THIS IS ANOTHER DAY

I am mine own priest, and I shrive myself
Of all my wasted yesterdays. Though sin
And sloth and foolishness, and all ill weeds
Of error, evil, and neglect grow rank
And ugly there, I dare forgive myself
That error, sin, and sloth and foolishness.
God knows that yesterday I played the fool;
God knows that yesterday I played the knave;
But shall I therefore cloud this new dawn o’er
With fog of futile sighs and vain regrets?

This is another day! And flushed Hope walks
Adown the sunward slopes with golden shoon.
This is another day; and its young strength
Is laid upon the quivering hills until,
Like Egypt’s Memnon, they grow quick with song.
This is another day, and the bold world
Leaps up and grasps its light, and laughs, as leapt
Prometheus up and wrenched the fire from Zeus.

This is another day are its eyes blurred
With maudlin grief for any wasted past?
A thousand thousand failures shall not daunt!
Let dust clasp dust; death, death I am alive!
And out of all the dust and death of mine
Old selves I dare to lift a singing heart
And living faith; my spirit dares drink deep
Of the red mirth mantling in the cup of morn.

APRIL SONG

Fleet across the grasses
Flash the feet of Spring,
Piping, as he passes
Fleet across the grasses,
“Follow, lads and lasses!
Sing, world, sing!”
Fleet across the grasses
Flash the feet of Spring!

Idle winds deliver
Rumors through the town,
Tales of reeds that quiver,
Idle winds deliver,
Where the rapid river
Drags the willows down
Idle winds deliver
Rumors through the town.

In the country places
By the silver brooks
April airs her graces;
In the country places
Wayward April paces,
Laughter in her looks;
In the country places
By the silver brooks.

Hints of alien glamor
Even reach the town;
Urban muses stammer
Hints of alien glamor,
But the city’s clamor
Beats the voices down;
Hints of alien glamor
Even reach the town.

THE EARTH, IT IS ALSO A STAR

Where the singers of Saturn find tongue,
Where the Galaxy’s lovers embrace,
Our world and its beauty are sung!
They lean from their casements to trace
If our planet still spins in its place;
Faith fables the thing that we are,
And Fantasy laughs and gives chase:
This earth, it is also a star!

Round the sun, that is fixed, and hung
For a lamp in the darkness of space
We are whirled, we are swirled, we are flung;
Singing and shining we race
And our light on the uplifted face
Of dreamer or prophet afar
May fall as a symbol of grace:
This earth, it is also a star!

Looking out where our planet is swung
Doubt loses his writhen grimace,
Dry hearts drink the gleams and are young;
Where agony’s boughs interlace
His Garden some Jesus may pace,
Lifting, the wan avatar,
His soul to this light as a vase!
This earth, it is also a star!

Great spirits in sorrowful case
Yearn to us through the vapors that bar:
Canst think of that, soul, and be base?
This earth, it is also a star!

THE NAME

It shifts and shifts from form to form,
It drifts and darkles, gleams and glows;
It is the passion of the storm,
The poignance of the rose;
Through changing shapes, through devious
ways,
By noon or night, through cloud or flame,
My heart has followed all my days
Something I cannot name.

In sunlight on some woman’s hair,
Or starlight in some woman’s eyne,
Or in low laughter smothered where
Her red lips wedded mine,
My heart hath known, and thrilled to know,
This unnamed presence that it sought;
And when my heart hath found it so,
"Love is the name," I thought.

Sometimes when sudden afterglows
In futile glory storm the skies
Within their transient gold and rose
The secret stirs and dies;
Or when the trampling morn walks o’er
The troubled seas, with feet of flame,
My awed heart whispers, "Ask no more,
For Beauty is the name!"

Or dreaming in old chapels where
The dim aisles pulse with murmurings
That part are music, part are prayer
(Or rush of hidden wings)
Sometimes I lift a startled head
To some saint’s carven countenance,
Half fancying that the lips have said,
All names mean God, perchance!"

THE BIRTH

There is a legend that the love of God
So quickened under Mary’s heart it wrought
Her very maidenhood to holier stuff....
However that may be, the birth befell
Upon a night when all the Syrian stars
Swayed tremulous before one lordlier orb
That rose in gradual splendor,
Paused,
Flooding the firmament with mystic light,
And dropped upon the breathing hills
A sudden music
Like a distillation from its gleams;
A rain of spirit and a dew of song!

A MOOD OF PAVLOWA

The soul of the Spring through its body of earth
Bursts in a bloom of fire,
And the crocuses come in a rainbow riot of mirth....
They flutter, they burn, they take wing, they
aspire....
Wings, motion and music and flame,
Flower, woman and laughter, and all these the
same!
She is light and first love and the youth of the
world,
She is sandaled with joy ... she is lifted and
whirled,
She is flung, she is swirled, she is driven along
By the carnival winds that have torn her away
From the coronal bloom on the brow of the
May....
She is youth, she is foam, she is flame, she is
visible Song!

THE POOL

Reach over, my Undine, and clutch me a reed
Nymph of mine idleness, notch me a pipe
For I am fulfilled of the silence, and long
For to utter the sense of the silence in song.

Down-stream all the rapids are troubled with pebbles
That fetter and fret what the water would utter,
And it rushes and splashes in tremulous trebles;
It makes haste through the shallows, its soul is
aflutter;

But here all the sound is serene and outspread
In the murmurous moods of a slow-swirling pool;
Here all the sounds are unhurried and cool;
Every silence is kith to a sound; they are wed,
They are mated, are mingled, are tangled, are
bound;
Every hush is in love with a sound, every sound
By the law of its life to some silence is bound.

Then here will we hide; idle here and abide,
In the covert here, close by the waterside
Here, where the slim flattered reeds are aquiver
With the exquisite hints of the reticent river,
Here, where the lips of this pool are the lips
Of all pools, let us listen and question and wait;
Let us hark to the whispers of love and of death,
Let us hark to the lispings of life and of fate
In this place where pale silences flower into sound
Let us strive for some secret of all the profound
Deep and calm Silence that meshes men ’round!
There’s as much of God hinted in one ripple’s
plashes
There’s as much of Truth glints in yon
dragon-flys flight
There’s as much Purpose gleams where yonder
trout flashes
As in any book else! could we read things
aright.

Then nymph of mine indolence, here let us hide,
Learn, listen, and question; idle here and abide
Where the rushes and lilies lean low to the tide.

"THEY HAD NO POET"

“Vain was the chief’s, the sage’s pride!
They had no poet and they died. Pope.

By Tigris, or the streams of Ind,
Ere Colchis rose, or Babylon,
Forgotten empires dreamed and sinned,
Setting tall towns against the dawn,

Which, when the proud Sun smote upon,
Flashed fire for fire and pride for pride;
Their names were ... Ask oblivion! ...
"They had no poet, and they died."

Queens, dusk of hair and tawny-skinned,
That loll where fellow leopards fawn ...
Their hearts are dust before the wind,
Their loves, that shook the world, are wan!

Passion is mighty ... but, anon,
Strong Death has Romance for his bride;
Their legends ... Ask oblivion! ...
"They had no poet, and they died."

Heroes, the braggart trumps that dinned
Their futile triumphs, monarch, pawn,
Wild tribesmen, kingdoms disciplined,
Passed like a whirlwind and were gone;

They built with bronze and gold and brawn,
The inner Vision still denied;
Their conquests ... Ask oblivion! ...
"They had no poet, and they died."

Dumb oracles, and priests withdrawn,
Was it but flesh they deified?
Their gods were ... Ask oblivion! ...
"They had no poet, and they died."

NEW YORK

She is hot to the sea that crouches beside,
Human and hot to the cool stars peering down,
My passionate city, my quivering town,
And her dark blood, tide upon purple tide,
With throbs as of thunder beats,
With leaping rhythms and vast, is swirled
Through the shaken lengths of her veined streets...
She pulses, the heart of a world!

I have thrilled with her ecstasy, agony, woe
Hath she a mood that I do not know?
The winds of her music tumultuous have seized
me and swayed me,
Have lifted, have swung me around
In their whorls as of cyclonic sound;
Her passions have torn me and tossed me and
brayed me;
Drunken and tranced and dazzled with visions
and gleams,

I have spun with her dervish priests;
I have searched to the souls of her hunted beasts
And found love sleeping there;
I have soared on the wings of her flashing dreams;
I have sunk with her dull despair;
I have sweat with her travails and cursed with
her pains;
I have swelled with her foolish pride;
I have raged through a thick red mist at one
with her branded Cains,
With her broken Christs have died.

O beautiful half-god city of visions and love!
O hideous half-brute city of hate!
O wholly human and baffled and passionate town!
The throes of thy burgeoning, stress of thy fight,
Thy bitter, blind struggle to gain for thy body a
soul,
I have known, I have felt, and been shaken
thereby!
Wakened and shaken and broken,
For I hear in thy thunders terrific that throb
through thy rapid veins
The beat of the heart of a world.

A HYMN

(1914)

Clothed on with thunder and with steel
And black against the dawn
The whirling armies clash and reel....
A wind, and they are gone
Like mists withdrawn,
Like mists withdrawn!

Like clouds withdrawn, like driven sands,
Earth’s body vanisheth:
One solid thing unconquered stands,
The ghost that humbles death.
All else is breath,
All else is breath!

Man rose from out the stinging slime,
Half brute, and sought a soul,
And up the starrier ways of time,
Half god, unto his goal,

He still must climb,
He still must climb!

What though worlds stagger, and the suns
Seem shaken in their place,
Trust thou the leaping love that runs
Creative over space:
Take heart of grace,
Take heart of grace!

What though great kingdoms fall on death
Before the stabbing blade,
Their brazen might was only breath,
Their substance but a shade
Be not dismayed,
Be not dismayed!

Man’s dream which conquered brute and clod
Shall fail not, but endure,
Shall rise, though beaten to the sod,
Shall hold its vantage sure
As sure as God,
As sure as God!

THE SINGER

A little while, with love and youth,
He wandered, singing:
He felt life’s pulses hot and strong
Beat all his rapid veins along;
He wrought life’s rhythms into song:
He laughed, he sang the Dawn!
So close, so close to life he dwelt
That at rare times and rapt he felt
The fleshly barriers yield and melt;
He trembled, looking on
Creation at her miracles;
His soul-sight pierced the earthly shells
And saw the spirit weave its spells,
The veil of clay withdrawn;
A little while, with love and youth,
He wandered, singing!

A little while, with age and death,
He wanders, dreaming;

No more the thunder and the urge
Of earth’s full tides that storm the verge
Of heaven with their sweep and surge
Shall lift, shall bear him on;
Where is the golden hope that led
Him comrade with the mighty dead?
The love that aureoled his head?
The glory is withdrawn!
How shall one soar with broken wings?
The leagued might of futile things
Wars with the heart that dares and sings;
It is not always Dawn!
A little while, with age and death,
He wanders, dreaming.

WORDS ARE NOT GUNS

Put by the sword (a dreamer saith),
The years of peace draw nigh!
Already the millennial dawn
Makes red the eastern sky!

Be not deceived. It comes not yet!
The ancient passions keep
Alive beneath their changing masks.
They are not dead. They sleep.

Surely peace comes. As sure as Man
Rose from primeval slime.
That was not yesterday. There’s still
A weary height to climb!

And we can dwell too long with dreams
And play too much with words,
Forgetting our inheritance
Was bought and held with swords.

But Truth (you say) makes tyrants quail
Beats down embattled Wrong?
If truth be armed! Be not deceived.
The strife is to the strong.

Words are not guns. Words are not ships.
And ships and guns prevail.
Our liberties, that blood has gained,
Are guarded, or they fail.

Truth does not triumph without blows,
Error not tamely yields.
But falsehood closes with quick faith,
Fierce, on a thousand fields.

And surely, somewhat of that faith
Our fathers fought for clings!
Which called this freedom’s hemisphere,
Despite Earth’s leagued kings.

Great creeds grow thews, or else they die.
Thought clothed in deed is lord.
What are thy gods? Thy gods brought love?
They also brought a sword.

Unchallenged, shall we always stand,
Secure, apart, aloof?
Be not deceived. That hour shall come
Which puts us to the proof.

Then, that we hold the trust we have
Safeguarded for our sons,
Let us cease dreaming! Let us have
More ships, more troops, more guns!

WITH THE SUBMARINES

ABOVE, the baffled twilight fails; beneath, the
blind snakes creep;
Beside us glides the charnel shark, our pilot
through the deep;
And, lurking where low headlands shield from
cruising scout and spy,
We bide the signal through the gloom that bids
us slay or die.

All watchful, mute, the crouching guns that guard
the strait sea lanes
Watchful and hawklike, plumed with hate, the
desperate aeroplanes
And still as death and swift as fate, above the
darkling coasts,
The spying Wireless sows the night with troops
of stealthy ghosts,

While hushed through all her huddled streets the
tide-walled city waits
The drumming thunders that announce brute
battle at her gates.

Southward a hundred windy leagues, through
storms that blind and bar,
Our cheated cruisers search the waves, our captains
seek the war;
But here the port of peril is; the foeman’s
dreadnoughts ride
Sullen and black against the moon, upon a sullen
tide.
And only we to launch ourselves against their
stark advance
To guide uncertain lightnings through these
treacherous seas of chance!

And now a wheeling searchlight paints a signal on
the night;
And now the bellowing guns are loud with the
wild lust of fight.

And now, her flanks of steel apulse with all the
power of hell,
Forth from the darkness leaps in pride a hateful
miracle,
The flagship of their Admiral and now God help
and save!
We challenge Death at Death’s own game; we
sink beneath the wave!

Ah, steady now and one good blow one straight
stab through the gloom
Ah, good! the thrust went home! she founders
flounders to her doom!
Full speed ahead! those damned quick-firing guns
but let them bark
What’s that the dynamos? they’ve got us, men!
Christ! in the dark!

NICHOLAS OF MONTENEGRO

(1912)

HE speaks as straight as his rifles shot,
As straight as a thrusting blade,
Waiting the deed that shall trouble the truce
His savage guns have made.

“You have dared the wrath of a dozen states,”
Was the challenge that he heard;
“We can die but once!” said the grim old King
As he gripped his mountain sword.

“For I paid in blood for the town I took,
The blood of my brave men slain,
And if you covet the town I took
You must buy it with blood again!”

Stern old King of the stark, black hills,
Where the lean, fierce eagles breed,
Your speech rings true as your good sword rings
And you are a king indeed!

DICKENS

“The only book that the party had was a volume of Dickens.
During the six months that they lay in the cave which they
had hacked in the ice, waiting for spring to come, they read
this volume through again and again. From a newspaper
report of an antarctic expedition.

HUDDLED within their savage lair
They hearkened to the prowling wind;
They heard the loud wings of despair ...
And madness beat against the mind....
A sunless world stretched stark outside
As if it had cursed God and died;
Dumb plains lay prone beneath the weight
Of cold unutterably great;
Iron ice bound all the bitter seas,
The brutal hills were bleak as hate....
Here none but Death might walk at ease!

Then Dickens spoke, and, lo! the vast
Unpeopled void stirred into life;

The dead world quickened, the mad blast
Hushed for an hour its idiot strife
With nothingness....

And from the gloom,
Parting the flaps of frozen skin,
Old friends and dear came trooping in,
And light and laughter filled the room....
Voices and faces, shapes beloved,
Babbling lips and kindly eyes,
Not ghosts, but friends that lived and moved ...
They brought the sun from other skies,
They wrought the magic that dispels
The bitterer part of loneliness ...
And when they vanished each man dreamed
His dream there in the wilderness....
One heard the chime of Christmas bells,
And, staring down a country lane,
Saw bright against the window-pane
The firelight beckon warm and red....
And one turned from the waterside
Where Thames rolls down his slothful tide
To breast the human sea that beats
Through roaring London’s battered streets

And revel in the moods of men....
And one saw all the April hills
Made glad with golden daffodils,
And found and kissed his love again....

By all the troubled hearts he cheers
In homely ways or by lost trails,
By all light shed through all dark years
When hope grows sick and courage quails,
We hail him first among his peers;
Whether we sorrow, sing, or feast,
He, too, hath known and understood
Master of many moods, high priest
Of mirth and lord of cleansing tears!

A POLITICIAN

LEADER no more, be judged of us!
Hailed Chief, and loved, of yore
Youth, and the faith of youth, cry out:
Leader and Chief no more!

We dreamed a Prophet, flushed with faith,
Content to toil in pain
If that his sacrifice might be,
Somehow, his people’s gain.

We saw a vision, and our blood
Beat red and hot and strong:
"Lead us (we cried) to war against
Some foul, embattled wrong!"

We dreamed a Warrior whose sword
Was edged for sham and shame;
We dreamed a Statesman far above
The vulgar lust for fame.

We were not cynics, and we dreamed
A Man who made no truce
With lies nor ancient privilege
Nor old, entrenched abuse.

We dreamed ... we dreamed ... Youth dreamed
a dream!
And even you forgot
Yourself, one moment, and dreamed, too
Struck, while your mood was hot!

Struck three or four good blows ... and then
Turned back to easier things:
The cheap applause, the blatant mob,
The praise of underlings!

Praise ... praise ... was ever man so filled,
So avid still, of praise?
So hungry for the crowd’s acclaim,
The sycophantic phrase?

O you whom Greatness beckoned to ...
O swollen Littleness
Who turned from Immortality
To fawn upon Success!

O blind with love of self, who led
Youth’s vision to defeat,
Bawling and brawling for rewards,
Loud, in the common street!

O you who were so quick to judge
Leader, and loved, of yore
Hear now the judgment of our youth:
Leader and Chief no more!

THE BAYONET

(1914)

THE great guns slay from a league away, the death-bolts
fly unseen,
And bellowing hill replies to hill, machine to brute
machine,
But still in the end when the long lines bend and
the battle hangs in doubt
They take to the steel in the same old way that
their fathers fought it out
It is man to man and breast to breast and eye
to bloodshot eye
And the reach and twist of the thrusting wrist, as
it was in the days gone by!

Along the shaken hills the guns their drumming
thunder roll
But the keen blades thrill with the lust to kill
that leaps from the slayer’s soul!

For hand and heart and living steel, one pulse of
hate they feel.
Is your clan afraid of the naked blade? Does it
flinch from the bitter steel?
Perish your dreams of conquest then, your swollen
hopes and bold,
For empire dwells with the stabbing blade, as it
did in the days of old!

THE BUTCHERS AT PRAYER

(1914)

EACH nation as it draws the sword
And flings its standard to the air
Petitions piously the Lord
Vexing the void abyss with prayer.

O irony too deep for mirth!
O posturing apes that rant, and dare
This antic attitude! O Earth,
With your wild jest of wicked prayer!

I dare not laugh ... a rising swell
Of laughter breaks in shrieks somewhere
No doubt they relish it in Hell,
This cosmic jest of Earth at prayer!