• Immortality
• A Woman at Her Husband's Grave
• Night Winds
• I Shall Not Die
• Looking at a Portrait
• To ______
• Moloch
• Rain Music (NM)
• Reward
• Why?
• Sonnet: I sometimes wonder if the mighty God
• Love's Demesne
• Africa
• Theodore Rooseveldt

Immortality

FROM your life's blood to coin a trenchant word--

The past, the present and the future's ken

To hold--and weave it to a ringing chord

That sounds within the changing hearts of men.

A Woman at Her Husband's Grave

PEACE to his ashes!

I cannot for the soul of me

Sorrowing bow,

Tho I search through the heart of me

Grieve for him now.

'Tis well he is gone

And heart-break is over,

A husband he was

But never a lover.

Night Winds

THE slender moon in its silvery sheen,

The golden stars with the blue between

Of a dreamy, summer sky;

And still the night winds sigh.

With the silvery moon to whisper to,

And the golden stars to kiss, mid the blue

Of a listening, summer sky,

For what should the night winds sigh?

I Shall Not Die

NEVER shall I die

  While this untrammeled spirit-mine

  Shall in hope's constellation shine

And faith-embraced my soul shall lie.

Looking at a Portrait

O WHY are there eyes like these,

That sparkle and dapple and tease,

So wide with the morning, so deep with the night,

Dancing and gleaming in passioned delight?

O why are there eyes like these?

O why are there lips like these?

Caressed by the southern breeze,

That beckon and call and hold a slave

All who therewith each soul-cry leave?

O why are there lips like these?

O why are there arms like these?

That crumple and crush as they please

A weak man's heart, and in their embrace

Bring a glow of red to a strong man's face?

O why are there arms like these?

To __________

SUNLESS days and starless nights

    Bearing fruits of wrack and pain,

Purge my lips of lover's vows,

    Bid me never hope again.

Yet the longing of my soul,

    Oft denied, still faintly cries,

For the heaven of your smile,

    And the starlight of your eyes.

Moloch

OLD Moloch walks the way tonight

    On Flander's poppied field,

Where foe meets foe in steel and might

    And never one shall yield.

Old Moloch of the fiery shrine,

    Deep in the throes of pain,

Cries for the bleeding anodyne

    Of flesh of youths again.

Heart of my heart went out tonight,

    Where Moloch holds the way,

To lads of brown and black and white

    Who blazon Freedom's day.

Tear down the shrine of Moloch there,

    From crimson field and glen,

Tear down the shrine of Moloch where

    It shames the hearts of men.

Rain Music

ON the dusty earth-drum

    Beats the falling rain;

Now a whispered murmur,

    Now a louder strain.

Slender, silvery drumsticks,

    On an ancient drum,

Beat the mellow music

    Bidding life to come.

Chords of earth awakened,

    Notes of greening spring,

Rise and fall triumphant

    Over every thing.

Slender, silvery drumsticks

    Beat the long tattoo--

God, the Great Musician,

    Calling life anew.

Reward

OUT of the silence

    I come to you,

Bringing a love

    Free as the dew.

I come and sing

    A heart's great love,

And passion of soul

    Pure as a dove.

But this I crave

    As you pass by--

A smile on your lips,

    A light in your eye.

Why?

THE little child crosses the street--

  Why does she wave to me?

What sees she in my wasted form

  To hail so joyously?

Her olive face and curly hair

  Are tidings of earth-peace,

Her golden smile's a wreath of joy

  That bids my sorrows cease.

To me she is a fairy sprite--

  A heavenly harbringer

Whose sun-kissed eyes are songs of God--

  But what am I to her?

Sonnet: I sometimes wonder if the mighty God

I SOMETIMES wonder if the mighty God

  Cares aught about the little deeds of men;

  And if their day and time can reach his ken

Or raise their breath above the hungry sod.

Does He who lightly holds th' eternal rod,

  Now taut, now loose, the threads of Why and When?

  Giving passing heed--or be they one or ten--

To one-time flesh but now the wind-blown clod?

If men can die who never yet knew life,

  And, smiling, hold it is no strange affair;

Or live when death were welcome boon of strife,

  Torn, broken sheaves the ghostly reapers spare;

The saints must grieve for earthly sorrows rife,

  And God must heed, yea surely, God must care.

Love's Demesne

[Editor's note: 'demesne', pronounced "di mAAAn" or in this case "di mEEEn" is an old middle english word meaning 'domain' or 'estate' -- thus "Love's domain" --Steve]

OLD memories come trooping down

  The vistas of the years;

In blue-girt robes of pleasure clad

  Or garbed in tears.

Down from the days when hope was young

  And sorrow never born,

My thoughts sweep o'er remembered scenes

  Unto this morn.

Though motley company they are

  Of smile or tear or frown,

They hold aloft the burnished gold

  Of my heart's crown.

For through it all and over all

  There gleams the light serene,

On purpled walls and crimson heights

  In love's demesne.

Africa

A THOUSAND years of darkness in her face,

   She turns at last from out the centurys' blight

   Of labored moan and dull oppression's might,

To slowly mount the rugged path and trace

Her measured step unto her ancient place.

   And upward, ever upward towards the light

   She strains, seeing afar the day when right

Shall rule the world and justice leaven the race.

Now bare her swarthy arm and firm her sword,

   She stands where Universal Freedom bleeds,

And slays in holy wrath to save the word

   Of nations and their puny, boasting creeds.

Sear with the truth, O God, each doubting heart,

Of mankind's need and Afric's gloried part.

Theodore Rooseveldt

NOW with the dust that bore him he is one,

   Silent, into into earth's silent maw ye laid him.

Dimmed is his light, as with the setting sun,

   He folds his steps unto the God who made him.

When shall the weak stand and rejoice again

   To see his banner in the battle's light?

When shall the humble hear his voice again

   Raised from the mountain of majestic right?

O ye shall see that banner gleam again

   High o'er the ramparts of a nation's goal;

O ye shall hear that voice redeem again

   The blood-stained conscience of a nation's soul.

Rise ye that tremble 'mid such fearful moan,

He stands annointed at Jehovah's throne.