Fires of Driftwood

On what long tides
Do you drift to my fire,
You waifs of strange waters? 
From what far seas,
What murmurous sands,
What desolate beaches—­
Flotsam of those glories that were ships!

I gather you,
Bitter with salt,
Sun-bleached, rock-scarred, moon-harried,
Fuel for my fire.

You are Pride’s end. 
Through all to-morrows you are yesterday. 
You are waste,
You are ruin,
For where is that which once you were?

I gather you. 
See!  I set free the fire within you—­
You awake in thin flame! 
Tremulous, mistlike, your soul aspires,
Blue, beautiful,
Up and up to the clouds which are its kindred! 
What is left is nothing—­
Ashes blown along the shore!

When as a Lad

  When, as a lad, at break of day
  I watched the fishers sail away,
My thoughts, like flocking birds, would follow
Across the curving sky’s blue hollow,
  And on and on—­
  Into the very heart of dawn!

  For long I searched the world—­ah, me! 
  I searched the sky, I searched the sea,
With much of useless grief and rueing
Those winged thoughts of mine pursuing—­
  So dear were they,
  So lovely and so far away!

  I seek them still and always must
  Until my laggard heart is dust
And I am free to follow, follow,
Across the curving sky’s blue hollow,
  Those thoughts too fleet
  For any save the soul’s swift feet!

Laureate

Death met a little child who cried
For a bright star which earth denied,
And Death, so sympathetic, kissed it,
Saying:  “With me
All bright things be!”—­
And only the child’s mother missed it.

Death met a maiden on the brae,
Her eyes held dreams life would betray,
And gallant Death was greatly taken—­
“Leave,” whispered he,
“Your dream with me
And I will see you never waken.”

Death met an old man in a lane;
So gnarled was he and full of pain
That kindly Death was struck with pity—­
“Come you with me,
Old man,” said he,
“I’ll set you down in a fair city.”

So, kingly Death along the way
Scatters rare gifts and asks no pay—­
Yet who to Death will write a sonnet? 
If any dare,
Let him take care
No foolish tear be spilled upon it!

Out of Babylon

Their looks for me are bitter,
  And bitter is their word—­
I may not glance behind unseen,
  I may not sigh unheard.

So fare we forth from Babylon,
  Along the road of stone;
And no one looks to Babylon
  Save I—­save I alone!

My mother’s eyes are glory-filled
  (Save when they fall on me)
The shining of my father’s face
  I tremble when I see,