As through the gladden sight ye flow And flit and glow, Ye win me so In soul to go, I too am waves, I too am wings, And kindred motion in me springs.

With thee I pa.s.s, glad growing gra.s.s!-- I climb the air with lissome mien; Unsheathing keen The vivid sheen Of springing green, I thrill the crude, exalt the cra.s.s Fine-flex'd and fluent from Earth's ma.s.s.

And impulse craves with thee, Sea Waves!-- To make all mutable the floor Of Earth's firm sh.o.r.e, With flashing pour Whose br.i.m.m.i.n.g o'er Impa.s.sion'd motion loves and laves And livens sombre slumbering caves.

Then soaring where the wild birds fare, My song would sweep the windy lyre Of Heaven's choir, Pulsing desire For starry fire, Abashing chilling vagues of air With throbbing of warm b.r.e.a.s.t.s that dare!

CHARLOTTE PORTER

BLUEBERRIES

UPON the hills of Garlingtown Beneath the summer sky, In many pleasant pastures On sunny slopes and high, Their skins abloom with dusty blue, Asleep, the berries lie.

And all the lads of Garlingtown, And all the la.s.ses too, Still climb the tranquil hillsides, A merry, barefoot crew; Still homeward plod with unfilled pails And mouths of berry blue.

And all the birds of Garlingtown, When flocking back to nest, Remember well the patches Where berries are the best; They pick the ripest ones at dawn And leave the lads the rest.

Upon the hills of Garlingtown When berry-time was o'er, I looked into the sunset, And saw an open door, And from the hills of Garlingtown I went, and came no more.

FRANK PRENTICE RAND

NOCTURNE

NIGHT of infinite power and infinite silence and s.p.a.ce, From you may mortals infer, if ever, the scope divine!

The jealous sun conceals all but his arrogant face, You bid the Milky Way and a million suns to shine.

Each star to numberless planets gives light and motion and heat, But you enmantle them all, the nearest and most remote; And the l.u.s.tres of all the suns are but spangles under your feet,-- Mere bubbles and beads of noon, they circle and shine and float.

WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER

ENVOI

I WALKED with poets in my youth, Because the world they drew Was beautiful and glorious Beyond the world I knew.

The poets are my comrades still, But dearer than in youth, For now I know that they alone Picture the world of truth.

WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER

THERE WHERE THE SEA

THERE where the sea enwrapt A strip of land and wind-swept dune, Where nature was quiescent in the glimmering Noonday sun of early June,-- The Placid sea lay shimmering In a mist of blue, From which the sky now drew Its wealth of hue and colour; One heard but the deep breathing of the ocean, As it breathed along the sh.o.r.e in even motion.

Among the pines and listless of the scene, Atthis and Alcaeus lay, Within the heart of each a hunger For the unknown gift of life.

Here from day to day They met and dreamed away The soft unfloding days of spring,-- Now turning to the summer.

Aleaeus:

I am faint with all the fire In my blood, And I would plunge into the quiet blue And lose all sense of time and you.

Atthis:

I, too, would plunge And swim with you!

Doffing her robe, the maid stood in her beauty, Calm and sure and unafraid, The sinuous splendour of her limbs, A silent symphony of curving line, Which reached its final note In breast and rounded throat.

He had not known that flesh could be so fair; Each movement which she made Wove o'er his sense a deeper spell, Her beauty swept him like a flame And caught him unaware.

She looked into his eyes, then dropping hers Before that burning gaze, Softly turned and crept with sunlit shoulders Down among the boulders, To the sea.

Secure within its covering depth She called to him to follow.

She led him out along the tide, With swift unerring stroke, Nor paused till he was at her side.

With conquering arm He seized her and from her brow Tossed back the dripping locks, and sought her lips-- Her eyes closed,-- As all her body yielded to his kiss.

Then home he bore her to the sh.o.r.e, Within his heart a song of triumph; In hers, a new-born joy of womanhood.

So spring for them pa.s.sed on to summer.

MARIE TUDOR

MARRIAGE

YOU, who have given me your name, And with your laws have made me wife, To share your failures and your fame, Whose word has made me yours for life.

What proof have you that you hold me?

That in reality I'm one With you, through all eternity?

What proof when all is said and done?

In spite of all the laws you've made, I'm free. I am no part of you.

But wait-the last word is not said; You're mine, for I'm myself and you.

All through my veins there flows your blood, In you there is no part of me.

By virtue of my motherhood Through me you live eternally.

MARIE TUDOR

PITY

Oh do not Pity me because I gave My heart when lovely April with a gust, Swept down the singing lanes with a cool wave; And do not pity me because I thrust Aside your love that once burned as a flame.

I was as thirsty as a windy flower That bares its bosom to the summer shower And to the unremembered winds that came.

Pity me most for moments yet to be, In the far years, when some day I shall turn Toward this strong path up to our little door And find it barred to all my ecstasy.

No sound of your warm voice the winds have borne-- Only the crying sea upon the sh.o.r.e.

HAROLD VINAL

A ROSE TO THE LIVING

A ROSE to the living is more Than sumptuous wreaths to the dead; In filling love's infinite store, A rose to the living is more, If graciously given before The hungering spirit is fled,-- A rose to the living is more Than sumptuous wreaths to the dead.