Part 7 (1/2)

NECROMANCE

Can heedless gazing teach me more than toil?

Can swaying of sere sedge along the slope, Or the dull lisp of oaken limbs that foil The sun's ensheathing fervor, interfuse My vacant being with far meanings whose Soft airs blow from the hidden seas of Hope?

Or can the wintry sumac sably stooping So charm and lift my heart from heartless drooping When other healings all were asked in vain?

Yes--there are witcheries in the things of earth That breathe with an illimitable voice Wisdom and calm to us, and lure to birth Dim intimations bidding us rejoice Even in the great mystery of Pain.

LOOK NOT TO THE WEST

Look not to the west where the sun is dying On fields of darkening clouds!

Look not to the west where the wild birds nest And the winds are hieing To sweep away sleep from the forest, And tatter the shrouds of sable silence Lit by the fire-fly's morris-dance.

Look not to the west-- 'Tis best for the heart to hear not the chants Of Evening over day's death!

Look not to the west where the sun is dying-- The sun that rose with song!

Look not to the west where the closed quest Of thy soul seems lying; Where every sorrow that ever Was wed with wrong in human breast, From the sea of its radiance never fades!

Look not to the west-- 'Tis best for the heart to see not the shades That rise--the wrecks of the Past!

A NIKKO SHRINE

Under the sway, in old j.a.pan, Of silent cryptic trees, There is a shrine the worldliest Would near with bended knees.

Green, thro a torii, the way Leads to it, worn, across A rivulet whose voice intones With mystery of moss.

A mystery that is everywhere: The G.o.d beneath his shrine Seems but a mossy shape--yet so Ensheathed is more divine.

For tho Nature has m.u.f.fled him And sealed him there away, The meaning of all faith remains-- That men will ever pray.

Aye will, as long as soul has need, As long as earth is sod With tombs, bow down the knee to all That wakens in them G.o.d.

THE QUESTION

I shall lie so one day, With lips of Silence set; Eyes that no tear can wet Again: a thing of Clay.

I shall lie so, and Earth Will seize again her dust-- Though she must gnaw and rust The coffin's iron girth.

I shall lie so--and they Who still the Day bestride, Will stand so by my side And with sad yearning say:

”What is he now, this man, Shut in a pallor there, His spirit that could dare, What--what now is its span?