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BY * 






My lute on lifted hands 

I hold 

Andpray this prayer: 
Tune Thou the strings, 

let them unfold 
Thy mercy, love and 

And let it now and ever 

An instrument that 

pleases Thee. 



The verses in this volume originally appeared in 
Appletons, The Atlantic Monthly, The Bookman, 
The Century, The Cosmopolitan, East and West, 
Everybody s, Harper s Bazar, The Independent, 
Lippincott s, The Munsey, The Outlook, Peter 
son s, Putnam s, The Reader, The Smart Set, 
Sunset, The Times Magazine, Vogue, and 
The Youth s Companion. 

Copyright, 1912 

by A. M. Robertson 

San Francisco 


Taylor, Nash & Taylor 
San Francisco 


From them to you, how great the span, 
When measured by the life of man ; 

From you to them, how short the space, 
When measured by your verses grace I 

Dead are the Lovers, dead each Dame 
Deathless their Songs, enrolled by Fame ! 

Of Beauty and of Love they sang, 
With praise of Love their verses rang, 

With praise of Beauty rang their verse, 
While Lovers fealty they rehearse. 

And you, in newer word and phrase, 
The same sweet themes of olden days, 

The worth of Beauty, truth of Love, 
Love s faith, all other faith above, 

In newer phrase and word you sing, 
The self-same praises of the Spring 

Spring of the World, Spring of the Heart, 
That Spring whence springs all truth in Art! 

So may some song of yours enshrine 
A lambent spark of fire divine, 

To kindle newly by your art 

The flame of Spring-tide in the heart 

You ll not have lived and loved in vain 
If one dead heart shall glow again ! 

R. H. P. 

Sonoma, California, 

Christmas Day, Nineteen Hundred and Ten. 




Dedication iii 

Come. Troubadours ... 1 

Blondel 2 

Wood-Wind 4 

The Groves of Pan ... 6 
Dreams in the Redwoods ! 

Loiterland 9 

A Jewel Song 12 

"One Whose Name Was 

Writ in Water" ... 13 
A California Song ... 14 
A California River ... 15 
To Bliss Carman ... 16 
The Trail Beautiful . . 17 

The Sleepless 20 

Forest Couplets .... 21 

Poetry 22 

Revealment 23 

By the Guadaloupe . . 24 
"I Lay My Lute Beside 

Thy Door" 25 

Sword, Go Through the 

Land 26 

The Poet Touch .... 27 
To Ina Coolbrith ... 28 
Friend of Mine .... 30 

A Roundelay 31 

Dream-Song 32 

The Unattained .... 33 
At a Wayside Shrine . . 34 
The Cameo-Cutter ... 35 

Coronach 36 

A Woodland Revel ... 38 
At Santa Cruz . . . . 40 
Beside the Western Sea . 41 
California Skies .... 43 
In a Cathedral .... 44 
A Casement Canzonet . . 45 
Mountain Haze .... 46 
Nectar 47 


The Way to the Violet Hills 48 
The Vanished Voice . . 49 
An Elfin Skein .... 50 
The Golden Legacy . . 52 
To a New Acquaintance . 53 

The Necklace 54 

A Lyric for a Lute ... 55 
A Little Love-Song ... 56 
When You Come Home . 57 

Angel Lore 58 

Lay . . 59 

A Pilgrim Song .... 60 
In a Mission Garden . . 61 

In a Pergola 62 

A Legend of the Madonna 63 
A Song of Far and Near . 65 
How Steep the Stairs . . 66 
Dream Chimes .... 67 

Rosemary 68 

The Praise of Hope . . 69 
The Evening Star ... 70 
The Willow Stream . . 71 
A Rainbow Fancy ... 73 
Water, Leaf and Wing . . 74 
A Rhyme Rose .... 75 

Via Crucis 76 

A Day of Days .... 77 
The Golden Age .... 78 
Afternoon Callers ... 79 
A California Psalm ... 80 
The Things That Count . 81 
The Language of Love . 82 
The Singing Wind ... 83 
An Old Guitar .... 84 
The Unseen Ships ... 86 

At Sunset 87 

A Wedding Song ... 88 

Chansonnette 89 

The Silhouette City . . 90 
A Signal at Sea . . . . 91 


Come, Troubadours 

Troubadours ! Come sing again 
To the heart of hearts of men ; 
Come with arms heaped full of roses, 
Wreath and garland bright with posies, 
For we need your fragrant lays 
In these dull and sordid days. 

Troubadours ! Again to Earth 
Bring love-music and love-mirth ; 
Sing of glance and smile and kisses, 
Lover s vow and kindred blisses, 
For your arts and wiles we need 
In this age of grind and greed. 

Troubadours ! Fair fellowship, 
Sweet of lute and sweet of lip, 
Strike the love-cord that entices 
With its many rare devices, 
For we need love-tunes and rhymes 
In these heartless, faithless times. 

Troubadours ! Come sing once more 
Chaunt and lai of tender lore ; 
Come in true, old minstrel fashion, 
Heart and tongue aflame with passion, 
Bringing from those days afar 
Once again "Z/e Gai Savoir"! 



Within my heart I long have kept 
A little chamber cleanly swept, 
Embroidered with a fleur-de-lis, 
And lintel boughs of redwood tree ; 
A bed, a book, a crucifix, 
Two little copper candlesticks 
With tapers ready for the match 
The moment I his footfall catch, 
That when in thought he comes to me 
He straightway at his ease may be. 
This guest I love so to allure 
Blondel, King Richard s troubadour ! 

He often comes, but sings no more 
(He says his singing days are o er!); 
Still, sweet of tongue and filled with tales 
Of knights and ladies, bowers and vales, 
He caps our frugal meal with talk 
Of langue d oil and langue d oc, . 

Of Picardy and Aquitaine, 
Blanche of Castile and Charlemagne, 
Of menestrel, trouvere, conteur, 
Mime, histrion, and old harpeur 
Small wonder that I love him well, 
King Richard s troubadour, Blondel ! 

Still, as he comes at candle-light 
And goes before the east is bright, 
I have no heart to beg him keep 



Late hour with me when wooed hy sleep ; 
But one request I ever make, 
And ever no for answer take : 
He will not make the secret mine, 
What song he sang at Durrenstein ! 
Sleep, troubadour ! Enough that thou 
With that sweet lay didst keep thy vow 
And link thy name hy deathless art 
With Richard of the Lion Heart! 


Wood -Wind 

Hither, Wood-wind, lend thy lips 
Where this mountain brooklet slips 
Under alder, buckeye, hay, 
Oaken hough and willow spray ; 
Lend thy lips, and let the tone 
Be like fairy hugles blown, 
Fairy bugles blown afar 
In the Land of Evening Star. 

Hither, Wood-wind, touch thy tongue 
To the flutes with garlands hung; 
There are notes that only thou 
Canst awake from branch and bough, 
Notes that Pan with piping sweet 
Charms Terpsichore s light feet, 
Or the softer notes that dwell 
Deep in Orpheus golden shell. 

Hither, Wood-wind, horns are here, 
Elfin horns to woodmen dear, 
Hanging at the ivory door 
Of each spreading sycamore ; 
Breathe upon these alder boughs 
And thy gentle strains shall rouse 
Dreams that in hushed valleys dwell, 
Crowned with wreaths of asphodel. 

Hither, Wood-wind, thou dost know 
Haunt of pebbly piccolo, 



And the cave of clarionet 

In the reeds with ripples wet ; 

There are diapason stops 

In the sky-tipped redwood tops ; 

Blow thereon and we shall hear 

Music of a primal year ! 

Welcome, "Wood-wind, at our call ; 
Or was it the waterfall 
Or a falling leaf s low cry 
That didst bid thee wander by ? 
Breathe and blow and drive away 
All the care and fret of day, 
While the pine trees soft bassoon 
Murmurs magic to the moon. 


The Groves of Pan 

Take my hand, and we will stroll 

To the foot of yonder knoll, 

Down a valley, through a brake, 

By a lily-mantled lake, 

O er a meadow Eden-fair, 

( Pegasus is pastured there ! ) 

Up a little wooded slope, 

Then a wicket gate we ope ; 

In this dew your finger dip, 

And unseen we then shall slip 

Down this willow-bowered wynd, 

Through this coppice, fir-confined. 

Now step softly as you can : 

We have reached the Groves of Pan ! 

Oh, the beauty of the breeze 

In the leafy laurel trees, 

And the rhymes when down the glade 

Branch and bough are zephyr-swayed ! 

List the rhythmic, quiet call 

Of the woodland waterfall, 

And the strophe of the streams 

Melody adrift in dreams ! 

From a covert, cool and dim, 

Floats an elfin morning hymn. 

Hark ! Three nymphs in dalliance met 

Trill a tuneful triolet. 

Hush ! A dryad and a faun 

Sing a duo to the dawn. 



Now comes Pan, his syrinx set 
To a joyous canzonet, 
All his court, a jocund train, 
Joining in the glad refrain ; 
Every insect, hee and bird 
In the perfect cadence heard ; 
Every tree in every grove 
Bowing at the name of Jove ! 
To some sylvan temple bound 
Moves the train with choral sound ; 
On from grove to grove they wend 
Till with dusk and dark they blend. 

Let us seek the haunts of man ; 
Farewell to the Groves of Pan ! 


Dreams in the Redwoods 

When early stars down twilight pathways rove, 
And deep-set, leaf-set canyon streamlets croon 
Their canticles unto the crescent moon, 

What rare enchantment fills this redwood grove ! 

Gone is the net of care that Daylight wove, 
The toil and weariness of afternoon, 
And up from crimson sea and rose lagoon 

Night drives her dreams, a misty, drowsy drove. 

These redwood dreams ! The silver Mission bells, 
The footprints of the Padres, fading fast, 

The sails adventurous that decked the shore ; 
Then on and on into the purple past 

Where redwood after redwood softly tells 
Mysterious tales of immemorial lore ! 



Take the road that sharply turns 
To the right at Point of Ferns, 
Then straight on until you see 
On a hough of laurel tree : 
Linger Lane, foot-path, no freight ; 
Traveler, please close the gate. 
Ope the portal; lo, you stand 
On the edge of Loiterland ! 

Oh, the song and shade and scent 
In one benediction hlent, 
Here where earth and air are rife 
With alluring Eden-life ! 
Vision vouchsafed hut to those 
Walking where the sunset rose 
Strews its leaves of gold and red 
O er a land with dreams bespread ! 

Let us first all grief assuage 
At the Halcyon Hermitage, 
Drinking luscious hydromel 
From a sylvan, moss-grown well ; 
Nothing now our course deters 
Bird and wind for couriers, 
Milestones writ in fairy script, 
Vocal guide-posts, elfin-lipped ! 

Shall we wander down this road 
To the Vale of Calm Abode, 



Or to Fancy s Cottage, caught 

In a net of roses wrought ? 

Where those purple hillocks rise 

Honeysuckle Hollow lies, 

Close where Sleep her scepter wields 

Over Day-dream Poppy-fields. 

If you cross this vineyard crest 

You will come to Roamer s Rest ; 

Then t is but a step or so 

To the Drowsy Bungalow ; 

Clover Croft is just behind 

Oaken boughs with moss entwined, 

And the inn called Heart s-ease stands 

Where the grove and brook clasp hands. 

Listen ! Was that music ? Hark ! 
Fountains talking in the dark, 
In the dark of spruce and fir, 
Dreams for their interpreter ; 
Rills along the roadside run 
Seemingly of silver spun, 
Spun of silver in whose net 
Emerald and sard are set. 

Here a canyon, lily-lit, 
Stately redwoods arching it, 
Woos with stream-sung serenade 
On to dimmer, deeper shade ; 
Winds that down this valley veer 
Whisper, " Lotusland is near ! " 



Is that ocean, sea or lake 

Gleaming through yon bank of brake ? 

Lo, on Dreamland s coast we stand ! 
White-sailed ports on every hand ; 
See, a shallop trimmed with flowers 
Waits that we may call it ours ! 
Let us quickly step aboard, 
Sailing softly twilightward, 
Seeking o er celestial seas 
Gardens of Hesperides ! 


A Jewel Song 

Three gems upon a golden chain 

I ever keep, 
Clasped round my neck in joy, in pain, 

Awake, asleep. 

The red of flame, the green of Spring, 

The white of tears 
Glow, gleam and sparkle on my string 

Of golden years. 

The ruby of the Present, bright, 

Of value vast, 
The Future s emerald, and the white 

Pearl of the Past. 


"One Whose Name Was Writ in Water" 

(February 23, 1 821) 

M Writ in water" yea, in all the springs 
That bubble into birth with murmurings 
Strange, untranslatable, of darks and deeps 
Where Lamia her serpent-vigil keeps. 

" Writ in water " yea, in all the brooks 
Along whose banks, with bosom-clasped books, 
Rapt poets, young and old, with faces wan 
Seek further word of lost Hyperion. 

w Writ in water " yea, in lake and sea 
Where e er the mirrored moon may chance to be, 
Fond dreamers find their sweetest solace there 
Along the path Endymion made fair. 

" Writ in water " yea, in ocean s breast, 
In every azure billow s foam-tipped crest 
In every bubble, ripple, fountain, wave, 
Thy name in water written, cheats the grave. 


A California Song 

I come to you with a gift in my hand, 

A flower that grew in a golden land, 

A land on whose head is a poppy crown 

And the scent of the blossoms is wafted down 

To the amber bay and the topaz sea 

And the sun-god s grave by the cocoa tree. 

I come to you with a flower whose face 
Is the zenith of beauty, the acme of grace ; 
There are dreams in its eyes, and the song on its 


Is the lullaby song of the shadow that slips 
O er the tall purple mountain that watches like 

The silver sails threading the fair Golden Gate. 

I come to you with a flower whose breath 
Brings freedom from fear of disaster and death, 
For though El Dorado be blackened, and rock 
Through the demon of fire and the earthquake 

There is peace in the hearts of her children who 

The scent of the fields where the poppies grow. 


A California River 

This is the Yuba River, filled with tales 
Of camp and cabin, Argonauts and gold, 
With dear romance of fir-set mountain trails. 

What wondrous legends might thy lips unfold, 
If but our eager ears were rightly tuned 
To nature s rhapsody by thee outrolled ! 

And yet thy liquid lyric, rhymed and runed 
Among the rocks that guard thy yellow bed, 
By echo in my heart is softly crooned, 

And seaward on thy bosom, fancy led, 

Through canyons calm and cool I downward float 

To vales with poppy gardens richly spread, 

Still on and on in slumber s dream-set boat, 
O er seas of bygone years, and ever in mine ears 
The mellow music of thy golden throat ! 


To Bliss Carman 

From Vagabondian ports a barque 

Sailed up the Sunset Sea, 
And just as daylight dawned from dark 

A voice called out to me : 
w Ho, Brother ! May I moor my ark 

Here at your Redwood Tree ? " 

Across the poppy fields I flung 
My welcome down the shore ; 

Oh, how I longed for tuneful tongue, 
For lay of Lydian lore, 

For harp with strings of silver strung 
My greeting to outpour 

" Thrice welcome, Vagabondian Bard, 

Thou Modern Mariner, 
From haunts with Golden Rowan starred, 

Pan Pipes and Dulcimer, 
With Gamelbar the battle-scarred 

Hail, Heart s Interpreter ! " 

With what delight I backward look 

Upon that golden day 
When for brief moments one forsook 

The Low Tide on Grand Pre, 
And bode with me and Bough and Book 

In rose-wreathed San Jose. 


The Trail Beautiful 

Here starts the trail 

This redwood tree 
Walk down the cool 

Dim depths with me ; 
No need of guide, 

We much prefer 
A butterfly 

For courier ! 
And if the path 

Should prove obscure 
We have the brook 

For troubadour 
To lead and lure 

With singing sweet 
Back to the trail 

Our straying feet. 
Is that the wind 

Among the trees, 
Or sounding of 

Pacific seas ? 
Again, again, 

Ah, t is the sea, 
And, troubadour, 

It calls to thee ! 
Down, down we stray, 

The woods grow dense, 
The air is rife 

With frankincense, 



The odor sweet 

Of fir and pine, 
For weary hearts 

The anodyne ! 
Here s eglantine, 

And through the grass 
I think I saw 

A pixy pass 
A shadow? No, 

I felt his wings 
Hark! Is it he 

Who softly sings 
Far up the hill 

Where purple haze 
Hints at the home 

Of sprites and fays ? 
An upland slope, 

Then down again 
Where lilies light 

A dusky glen ; 
Now straightway out 

Into the sun, 
Then into shade 

Where, one hy one, 
Day-dreams entwine 

A filmy veil 
That dims the wood 

And blurs the trail 

# * * * 
Far up the hill 



Is that a star 
That beckons us 

Afar, afar ? 
Come ! Back along 

The trail where now 
The moon peers through 

Still branch and bough; 
Up, up we climb 

Unto the crest 
That cradles home 

And sleep and rest ; 
Draw, troubadour, 

Dreams from the sky, 
Trail Beautiful 

Good night, good-bye ! 


The Sleepless 

The woods at night for sleep were fain ; 
The Wind crept down each leafy lane 

And sang a lullaby ; 

First trunk and branch, then bough and spray, 
Then lastly leaf, in slumber lay 

The Wind paused with a sigh. 

For Oh, my heart was fain for sleep ! 
I felt the Wood-wind closer creep 

And o er my pillow stray ; 
Fear, Pain and Care with peace were filled, 
But Memory would not be stilled, 

And sobbed till dawn of day. 


Forest Couplets 

Beneath a redwood let me lie 
And all its harmonies untie : 

Melodic sequences of spray 

And bough and trunk in rich array ; 

Chromatic hue and tint and shade 
Of beryl, emerald and jade ; 

Cadenzas, day-dreams that enfold 
The padres, argonauts and gold ; 

Soft passing notes, the tones that tell 
Of poppy-field and mission bell ; 

With sea-wind cadences that blow 
In dominant arpeggio, 

Resolving into chords full blent 
Of solace, peace, and calm content. 



Call not by name of Poetry the verse 

That neither soothes men s worldly pains and 

Nor lifts the thoughts of men by golden stairs 

To starry thrones ; a name so high, so terse, 

Should never join a blessing and a curse, 
Nor give to idle songs and vulgar airs 
The christening we give to praise and prayers 

That laureled poets on their harps rehearse. 

But call by name of Poetry the lines 

That show us stars where scarcely stars belong, 

That grow us golden fruit on barren vines, 
That fill deep silences with deeper song, 

And grant us glimpses of the worlds that lie 

Beyond the reach of human ear and eye. 



Let me tell how rhythm with its rime should flow 
As the laugh of leaves when soft zephyrs blow, 
As the waves with gracile hand 
Write their names upon the sand. 

Let me tell how music with its verse should mate ; 
As the dark with dawn, rapt, inviolate, 
As the soil and sun disclose 
Sweet communion in a rose. 

Let me tell how fancy from the heart should leap : 
As the cloud full-fraught rises from the deep, 
As the Spring at God s hehest 
Wakes, and, lo, the world is hlest ! 


By the Guadaloupe 

From happy haunts in hills afar, 
The sparkling water dances, 

Attuned to song and gay guitar 
Of olden-day romances. 

A caballero s serenade, 

A sehoritas laughter, 
With gleams of chillies fair arrayed 

On smoky wall and rafter. 

Beneath this turquoise-tinted sky, 
Here in this green pavilion, 

At peace with all the world I lie 
Enwrapped in dreams Castilian ; 

Blue lie the hills of Santa Cruz ; 

Low in the sky hangs Hesper ; 
And Santa Clara s hells diffuse 

The holy balm of vesper. 

It falls on dreamful eye and ear, 
Bids care depart and bliss come ; 

A ghostly padre passes near 
How sweet his ff Pax vobiscum ! " 



I Lay My Lute Beside Thy Door" 

What was it Colin gave to thee ? 
A blossom from the hawthorn tree ? 
A flower of song is all I own, 
A little dreamland rose, half blown. 
Oh, deck thy tresses, I implore 
I lay my lute beside thy door ! 

What was it Damon sent to thee ? 
A gleaming pearl from Eastern sea ? 
A gem of song is all I own, 
A tiny, glistening, tear-stained stone. 
Oh, w r ear it twill my peace restore 
I lay my lute beside thy door ! 

What was it Lubin brought to thee? 

A falcon from the dewy lea ? 

A bird of song is all I own, 

And to thy heart it now has flown. 

Oh, cage it, let it roam no more 

I lay my lute beside thy door ! 


Sword, Go Through the Land ! 

Sword, go through the land and slay 
Guile and Hate, Revenge, Dismay ! 
Now where is such a sword, you say ? 

Sword, go through the land, but spare 
Love and Hope and Peace and Prayer ! 
Now who, you ask, that sword shall bear ? 

Sword, go through the land, and youth, 
Prime and age shall cry : " Forsooth, 
How mighty is the sword called Truth ! " 



I 1 

The Poet-Touch 

What is the poet-touch ? Ah me, that every 

bard might gain it, 
And having once attained the prize, forever 

might retain it : 
To touch no thing that 9 s vile, unless to teach 

the world to scorn it, 
To touch no thing that s beautiful, save only 

to adorn it ! 


To Ina Coolbrith 

Poppy Fields, what shall I say ? 
w Tell her of our love, alway ; 
Tell her that our huds unfold 
More of grace and more of gold 
Since her singing chanced to stray 
O er this land with blossoms gay." 

Redwood Groves, what shall I say ? 
" Tell her of our love, alway ; 
Of a primal love sincere 
Whereby we her name revere, 
Teaching it to sprite and fay 
And to tender, new-born spray." 

Western Winds, what shall I say ? 
" Tell her of our love, alway ; 
Tell her how we bear afar 
Songs of hers from star to star, 
Where they sweep and swing and sway 
Till the angels homage pay." 

Sun-down Seas, what shall I say ? 
" Tell her of our love, alway ; 
Tell how Wave and Shore desire 
Speech like that of her fond lyre. 
How they fain would learn one lay 
That her golden strings convey." 



Sunset Skies, what shall I say? 
"Tell her of our love, alway ; 
Tell her of the peace that lies 
Far heyond all earthly skies, 
Peace that shall he hers for aye 
When shall dawn that Perfect Day. 


Friend of Mine 

You have bound yourself so closely round my 

Friend of mine, 
That it seems as if our paths could never part, 

Friend of mine ! 
Oft the vine forsakes the wall, 
Stars have e en been known to fall 
You are not like star or vine, 
Friend of mine ! 

YOH have played upon the lute-strings of my soul, 

Friend of mine, 
Singing blissful songs that through my being roll, 

Friend of mine ; 
There are silences somewhere, 
Songless lips of mute despair 
Sing for aye your song divine, 
Friend of mine ! 

You have decked my life with roses red as flame, 

Friend of mine, 
And of Paradise made more than just a name, 

Friend of mine; 

Flowers fade, their perfume dies, 
Visions pass from watching eyes, 
But in heaven our roses shine, 
Friend of mine ! 


A Roundelay 

Come, stroll down this lane with me, 
Weave a bright chain with me, 
And sing a sweet strain with me, 

Over and over ; 

Love s harp is in tune with us, 
Now it is June with us, 
And joy is triune with us, 

Joy, the young rover ! 

No telling what Time may bring, 
What a new rhyme may bring ! 
For Fate from far clime may bring 

Sad call to sever ; 
The harp may be strung again, 
Songs may be sung again, 
But we shall be young again 

Never, ah, never ! 


Dream -Song 

Magic perfume of a rose 
That in Allah s garden grows. 

Pale, pale light by Cynthia set 
Deep in Twilight s coronet. 

Angel music, reed and string, 
Through the starlight quavering. 

Music, perfume, light enshrine 
Thee in every dream of mine. 

May this little dream-song be 
Music, perfume, light to thee ! 


The Unattained 

Like some rapt Poet, hand-clasped with Desire, 

Pacing through dew and dark, 
If haply he may learn upon his lyre 

The lyric of a lark 

So I, hand-clasped with Dreams, oft-times afar 
Through spheres celestial stroll, 

If haply I may reach the certain star, 
Where dwells Her sainted soul. 


At a Wayside Shrine 

Fair shrine of Mary ! What sweet lure, I wonder, 
Has led me to this leaf-embroidered glen, 

As with unfettered feet I sought to sunder 
My soul and body from the haunts of men ? 

I say the sweet " Hail Mary "; never dearer 

Have Gabriel s tender words seemed to my soul, 

For something in this spot has made them clearer 
And marks a golden milestone toward life s goal. 

The checkered shine and shade through branches 

The new-born birds that strive so hard to sing, 
The ff Pax Vobiscum " of the breeze uplifting 

The tendrils of the baby vines of Spring 

The fair enfoldment of the alders bending 
(It was upon a tree His body hung) 

And with it all ef Magnificat " is blending 
By waters of the brooklet sweetly sung. 

The sun behind the hill is slowly creeping, 
Far up the canyon sounds the Angelus 

Ring on, sweet bell, her memory sacred keeping 
Oh, sweet and blessed Mother, pray for us ! 


The Cameo-Cutter 

Worker in that most venerable art 
So much esteemed in medieval days, 
And now brought forth for fresher, brighter bays, 

What talismanic dreams must crowd thy heart, 

Of brilliant booths in Greek and Roman mart, 
Where careful, cunning workmen deftly raise 
On jasper, onyx, bloodstone, chrysoprase, 

The life and scenes of which they form a part. 

O patient lapidary ! in the stone 

What wondrous arabesques of shine and shade 
Abide their time thy tracing to adorn 

Imprisoned beams, perchance, that one day shone 
In primal Eden-bower, glen or glade, 

Waiting thy touch their resurrection morn ! 



"Earth to earth" then let it be 
Something that was dear to me, 
Earth whose fond arms guarded well 
Some great giant sentinel 
That aloft his proud head rears, 
Warder of two hemispheres ! 
Earth from some leaf-littered aisle 
Dimly stretching mile on mile 
Through dark temples where naught stirs 
Save the shy wind-worshipers, 
Nymph and dryad, faun and fay, 
And a poet, far astray ! 

"Ashes to ashes" let it he 
Something that was dear to me, 
Branch and bough and leaf that made 
By the road a pleasant shade ; 
Manzanita, fir or pine, 
Laurel, with its leaf divine. 
Build the fire of spruce or oak, 
Or of any kindred folk, 
Only let the blaze not be 
Kindled with the redwood tree ; 
Sacred be those columns vast 
Of the immemorial past ! 

"Dust to dust" but let it be 
Something that was dear to me, 



Dust the padres 9 feet have pressed 
Following their high hehest, 
Where they reared the sainted shrine, 
Planted olive grove and vine ; 
Dust within whose lifted cloud 
Fantasies and visions crowd 
Dreams Castilian, dreams of gold, 
Tales of Argonauts, untold 
Save at night by starlit breeze 
To the groves of redwood trees ! 

Earth from redwood-darkened trail, 
Dust from El Camino Real 
Ashes of a mountain tree, 
On me let them sprinkled be. 


A Woodland Revel 

Hither, Strephon, Chloe, Phyllis, 
Corydon and Amaryllis ; 
Hasten, Lubin and Lysander, 
Daphne, Colin, and Sylvander ; 
Come, Jocunda, Delia, Doris, 
Let us dance the merry morris ; 
Play up, pipers ! Bee and cricket, 
All ye minstrels of the thicket, 
Tune up, strike up to the measure 
Of the golden wand of pleasure ; 
Dance, ye rustics, swain and yokel, 
Making all the greenwood vocal, 
Filling joy s glad cup completely, 
As we sing and foot it featly. 

Now what dear delight to wander 
While our hearts grow fond and fonder, 
Breathing incense, balm, and spices, 
Gazing on the fair devices 
Arabesqued by shade and shimmer 
Through the tree-tops, dim and dimmer ; 
Up the hill and down the hollow, 
Through the paths deer love to follow, 
With a bubbling spring for ending 
Under redwood boughs low-bending ; 
Filling fardels with pomander 
Of the wildwood oleander ; 
Laurel-wreaths our boughs entwining, 
Love-light in our eyes soft shining ! 



Shepherds, rest ! Ye shepherdesses, 
Here are crispy water-cresses, 
Ripe-red berries sunlight-basking, 
To be had without the asking ; 
And in high and dim seclusion 
Hazel-nuts in rare profusion ; 
Nectar from a fairy fountain 
Hidden in a misty mountain, 
Spread in wondrous rich libation 
For our ease and delectation. 
See, the shadows deeply darting 
Bid us sing a song of parting; 
Hey for home ! Lo, for our guiding 
Hesper in the dusk abiding ! 


At Santa Cruz 

The white cliffs wooed me and I slept 

Within their fond embraces, 
Foam-flowers wooed the moon and crept 

From out their crystal vases, 
Crept not so near * * * crept not so high * * * 
We were alone the cliffs and I. 

The mountain hreeze from forest lanes 
Brought echoes, piped and choral, 

From dryads hid in dark domains 
Of redwood, fir and laurel 

T was sweet to hear the drowsy bay 

Croon to a Pan-piped virelay ! 

Calypso called me to her cave 

Adown the shining shingle, 
And far beyond the utmost wave 

Where moon and ocean mingle 
I heard the Lorelei, and felt 
Earth, sea and sky in music melt. 

A boat came sailing down the dark 

By some sweet necromancy, 
Perchance it was a fairy barque 

Bound for the Isles of Fancy ; 
I stepped aboard * * * go ask some star 
Just where those Ports of Dreamland are ! 


Beside the Western Sea 

From some faint star I passed to earth, 

And here found breath and mortal birth 

In land that lies along a reach 

Of rock-bound coast and palm-bound beach ; 

Pass but its golden threshold lo ! 

A spell from out the long ago, 

Conceived by some strange sorcerer 

Who captive binds each voyager ; 

A landscape bright and Eden-fair, 

A mighty magic in the air, 

With names that sweetly slide and slip 

Across the soft Castilian lip, 

And bid the heart-strings gently stir 

Like sound of lute and dulcimer 

This was my fortune, born to be 

A brother to the Western Sea. 

The days unfold I joy to list 
The songs of bard and balladist, 
Whose chanting woos me with the wine 
That purples peaceful Palestine, 
Or weaves in graceful silhouette 
Tall tapering tower and minaret; 
Or tales of river, lake and sea 
Set sapphire-like by hill and lea, 
Bestrewn with garden hue and scent 
From far-famed bowers of Orient, 
And echoed notes from dewy dales 



Where moons are wooed by nightingales 
But no, their perfect portraiture 
Enchants, but has no power to lure 
My faithful heart, content to be 
A dweller by the Western Sea. 

This my reward I breathe the air 
Blest by Franciscan praise and prayer, 
Made holier still by silver swell 
From many a dulcet Mission bell ; 
I have my northern snow-capped peaks, 
From whose grand heights fair Nature speaks 
To ocean, valley, plain, and calls 
Afar to wondrous waterfalls ; 
I have my skies of sunset gold, 
Dream-fields where poppy leaves unfold, 
And hammock-swung twixt pine and palm 
Life runneth as a song-set psalm ; 
Time drifting goes each year anew 
Still finds me constant, loyal, true, 
And more and more content to be 
A dreamer by the Western Sea. 


California Skies 

California skies ! 

Balm for the eyes ! 

Where orange groves or redwoods rise ; 

By Shasta s snow, Diego s sand 

Or old Diablo s dream-set land ; 

By San Francisco Bay so blue, 

Or down some cypress avenue 

Near Monterey; by lake Sierra-rimmed, 

Or yet afar in valleys vineyard-trimmed ; 

On plain where Ceres waves her wand, 

Or where Pomona fond 

And all her train in foothill orchards drowse 

Under low-bending boughs 

Look up ! 

And from the turquoise cup 

Drain dreams and rest ! 

Ah, none so blest 

As one who weary of life s endless quest 

In this fair meadow poppy-pillowed lies 

Day-dreaming neath these California skies 

Balm for the eyes ! 


In a Cathedral 

"The Lord is in His holy temple." I 

Through Sentence, Psalter and the Credo stand, 
With mind upon the Architect Who planned 

These columned walls, this fane so fair, so high; 

What graceful arabesques, what wondrous dye 
In windows fashioned by a Master-hand, 
And where in all the world a nave so grand 

This grove of redwoods reaching to the sky ! 

Hush ! Listen to the Litany of leaves 

A-murmur to the breeze that, seaward set, 

Is bearing spice from canyons far above ; 
And now, with sunset-veiling, Twilight weaves 
A purple altar-cloth, and lingers yet 
The Nunc Dimittis of a woodland dove. 


A Casement Canzonet 

I know a little window in frame of ivy set, 
A tiny cottage casement clasped with emerald 

amulet ; 
And looking through this window you see a 

garden old 
Petunia, dahlia, mullein-pink, and rose and 


But oh, this little window with ivy curtains 

I would my sweetest singing might in praise of 

it be sung ! 
For, looking through this window, a world of joy 

is mine 
Dreams, visions, hopes and fantasies, all golden, 

all divine ! 


Mountain Haze 

The purple shadow of an angel s wing 

Is flung across the range, and softly creeps 
Adown the mountain-side ; the rocky steeps 

Are blurred with veils of amethyst that fling 

Their filmy folds round barren spots that cling 
To jagged slopes ; the yawning canyon keeps 
Fond tryst with Dusk, the windless forest sleeps, 

With naught save one faint, long line lingering. 

So, when the angel-shadow falls on me, 

And from Life s landscape I am blotted out, 

Ne er to return to my accustomed place, 
In Memory s haze let my shortcomings be 
Concealed, forgotten, but may no one doubt 
That I the line of beauty sought to trace. 



In a golden bowl I brew 

Leaf of rose and violet dew, 

And the essences of things 

Natal to Pierian springs : 

Bird-song, brook-song, breeze a-blow, 

Sweets that in dream-gardens grow ; 

Spray that leaped the harbor bar 

Amorous of the twilight star ; 

Bubbles of delight that float 

From a seraph s liquid note ; 

Bloom from Joy s low-bending bough ; 

Cupid, drop a kiss and now, 

Sweetheart, here s a health to thee, 

Drink the draught, Sweetheart, with me ! 


The Way to the Violet Hills 

The guide-posts are a song, a rose, 
The star that marks the daylight s close, 
The crescent moon, or hreeze that blows 
From valleys where the dream-flower grows. 

Adown the lane of lover s eyes, 

On through the gates of glad surprise, 

Then up the path of low replies 

Ah, hreathe the fragrance Love distils 
From out the heart of the Violet Hills ! 


The Vanished Voice 

You slipped your Mother-hand from mine 

And went your way with seraphim, 
But in my heart your voice divine 

Grew never dumb, grows never dim ; 
It leads me up the Path of Dreams 

That rambles through the Vale of Rhyme, 
And on and on by silver streams 

That haunt the Hills of Chant and Chime. 

Your voice ! I hear it in the call 

Of woodland wind in redwood boughs, 
And in the wild-bird notes that fall 

Across the field where poppies drowse ; 
And all the sweetness to be found 

In word or tune my songs among 
Is in the dear and dulcet sound 

I fain would echo of your tongue ! 


An Elfin Skein 

A ripple through the redwoods ran, 
An echo from a fairy clan 

Slipped down the sky; 
And suddenly the groves began 

To voice a sibylline reply 
Caught from the mellow pipes of Pan, 

Now far, now nigh. 

A Mystery enrobed in mist, 
With girdle set with amethyst 

And sapphires three, 
Came down the hill-path, twilight-kissed, 

Crept softly to my trysting tree ; 
It caught and held me by the wrist, 

And spoke to me : 

Tonight the elfin skein is spun ; 
Ere vigil of the moon is done, 

The mesh we wind 
Round redwood circles, every one, 

And mortals whom therein we bind 
Shall at the dawning of the sun 

Great gladness find." 

I slipped into a redwood ring ; 
The Mystery took sudden wing, 

And down the glade 
I heard the fauns and dryads sing 
Chant, madrigal and serenade, 



And then it was so strange a thing ! 
I felt them fade ! 

I woke, sun kissed, and gossamer 
Spun by some moonlit messenger 

Bedecked my bed ; 
I hardly dared to breathe or stir, 

So deftly was the fiber spread 
I, Fortune s happy prisoner, 

Held by a thread ! 

I must not break the magic spell 
Revealing what great joy befell ; 

But oh, I fain 
Would wish that all the world might dwell 

One night within that sweet domain, 
And wake to love, as I love well, 
An elfin skein ! 


The Golden Legacy 

My mother had no gold to share, 

Nor land, nor herd, nor merchandise 
(My brother has her silken hair, 

My sister has her azure eyes!) 
To me she left no comeliness 

That to the form or face belong, 
But oh, one gift I do possess, 

The blessed heritage of song ! 

Long, long ago in cradle days 

Her sweet voice would my heart beguile, 
When I could nothing do but gaze 

Into the heaven of her smile ! 
I learned the songs in later years 

And with her sang them o er and o er 
O Memory, thy lute and tears 

Must meet and mingle evermore ! 

T was ff Hush, my babe," as fades the light 

I hear her softly, sweetly croon, 
Then "Afton Water," "Stilly Night," 

" Sanctissima," and " Silver Moon "; 
She sang them with such tender art, 

The art that only mothers know, 
And tied the tunes around my heart, 

Else it had broken long ago ! 


To a New Acquaintance 

You speak my name and I speak yours, and up 
The curtain goes. What is the play to be 

Like to a draught of nectar, or the cup 

That Hate drains from the deadly upas tree ? 

You take my hand and I take yours, the song 
Begins, our duo in the scheme of life ; 

What will the cadence he full, sweet and strong, 
Or poor and thin, with jar and discord rife ? 

We look into each other s eyes, a light 

Is born would we might read on Time s dim 

If it be born to flicker for a night, 

Or brighten into Friendship s aureole ! 


The Necklace 

Hand-clasped with dreams, I sought both far and near 

For jewels for the chain; 
Hand-clasped with dreams, no task was too severe 

Or could my steps detain. 

I found one stone within a steadfast star, 

Another in a rose, 
One lay beneath a deep-set, moaning bar 

Where beat a tide of woes. 

Some passed to me from out an angel s hand, 

Some from a dreamland tree, 
And one day, walking in an alien land, 

A stranger gave me three ! 

Close-hidden in a tear-dewed violet 

I found a priceless prize ; 
My fairest gem reflects the love-light set 

Within a dear one s eyes. 

And now, the jewels burnished, golden-bound, 

For me their charm diffuse 
In rarest rainbow gleams that glow around 

The white throat of my Muse ! 


A Lyric for a Lute 

Bring the lute at vespertide, 
Ope the sunset casement wide, 
Let the breath from locust boughs 
Blow across our weary brows, 
While the daytime s vague unrest 
Still shall lie on Evening s breast, 
Hushed by tones that softly slip 
From thy dulcet lute and lip. 

Bring the lute at vespertide, 
Let the songs be true and tried, 
Olden themes and olden lays, 
Tender tunes of bygone days ; 
Let them quaver, fall and rise 
Through the faintly star-set skies, 
Echoing the bells that chime 
In the ivy towers of Time. 

Bring the lute at vespertide, 
Lo, a Spirit by our side, 
Crowned with mingled rose and rue, 
Dim with dusk and damp with dew 
Memory ! Oh, sing, and so 
We will restward gently go, 
Drifting down Sleep s silver streams 
To the peaceful Port of Dreams. 


A Little Love-Song 

My heart, my heart s a bonny bird 
That carols songs the sweetest heard ; 
My heart, my heart s a fountain fair 
That sparkles in the golden air ; 
My heart s a rosy-raptured rhyme 
That echoes to the glad Spring-time. 

My heart, my heart s a bud a-bloom 
That lights with love a greenwood gloom ; 
My heart, my heart s a silver star 
That throws its beams afar, afar ; 
My heart s a canticle divine 
And all because your heart is mine ! 


When You Come Home 

What golden suns will gild the happy skies, 
What incense from the meadow altars rise, 
What hymns fill all the groves with glad surprise- 
When you come home ! 

How Memory-hells will softly ring and rhyme 
Amid the dear old ivied towers of Time, 
As arm in arm we listen to their chime 
When you come home ! 

At Joy s bright festal board shall we sit down, 
And Mirth and Music, each with myrtle crown, 
Will drive away the tear, the sigh, the frown 
When you come home ! 

Suspense will quickly change to calm content, 
Desire with rare fulfilment will be blent, 
And meeting be one long, sweet sacrament 
When you come home ! 


Angel Lore 

Great was Ms joy and great his glad surprise, 
When to a Seraph, new in Paradise, 

Sandalphon beckoned, and into his ear 

Spoke thus, in measure sweet and calm and clear: 

" From one far world where never yet was heard 
The speech of man or sea or wind or hird, 

A voiceless earth, an orh in toneless air 
From that sad people there has come a prayer, 

A prayer so simple and yet so profound 
A pleading for the hlessed gift of sound ! 

An answer to that plea I now confer, 
And thee I choose as its interpreter ! " 

The Angel wept and low obeisance made, 
Sandalphon s hand upon his head was laid 

" Fly to that star, on pinions fresh and strong, 
And slay that virgin silence with a song ! " 

The Angel rose, and, smiling through his tears, 
Went singing down the pathway of the Spheres. 



If I were to send thee roses, 
They would wither and decay, 

Beauty not for long reposes 
From, her hower torn away. 

Or perchance if I should send thee 

In a golden cage a dove, 
Mute might be its song, nor lend thee 

E en an echo of my love. 

So instead of bird or flower 
I would send a simple lay 

Let it charm thy brightest hour 
And bedeck thy darkest day. 


A Pilgrim Song 

Sandal-shoon and scallop-shell, 
Tell me, where does Fancy dwell ? 

Up the pathway of the moon, 
Or adown the dewy dell 
Wherein Puck and Ariel 

Dance a merry rigadoon? 
Come, you know the spot full well, 
Sandal-shoon and scallop-shell! 

Scallop-shell and sandal-shoon, 
Is it o er yon dim lagoon? 

Or in haunts of shy gazelle, 
Where the starlit waters croon, 
And the lilies sway and swoon 

To the voice of Philomel ? 
Oh, but hring me thither soon, 
Scallop-shell and sandal-shoon ! 

Sandal-shoon and scallop-shell, 
Listen, t is the vesper bell ! 

Ever since the hour of noon 
I have waited for that knell ; 
Come, be gracious, and dispel 

Daylight s doubt, and grant the boon 
That we couch in Fancy s cell 
Sandal-shoon and scallop-shell ! 


In a Mission Garden 

(Santa Barbara) 

Stand here, and watch the wondrous birth of Dreams 
From out the Gate of Silence. Time and Tide, 
With fingers on their lips, forever hide 

In large-eyed wonderment, where Thoughts and 

Of days long flown pass down the slumbrous streams 
To ports of Poet-land and Song-land. Side 
By side the many-colored Visions glide, 

And leave a wake where Fancy glows and gleams. 

And then the bells ! One stands with low-bowed 

While list ning to their silver tongues recite 

The sweet tale of the Angelus there slips 
A white dove low across the tiling red 

And as we breathe a whispered, fond "Good night," 
A ff Pax Vobiscum" parts the Padre s lips. 


In a Pergola 

Far in the west the glory of the day 

Fades o er a redwood forest banked hy hills 

Wherein a fairy sisterhood distils 
The dew of dreams in valleys twilight-gray. 
Come, dew of dreams, drift hitherward we pray, 

Sweet anodyne for grief and kindred ills, 

A benediction on the dusk that fills 
This garden where dim ghosts of memory stray. 

Through paths of poppy, palm and eglantine 
They move in long processional and slow, 

With smile and nod and kissing of their hands, 
Then disappear in one long, sinuous line 
Where through the purple of the afterglow 
A white star beckons toward elysian lands. 


A Legend of the Madonna 

Out of holy Bethlehem 

Into Egypt flying, 
Herod s hate pursuing them, 

Dangers multiplying, 
Hastened through the country wild 
Joseph, Mary and The Child. 

When some distance they had passed, 

Worn and weary growing, 
Came they to a field at last 

Where a man was sowing 
Seed of corn in fertile ground 
Mary s heart gave sudden bound, 

To the husbandman she said : 
w If men bid you aid them, 

Asking if this way we fled, 

With your tongue persuade them, 

Saying: ? Yes, they passed at morn 

On the day I sowed this corn. " 

Then, a miracle, behold ! 

While the man was sleeping, 
All the field was turned to gold 

Ready for the reaping, 
Stalk and blade and ear were there 
Gleaming in the sunlit air ! 



Came the men by Herod sent, 

Spied the man, and roughly 
Riding through the corn, they went, 

Calling to him gruffly : 
" Has an old man passed this way 
With a wife and child?" "Come, say?" 

And the man, o er-whelmed with awe, 
Viewed his field and wondered . . . 

"Yes," he said, "those three I saw." 
" How long since ? " they thundered 

" When I sowed this corn " and then, 

Homeward rode King Herod s men. 


A Song of Far and Near 

When in hours relentless 

Far from thee I fare, 
All the fields are scentless, 

All the boughs are bare ; 
Skies are lone, forsaken, 

Sailless is the sea, 
Pain and grief awaken 

Faring far from thee. 

When in hours enravished 

Close by thee I bide, 
Joy seems to have lavished 

All her charms world-wide ; 
Perfume, stmg and sweetness, 

Color and embrace 
Blend in one completeness 

Gazing on thy face ! 


How Steep the Stairs! 

How steep the stairs that lead to fame 

How steep the stairs ! 
To pilgrims weary, heart-sick, lame, 
Who journey toward that distant flame 
Where glisten glory, power, name, 

How steep the stairs ! 

How steep the stairs that lead to love 

How steep the stairs ! 
That slender ladder fashioned of 
The purity of altar-dove, 
That leads to highest heaven above 

How steep the stairs ! 

How steep the stairs that lead to God 

How steep the stairs ! 
For seeds that strive to pierce the sod, 
For children smarting neath the rod, 
For feet with sin and sorrow shod, 

How steep the stairs ! 





Dream Chimes 

Somewhere along the road that I am climbing 
I know that bells are ringing blithe and sweet ; 

I hear them in my dreams so gently chiming, 
And hasten on with glad, expectant feet. 

I wonder are they set within a steeple, 
Or are they hung beside a palace gate ? 

And will they ring for crowds of kindred people, 
Or just for me alone, and soon, or late ? 

In day-dreams, too, I hear them faintly, faintly, 

As if a fairy bevy rang the chimes ; 
And down into my heart they steal so quaintly, 

And weave their melodies into my rhymes. 

Sometimes they play a measure so alluring, 
Of laurel and wild olive crown I dream ; 

I wake the dusty road ! New faith procuring, 
I follow, as Sir Galahad the gleam ! 

Perhaps they sound across a valley vernal, 
Perchance far up a rugged mountainside ; 

Ofttimes they ring with rapture so supernal 
It seems as if in heaven they must abide ! 

Sometime, somewhere, I know that I shall meet them 
And plainly hear them play the dear, old themes ; 

And with what joy my swelling soul will greet them 
Those bells of hope that chime adown my dreams ! 



The day is fair with golden glow, song stirs the 

brooklet s lip, 
And down the leafy avenues gay swallows dart and 

A balmy odor scents the air, soft winds low-laden 

The breath of violets and yet, one cannot help 

remembering ! 

The lamps are lit, the blazing fire paints fancies on 
the floor, 

Close by the hearth I sit and hold a book of poet- 

I part the curtains, peaceful stars their benediction 

Across the sea the moon and yet, one cannot help 
remembering ! 


The Praise of Hope 

Believe me, truly t was not I 

Who sang that Hope did ever seem 
Like saddest singing in a dream 

Believe me, truly t was not I, 

Because for me the song of Hope 
Is bright as harp tones of Apollo ; 

I hear it up life s laureled slope : 
" Oh, follow, follow, follow ! " 

Believe me, truly t was not I 

Who sang that Hope did ever seem 
Like faded flowers in a dream 

Believe me, truly t was not I, 

Because for me the flower of Hope 

Blooms on each hill and down each hollow, 

And lured hy fragrance up life s slope 
I follow, follow, follow ! 


The Evening Star 

Whene er I see the evening star 
My thoughts fly far away to you 

Thank God, there is no han or bar 
To what a loving thought may do, 

Though hands and lips must oft forego 

The dear delights that lure them so ! 

Whene er the evening star appears 

Before my raptured sight, 
A veil falls from mine eyes and ears, 

I see and hear aright ; 
Thank God for memory that brings 
Close to the heart the dearest things ! 

The evening star I cannot tell 

Wherein its magic lies; 
Thank God, it nightly deigns to dwell 

Within these lonesome skies ; 
And ever may the fair star be 
A mizpah-light for you and me ! 


The Willow Stream 

A wondrous wealth of flower and fern, 

Sequestered nooks at every turn, 

And pools with tiny caves and dens 

Enfolding timid citizens ; 

A stream from out whose ports of gloom 

Float argosies of lotus bloom, 

And arched with trees whose branches wide 

Drop melodies adown the tide 

The tuneful branches whereupon 

Were hung the harps of Babylon ! 

Today these willow boughs are hung 

With instruments more deftly strung 

The fairy viol, lyre and lute, 

The elfin horn and fife and flute, , j 

And sweeter still the pipes of Pan 

Soft pressed by lips Eolian 

An orchestra that seems to be 

In league with gay Terpsichore 

To which the leaves all afternoon 

Are dancing reel and rigadoon. 

Beside the willow-bowered stream 

How soon come dusk and dew and dream ! 

Through interwoven shine and shade 

I hear a night bird s serenade ; 

A note falls on a ripple s breast 

So gently soothing it to rest ; 



And lo, the Lady Moon in white 
Draws back the curtain of the night, 
And with a kiss awakes a star 
How still the stream and willows are ! 


A Rainbow Fancy 

A seven-fold psalm of rapture spread along Heaven s 

vaulted aisle, 
And all because a Tear had told its sorrow to a 



Water, Leaf and Wing 

Tell me of a fairer thing 
Than the water, leaf and wing 
Unbound in the early spring ! 

Water from the springs that sleep 
In the hillsides dark and deep, 
Singing in its silver flight 
Down the Valley of Delight. 

Leaf that lifts an emerald eye 
To the turquoise-tinted sky, 
Hearkening that it may hear 
Flora s footfall drawing near. 

Wing of hutterfly and hird, 
Air with rainbow colors blurred, 
Wing of dragonfly and bee 
O er the honey-laden lea 

Tell me of a fairer thing 
Than the water 9 leaf and wing 
Unbound in the early spring I 


A Rhyme Rose 

I fain would send thee dew-wet flowers too far 

apart we bide, 
Thou on the strand that greets the dawn, I by the 

sundown tide ; 

So, up the ladder of my dreams a Romeo, I climb 
And to thy open casement bear a little rose of rhyme. 

Its petals gleam, its inmost heart a scent divine 

It bloomed within a bower hung with nests of 
nightingales ! 

But oh, to wed it to thy lute, and some sweet vesper- 

To tell thee all the rapture of this little rose of 


Via Crucis 

The vision of dawn is leisure, 
But the truth of day is toil. 

The sun comes up like a great, red rose, 
The perfume over the wide world blows, 
And, oh, to walk in the pathways fair 
With the rose-trimmed beds and scented air, 
And far at the garden s end a nook 
With You and a poet s dream-set book ! 

The sun goes down like a great red fire, 
And dies in ashes of vain desire, 
For my pathway lay outside the wall 
That girdled You and the roses tall, 
And my footprints show a deeper red 
And a crown of thorn is on my head ! 

Yet the vision stays with me all day, 
Sweet solace along the rough highway, 
Till the nails of Toil and spear of Want, 
Grief s bitter cup and the jeer and taunt 
Are touched by Sleep, and You softly glide 
Where I, with the dream, am crucified ! 


A Day of Days 

Within the calendar of life 

Of every human heart, 
There shines a day with beauty rife, 

That stands alone, apart 
Distinct from other times and tides, 

The sorrowful or gay, 
With Memory it ever bides, 

A rose-crowned, perfect day. 

No matter if fast fades the gold 

Of other morns to gray, 
And angel hands may not have rolled 

The stone of grief away 
Bright shining through life s fond regret, 

Through cloud and tearful haze, 
Love s golden sun has never set 

Upon that day of days. 


The Golden Age 

The golden age of golden dream 

Oh, for the laureled brow 
When music laded every stream 

And burdened every bough ! 

The golden age of golden rhyme 
Oh, for the tongue of flames 

When poesy was in its prime 
And nightingales had names ! 

The golden age of golden lyre 

Oh, for the subtle string 
When love was wooed by heart s desire 

And song first heard of spring ! 

The golden age ! The golden source 
Whence dew of thought had birth 

Turn, cycles, in your heavenly course 
And bring it back to eartn ! 


Afternoon Callers 

The summer leaves were overheard to say : 
" My ! What a dreary, dull and stupid day ! " 
( Enter Sir Whiff, Prince Zephyr, Baron Breeze,) 
My ! What a merry chatter in the trees ! 


A California Psalm 

I lifted up mine eyes unto the hills 

Where fair Los Gatos like a lovely gem 
Is set in California s diadem ; 

The sky was wreathed with sunset daffodils, 

And honey-dew that twilight hour distils 
Lay on the poppy fields and wet the hem 
Of Evening s robe, who softly sang to them 

A slumber song of Dreamland vales and rills. 

Unto the hills I lifted up mine eyes 

As one who seeks some guerdon or reward, 
And lo ! into my heart of hearts there crept 

The grateful balm that weary mortals prize 
The help that cometh even from the Lord, 
And, gazing long, I ceased to gaze, and slept. 


The Things That Count 

Not what we have, but what we use ; 
Not what we see, but what we choose 
These are the things that mar or bless 
The sum of human happiness. 

The things near by, not things afar ; 
Not what we seem, but what we are 
These are the things that make or break, 
That give the heart its joy or ache. 

Not what seems fair, but what is true ; 
Not what we dream, but good we do 
These are the things that shine like gems, 
Like stars, in Fortune s diadems. 

Not as we take, but as we give ; 
Not as we pray, but as we live 
These are the things that make for peace, 
Both now and after Time shall cease. 


The Language of Love 

A speech defying all the arts and crafts of tongue 

or pen, 
And yet the universal speech of angels and of men. 


The Singing Wind 

Today the singing wind blows straight 

From o er pacific seas ; 
It wafts a boat with precious freight, 

This wonder-laden breeze 
A shallop whose white wings enfold 
Dim dreams of argonauts and gold ! 

Today the singing wind floats by 

In blue and gold and green, 
Turquoise of California sky, 

The poppy s yellow sheen, 
The redwood s tinge, hope s hue divine, 
That decks these natal groves of mine ! 

Today the singing wind is fraught 

With scent of inner shrines, 
The incense of a fair love-thought 

That round heaven s lattice twines 
Oh, singing wind, my soul you stir 
With perfumed memories of Her ! 

She, whom to know was raptured bliss, 

To lose was sorrow sore 
Oh, mother mine, I feel thy kiss, 

I feel thine arms once more ! 
See, singing wind, how thy blest art 
Has waked the lute-strings of my heart ! 


An Old Guitar 

I picked it up in northern Spain, 

This "Relic of the rosy reign 

Of Francis First or Charlemagne." 

(So read the sign.) 
In woeful, stringless dishabille 
It made such fervent, mute appeal 
That on the spot I closed the deal 

That made it mine. 

It does not very kindly take 

To these six strings of modern make, 

And yet it is not hard to wake 

Its voice to song, 

The voice, perchance, that helped to seal 
The fate of fair Blanche of Castile 
When Thibault with designing zeal 

Sang low and long. 

This tracery of tortoise shell 

If it could speak might softly tell 

How many bosoms rose and fell 

With questionings ; 
These ivory keys recall the touch 
Of fingers trembling over much 
Because of Master Cupid s clutch 

At other strings! 

It may be that some swarthy Moor 
Or gentle, love-sick Troubadour 



Oft used these frets to reassure 

His lady fair ; 

Immortal Villon may, perchance, 
Have strummed the strings to gay romance, 
Some neat ballade of ancient France, 

Light, debonnaire. 

I joy to think that Blondel may 
Have borne it on his weary way 
When through long night and lonely day 

By mead and brine, 
He sought his long-imprisoned king 
How throbbed with mighty joy each string 
When lo, at last he heard him sing 

At Diirrenstein ! 

And now, here in my studio, 

It breathes of that sweet Long Ago 

When Beranger, Ronsard, Marot, 

Clemence Isaure * * * 
With lai and chaunt beloved so well 
Wove wreaths of fadeless asphodel, 
And garlanded with magic spell 

Their deathless lore. 


The Unseen Ships 

Through seas more vast than those of earth, 
Blown straight by heavenly wind, 

They sail with freight of priceless worth, 
These merchantmen of mind. 

In alien zones, through sun and cloud, 

With varied cargoes fraught, 
What intercourse and traffic crowd 

The argosies of thought ! 

Oh, happy they who walk the strand 

Whereon those hillows roll 
Whose ports hy right divine command 

The commerce of the soul. 


At Sunset 

Over the tired world blows 
Breath of the sunset rose ; 

Wind in the redwood trees 
Swept from the sundown seas; 

Gleam on the hilltop high 
Caught from a jeweled sky; 

Dusk in the canyon deep 
Shed from the wing of Sleep ; 

Prayer in a censer swung, 
Incense from heart and tongue, 

Dreams in a purple hoat 
Sailing from ports remote ; 

w Peace ! " from a seraph fair 
Floating through twilight air. 

Over the tired world blows 
Rest from the sunset rose. 


A Wedding Song 

Hang the walls with hranch and vine, 

Rifle glen and glade, 
Roses, do your best to shine, 

Lilies, lend your aid ; 
Let the toast be gaily quaffed, 

Raise the potion high, 
Drop good wishes in the draught, 

Drain the chalice dry. 

Strike the strings and let us hear 

Mingle lute and lip, 
Up, ye minstrels, loud and clear 

Laud sweet fellowship ; 
"Wherefore all this glad array ? 

Oh, for very joy ! 
Cupid is our guest today, 

Bless the precious boy ! 



The joys that we have missed 

The broken tryst, 
The friends we never knew, 
The harp and lute unstrung, 

The songs unsung 
A little toast to you ! 

The joys that we have missed 

The lips unkissed, 
The dreams that ne er came true, 
The home-bound ships that sleep 

In havens deep 
A little toast to you ! 

The joys that we have missed 
Life s unground grist, 

Hopes unfulfilled a few ! 

The days and nights unwreathed, 
The love unbreathed 

A little toast to you ! 


The Silhouette City 

(Son Francisco) 

Against a sky of rose and violet 

The city s outline clearly, sharply shows 
Against a sky of violet and rose 

The shapes of turret, tower and minaret ; 

Twin Peaks, high hills in dream-repose are set, 
Around whose heads the poppy-zephyr blows, 
Twin Peaks, high hills are set in dream-repose 

Where Occident and Orient have met. 

And now the skies have turned to gold and green, 
Rare jewels hlaze on steeple, spire and dome 

Far, far across the deck s low rail I lean 
And throw a kiss to thee, my natal home ! 

Dream City ! Pilgrim hearts alone can prize 

Such precious halm for weary, homesick eyes ! 


A Signal at Sea 

"And there was no more sea"! O Love, 

Let this our grief beguile, 
An olive spray borne by a dove 

From far-off sacred isle, 
Now wafted through Fate s iron bars 

O er seas that roll between 
Two ships that sail neath alien stars 

In search of port serene. 

Tonight while tears more thickly blind 

The lonely course I steer, 
I fling this message to the wind 

That haply you may hear 
O Love, though joy be in eclipse, 

What hope for you and me 
In that divine apocalypse : 

"And there was no more sea"! 



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. 21-100m-6, 56 

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