets may soar above you-- You keep close to the human heart.

December, 1903.

RICHARD WATSON GILDER

IN MEMORIAM

Soul of a soldier in a poet's frame, Heart of a hero in a body frail; Thine was the courage clear that did not quail Before the giant champions of shame Who wrought dishonour to the city's name; And thine the vision of the Holy Grail Of Love, revealed through Music's lucid veil, Filling thy life with heavenly song and flame.

Pure was the light that lit thy glowing eye, And strong the faith that held thy simple creed.

Ah, poet, patriot, friend, to serve our need Thou leavest two great gifts that will not die: Above the city's noise, thy lyric cry,-- Amid the city's strife, thy n.o.ble deed.

November, 1909.

THE VALLEY OF VAIN VERSES

The grief that is but feigning, And weeps melodious tears Of delicate complaining From self-indulgent years; The mirth that is but madness, And has no inward gladness Beneath its laughter straining, To capture thoughtless ears;

The love that is but pa.s.sion Of amber-scented l.u.s.t; The doubt that is but fashion; The faith that has no trust; These Thamyris disperses, In the Valley of Vain Verses Below the Mount Parna.s.sian,-- And they crumble into dust.

MUSIC

MUSIC

I

PRELUDE

1

Daughter of Psyche, pledge of that wild night When, pierced with pain and bitter-sweet delight, She knew her Love and saw her Lord depart, Then breathed her wonder and her woe forlorn Into a single cry, and thou wast born!

Thou flower of rapture and thou fruit of grief; Invisible enchantress of the heart; Mistress of charms that bring relief To sorrow, and to joy impart A heavenly tone that keeps it undefined,-- Thou art the child Of Amor, and by right divine A throne of love is thine, Thou flower-folded, golden-girdled, star-crowned Queen, Whose bridal beauty mortal eyes have never seen!

2

Thou art the Angel of the pool that sleeps, While peace and joy lie hidden in its deeps, Waiting thy touch to make the waters roll In healing murmurs round the weary soul.

Ah, when wilt thou draw near, Thou messenger of mercy robed in song?

My lonely heart has listened for thee long; And now I seem to hear Across the crowded market-place of life, Thy measured foot-fall, ringing light and clear Above unmeaning noises and unruly strife.

In quiet cadence, sweet and slow, Serenely pacing to and fro, Thy far-off steps are magical and dear,-- Ah, turn this way, come close and speak to me!

From this dull bed of languor set my spirit free, And bid me rise, and let me walk awhile with thee.

II

INVOCATION

Where wilt thou lead me first?

In what still region Of thy domain, Whose provinces are legion, Wilt thou restore me to myself again, And quench my heart's long thirst?

I pray thee lay thy golden girdle down, And put away thy starry crown: For one dear restful hour a.s.sume a state more mild.

Clad only in thy blossom-broidered gown That breathes familiar scent of many a flower, Take the low path that leads through pastures green; And though thou art a Queen, Be Rosamund awhile, and in thy bower, By tranquil love and simple joy beguiled, Sing to my soul, as mother to her child.

III

PLAY SONG

O lead me by the hand, And let my heart have rest, And bring me back to childhood land, To find again the long-lost band Of playmates blithe and blest.

Some quaint, old-fashioned air, That all the children knew, Shall run before us everywhere, Like a little maid with flying hair, To guide the merry crew.

Along the garden ways We chase the light-foot tune, And in and out the flowery maze, With eager haste and fond delays, In pleasant paths of June.

For us the fields are new, For us the woods are rife With fairy secrets, deep and true, And heaven is but a tent of blue Above the game of life.

The world is far away: The fever and the fret, And all that makes the heart grow gray, Is out of sight and far away, Dear Music, while I hear thee play That olden, golden roundelay, "Remember and forget!"

IV

SLEEP SONG

Forget, forget!

The tide of life is turning; The waves of light ebb slowly down the west: Along the edge of dark some stars are burning To guide thy spirit safely to an isle of rest.

A little rocking on the tranquil deep Of song, to soothe thy yearning, A little slumber and a little sleep, And so, forget, forget!

Forget, forget,-- The day was long in pleasure; Its echoes die away across the hill; Now let thy heart beat time to their slow measure, That swells, and sinks, and faints, and falls, till all is still.

Then, like a weary child that loves to keep Locked in its arms some treasure, Thy soul in calm content shall fall asleep, And so forget, forget.