Sweet Briars of the Stairways

We are happy all the time Even when we fight: Sweet briars of the stairways, Gay fairies of the grime; WE, WHO ARE PLAYING TO- NIGHT.

"Our feet are in the gutters, Our eyes are sore with dust, But still our eyes are bright. The wide street roars and mutters -- We know it works because it must -- WE, WHO ARE PLAYING TO-NIGHT!

"Dirt is everlasting. -- We never, never fear it. Toil is never ceasing. -

- We will play until we near it. Tears are never ending. -- When once real tears have come;

"When we see our people as they are -- Our fathers -- broken, dumb -- Our mothers -- broken, dumb -- The weariest of women and of men; Ah -- then our eyes will lose their light -- Then we will never play again --WE, WHO ARE PLAYING TO-NIGHT."

Fantasies and Whims: --

The Fairy Bridal Hymn

[This is the hymn to Eleanor, daughter of Mab and a golden drone, sung by the Locust choir when the fairy child marries her God, the yellow rose]

This is a song to the white-armed one Cold in the breast as the frost- wrapped Spring, Whose feet are slow on the hills of life, Whose round mouth rules by whispering.

This is a song to the white-armed one Whose breast shall burn as a Summer field, Whose wings shall rise to the doors of gold, Whose poppy lips to the God shall yield.

This is a song to the white-armed one When the closing rose shall bind her fast, And a song of the song their blood shall sing, When the Rose-God

drinks her soul at last.

The Potato's Dance

"Down cellar," said the cricket, "I saw a ball last night In honor of a lady Whose wings were pearly-white. The breath of bitter weather Had smashed the cellar pane: We entertained a drift of leaves And then of snow and rain. But we were dressed for winter, And loved to hear it blow In honor of the lady Who makes potatoes grow -- Our guest, the Irish lady, The tiny Irish lady, The fairy Irish lady That makes potatoes grow.

"Potatoes were the waiters, Potatoes were the band, Potatoes were the dancers Kicking up the sand: Their legs were old burnt matches, Their arms were just the same, They jigged and whirled and scrambled In honor of the dame: The noble Irish lady Who makes potatoes dance, The witty Irish lady, The saucy Irish lady, The laughing Irish lady Who makes potatoes prance.

"There was just one sweet potato. He was golden-brown and slim: The lady loved his figure. She danced all night with him. Alas, he wasn't Irish. So when she flew away, They threw him in the coal-bin And there he is to- day, Where they cannot hear his sighs -- His weeping for the lady, The beauteous Irish lady, The radiant Irish lady Who gives potatoes eyes."

How a Little Girl Sang

Ah, she was music in herself, A symphony of joyousness. She sang, she sang from finger tips, From every tremble of her dress. I saw sweet haunting harmony, An ecstasy, an ecstasy, In that strange curling of her lips, That happy curling of her lips. And quivering with melody Those eyes I saw, that tossing head.

And so I saw what music was, Tho' still accursed with ears of lead.

Ghosts in Love

"Tell me, where do ghosts in love Find their bridal veils?"

"If you and I were ghosts in love We'd climb the cliffs of Mystery, Above the sea of Wails. I'd trim your gray and streaming hair With veils of Fantasy From the tree of Memory. 'Tis there the ghosts that fall in love Find their bridal veils."

The Queen of Bubbles [Written for a picture]

The Youth speaks: -- "Why do you seek the sun In your bubble- crown ascending? Your chariot will melt to mist. Your crown will have an ending."

The Goddess replies: -- "Nay, sun is but a bubble, Earth is a whiff of foam -- To my caves on the coast of Thule Each night I call them home. Thence Faiths blow forth to angels And loves blow forth to men

-- They break and turn to nothing And I make them whole again. On the crested waves of chaos I ride them back reborn: New stars I bring at evening For those that burst at morn: My soul is the wind of Thule And evening is the sign -- The sun is but a bubble, A fragile child of mine."

The Tree of Laughing Bells, or The Wings of the Morning [A Poem for Aviators]

How the Wings Were Made

From many morning-glories That in an hour will fade, From many pansy buds Gathered in the shade, From lily of the valley And dandelion buds, From fiery poppy-buds Are the Wings of the Morning made.

The Indian Girl Who Made Them

These, the Wings of the Morning, An Indian Maiden wove, Intertwining subtilely Wands from a willow grove Beside the Sangamon -- Rude stream of Dreamland Town. She bound them to my shoulders With fingers golden-brown. The wings were part of me; The willow-wands were hot. Pulses from my heart Healed each bruise and spot Of the morning-glory buds, Beginning to unfold Beneath her burning song of

suns untold.

The Indian Girl Tells the Hero Where to Go to Get the Laughing Bell "To the farthest star of all, Go, make a moment's raid. To the west --

escape the earth Before your pennons fade! West! west! o'ertake the night That flees the morning sun. There's a path between the stars -- A black and silent one. O tremble when you near The smallest star that sings: Only the farthest star Is cool for willow wings.

"There's a sky within the west -- There's a sky beyond the skies Where only one star shines -- The Star of Laughing Bells -- In Chaos-land it lies; Cold as morning-dew, A gray and tiny boat Moored on Chaos-shore, Where nothing else can float But the Wings of the Morning strong And the lilt of laughing song From many a ruddy throat:

"For the Tree of Laughing Bells Grew from a bleeding seed Planted mid enchantment Played on a harp and reed: Darkness was the harp -- Chaos-wind the reed; The fruit of the tree is a bell, blood-red -- The seed was the heart of a fairy, dead. Part of the bells of the Laughing Tree Fell to-day at a blast from the reed. Bring a fallen bell to me. Go!" the maiden said. "For the bell will quench our memory, Our hope, Our borrowed sorrow; We will have no thirst for yesterday, No thought for to-morrow."

The Journey Starts Swiftly

A thousand times ten thousand times More swift than the sun's swift light Were the Morning Wings in their flight On -- On -- West of the Universe, Thro' the West To Chaos-night.

He Nears the Goal

How the red bells rang As I neared the Chaos-shore! As I flew across to the end of the West The young bells rang and rang Above the Chaos roar, And the Wings of the Morning Beat in tune And bore me like a bird along -- And the nearing star turned to a moon -- Gray moon, with a brow of red -- Gray moon with a golden song. Like a diver after pearls I plunged to that stifling floor. It was wide as a giant's wheat-field An icy, wind- washed shore. O laughing, proud, but trembling star! O wind that wounded sore!

He Climbs the Hill Where the Tree Grows

On -- Thro' the gleaming gray I ran to the storm and clang -- To the red,

red hill where the great tree swayed -- And scattered bells like autumn leaves. How the red bells rang! My breath within my breast Was held like a diver's breath -- The leaves were tangled locks of gray -- The boughs of the tree were white and gray, Shaped like scythes of Death. The boughs of the tree would sweep and sway -- Sway like scythes of Death. But it was beautiful! I knew that all was well. A thousand bells from a thousand boughs Each moment bloomed and fell. On the hill of the wind-swept tree There were no bells asleep; They sang beneath my trailing wings Like rivers sweet and steep. Deep rock-clefts before my feet Mighty chimes did keep And little choirs did keep.

He Receives the Bells

Honeyed, small and fair, Like flowers, in flowery lands -- Like little maidens' hands -- Two bells fell in my hair, Two bells caressed my hair. I pressed them to my purple lips In the strangling Chaos-air.

He Starts on the Return Journey

On desperate wings and strong, Two bells within my breast, I breathed again, I breathed again -- West of the Universe -- West of the skies of the West. Into the black toward home, And never a star in sight, By Faith that is blind I took my way With my two bosomed blossoms gay Till a speck in the East was the Milky way: Till starlit was the night. And the bells had quenched all memory -- All hope -- All borrowed sorrow: I had no thirst for yesterday, No thought for to-morrow. Like hearts within my breast The bells would throb to me And drown the siren stars That sang enticingly; My heart became a bell -- Three bells were in my breast, Three hearts to comfort me. We reached the daytime happily -- We reached the earth with glee. In an hour, in an hour it was done! The wings in their morning flight Were a thousand times ten thousand times More swift than beams of light.

He Gives What He Won to the Indian Girl

I panted in the grassy wood; I kissed the Indian Maid As she took my wings from me: With all the grace I could I gave two throbbing bells to her From the foot of the Laughing Tree. And one she pressed to her golden breast And one, gave back to me.

From Lilies of the valley -- See them fade. From poppy-blooms all frayed, From dandelions gray with care, From pansy-faces, worn and torn,

From morning-glories -- See them fade -- From all things fragile, faint and fair Are the Wings of the Morning made!

Sweethearts of the Year Sweetheart Spring

Our Sweetheart, Spring, came softly, Her gliding hands were fire, Her

lilac breath upon our cheeks Consumed us with desire.

By her our God began to build, Began to sow and till. He laid foundations in our loves For every good and ill. We asked Him not for blessing, We asked Him not for pain -- Still, to the just and unjust He sent His fire and rain.

Sweetheart Summer

We prayed not, yet she came to us, The silken, shining one, On Jacob's noble ladder Descended from the sun. She reached our town of Every Day, Our dry and dusty sod -- We prayed not, yet she brought to us The misty wine of God.

Sweetheart Autumn

The woods were black and crimson, The frost-bit flowers were dead, But Sweetheart Indian Summer came With love-winds round her head. While fruits God-given and splendid Belonged to her domain: Baskets of corn in perfect ear And grapes with purple stain, The treacherous winds persuaded her Spring Love was in the wood Altho' the end of love was hers -- Fruition, Motherhood.

Sweetheart Winter

We had done naught of service To win our Maker's praise. Yet Sweetheart Winter came to us To gild our waning days. Down Jacob's winding ladder She came from Sunshine Town, Bearing the sparkling mornings And clouds of silver-brown; Bearing the seeds of Springtime. Upon her snowy seas Bearing the fairy star-flowers For baby Christmas trees.

The Sorceress!

I asked her, "Is Aladdin's lamp Hidden anywhere?" "Look into your heart," she said, "Aladdin's lamp is there."

She took my heart with glowing hands. It burned to dust and air And smoke and rolling thistledown Blowing everywhere.

"Follow the thistledown," she said, "Till doomsday, if you dare, Over the hills and far away. Aladdin's lamp is there."

Caught in a Net

Upon her breast her hands and hair Were tangled all together. The moon of June forbade me not -- The golden night time weather In balmy sighs commanded me To kiss them like a feather.

Her looming hair, her burning hands, Were tangled black and white. My face I buried there. I pray -- So far from her to-night -- For grace, to dream I kiss her soul Amid the black and white.

Eden in Winter

[Supposed to be chanted to some rude instrument at a modern fireplace]

Chant we the story now Tho' in a house we sleep; Tho' by a hearth of coals Vigil to-night we keep. Chant we the story now, Of the vague love we knew When I from out the sea Rose to the feet of you.

Bird from the cliffs you came, Flew thro' the snow to me, Facing the icy blast There by the icy sea. How did I reach your feet? Why should I -- at the end Hold out half-frozen hands Dumbly to you my friend? Ne'er had I woman seen, Ne'er had I seen a flame. There you piled fagots on, Heat rose -- the blast to tame. There by the cave-door dark, Comforting me you cried -- Wailed o'er my wounded knee, Wept for my rock-torn side.

Up from the South I trailed -- Left regions fierce and fair! Left all the jungle-trees, Left the red tiger's lair. Dream led, I scarce knew why, Into your North I trod -- Ne'er had I known the snow, Or the frost-blasted sod.

O how the flakes came down! O how the fire burned high! Strange thing to see he was, Thro' his dry twigs would fly, Creep there awhile and

sleep -- Then wake and bark for fight -- Biting if I too near Came to his eye so bright. Then with a will you fed Wood to his hungry tongue.

Then he did leap and sing -- Dancing the clouds among, Turning the night to noon, Stinging my eyes with light, Making the snow retreat, Making the cave-house bright.

There were dry fagots piled, Nuts and dry leaves and roots, Stores there of furs and hides, Sweet-barks and grains and fruits. There wrapped in fur we lay, Half-burned, half-frozen still -- Ne'er will my soul forget All the night's bitter chill. We had not learned to speak, I was to you a strange Wolfling or wounded fawn, Lost from his forest-range.

Thirsting for bloody meat, Out at the dawn we went. Weighed with our prey at eve, Home-came we all forespent. Comrades and hunters tried Ere we were maid and man -- Not till the spring awoke Laughter and speech began.

Whining like forest dogs, Rustling like budding trees, Bubbling like thawing springs, Humming like little bees, Crooning like Maytime tides, Chattering parrot words, Crying the panther's cry, Chirping like mating birds -- Thus, thus, we learned to speak, Who mid the snows were dumb, Nor did we learn to kiss Until the Spring had come.

Genesis

I was but a half-grown boy, You were a girl-child slight. Ah, how weary you were! You had led in the bullock-fight . . . We slew the bullock at length With knives and maces of stone. And so your feet were torn, Your lean arms bruised to the bone.

Perhaps 'twas the slain beast's blood We drank, or a root we ate, Or our reveling evening bath In the fall by the garden gate, But you turned to a witching thing, Side-glancing, and frightened me; You purred like a panther's cub, You sighed like a shell from the sea.

We knelt. I caressed your hair By the light of the leaping fire: Your fierce eyes blinked with smoke, Pine-fumes, that enhanced desire. I helped to unbraid your hair In wonder and fear profound: You were humming your hunting tune As it swept to the grassy ground.

Our comrades, the shaggy bear, The tiger with velvet feet, The lion, crept to the light Whining for bullock meat. We fed them and stroked their necks . . . They took their way to the fen Where they hunted or hid all night; No enemies, they, of men.

Evil had entered not The cobra, since defiled. He watched, when the beasts had gone Our kissing and singing wild. Beautiful friend he was, Sage, not a tempter grim. Many a year should pass Ere Satan should enter him.

He danced while the evening dove And the nightingale kept in tune. I sang of the angel sun: You sang of the angel-moon: We sang of the ANGEL-CHIEF Who blew thro' the trees strange breath, Who helped in the hunt all day And granted the bullock's death.

O Eve with the fire-lit breast And child-face red and white! I heaped the great logs high! That was our bridal night.

Queen Mab in the Village

Once I loved a fairy, Queen Mab it was. Her voice Was like a little Fountain That bids the birds rejoice. Her face was wise and solemn, Her hair was brown and fine. Her dress was pansy velvet, A butterfly design.

To see her hover round me Or walk the hills of air, Awakened love's deep pulses And boyhood's first despair; A passion like a sword-blade That pierced me thro' and thro': Her fingers healed the sorrow Her whisper would renew. We sighed and reigned and feasted Within a hollow tree, We vowed our love was boundless, Eternal as the sea.

She banished from her kingdom The mortal boy I grew -- So tall and crude and noisy, I killed grasshoppers too. I threw big rocks at pigeons, I plucked and tore apart The weeping, wailing daisies, And broke my lady's heart. At length I grew to manhood, I scarcely could believe I ever loved the lady, Or caused her court to grieve, Until a dream came to me, One bleak first night of Spring, Ere tides of apple blossoms Rolled in o'er everything, While rain and sleet and snowbanks Were still a-vexing men, Ere robin and his comrades Were nesting once again.

I saw Mab's Book of Judgment -- Its clasps were iron and stone, Its

leaves were mammoth ivory, Its boards were mammoth bone, -- Hid in her seaside mountains, Forgotten or unkept, Beneath its mighty covers Her wrath against me slept. And deeply I repented Of brash and boyish crime, Of murder of things lovely Now and in olden time. I cursed my vain ambition, My would-be worldly days, And craved the paths of wonder, Of dewy dawns and fays. I cried, "Our love was boundless, Eternal as the sea, O Queen, reverse the sentence, Come back and master me!"

The book was by the cliff-side Upon its edge upright. I laid me by it softly, And wept throughout the night. And there at dawn I saw it, No book now, but a door, Upon its panels written, "Judgment is no more." The bolt flew back with thunder, I saw within that place A mermaid wrapped in seaweed With Mab's immortal face, Yet grown now to a woman, A woman to the knee. She cried, she clasped me fondly, We soon were in the sea.

Ah, she was wise and subtle, And gay and strong and sleek, We chained the wicked sword-fish, We played at hide and seek. We floated on the water, We heard the dawn-wind sing, I made from ocean-wonders, Her bridal wreath and ring. All mortal girls were shadows, All earth-life but a mist, When deep beneath the maelstrom, The mermaid's heart I kissed.

I woke beside the church-door Of our small inland town, Bowing to a maiden In a pansy-velvet gown, Who had not heard of fairies, Yet seemed of love to dream. We planned an earthly cottage Beside an earthly stream. Our wedding long is over, With toil the years fill up, Yet in the evening silence, We drink a deep-sea cup. Nothing the fay remembers, Yet when she turns to me, We meet beneath the whirlpool, We swim the golden sea.

The Dandelion

O dandelion, rich and haughty, King of village flowers! Each day is coronation time, You have no humble hours. I like to see you bring a troop To beat the blue-grass spears, To scorn the lawn-mower that would be Like fate's triumphant shears. Your yellow heads are cut away, It seems your reign is o'er. By noon you raise a sea of stars More golden than before.

The Light o' the Moon

[How different people and different animals look upon the moon: showing that each creature finds in it his own mood and disposition]

The Old Horse in the City

The moon's a peck of corn. It lies Heaped up for me to eat. I wish that I might climb the path And taste that supper sweet.

Men feed me straw and scanty grain And beat me till I'm sore. Some day I'll break the halter-rope And smash the stable-door,

Run down the street and mount the hill Just as the corn appears. I've seen it rise at certain times For years and years and years.

What the Hyena Said

The moon is but a golden skull, She mounts the heavens now, And Moon-Worms, mighty Moon-Worms Are wreathed around her brow.

The Moon-Worms are a doughty race: They eat her gray and golden face. Her eye-sockets dead, and molding head: These caverns are their dwelling-place.

The Moon-Worms, serpents of the skies, From the great hollows of her eyes Behold all souls, and they are wise: With tiny, keen and icy eyes, Behold how each man sins and dies.

When Earth in gold-corruption lies Long dead, the moon-worm butterflies On cyclone wings will reach this place -- Yea, rear their brood on earth's dead face.

What the Snow Man Said

The Moon's a snowball. See the drifts Of white that cross the sphere.

The Moon's a snowball, melted down A dozen times a year.

Yet rolled again in hot July When all my days are done And cool to greet the weary eye After the scorching sun.

The moon's a piece of winter fair Renewed the year around, Behold it, deathless and unstained, Above the grimy ground!

It rolls on high so brave and white Where the clear air-rivers flow, Proclaiming Christmas all the time And the glory of the snow!

What the Scare-crow Said

The dim-winged spirits of the night Do fear and serve me well. They

creep from out the hedges of The garden where I dwell.

I wave my arms across the walk. The troops obey the sign, And bring me shimmering shadow-robes And cups of cowslip-wine.

Then dig a treasure called the moon, A very precious thing, And keep it in the air for me Because I am a King.

What Grandpa Mouse Said

The moon's a holy owl-queen. She keeps them in a jar Under her arm till evening, Then sallies forth to war.

She pours the owls upon us. They hoot with horrid noise And eat the naughty mousie-girls And wicked mousie-boys.

So climb the moonvine every night And to the owl-queen pray: Leave good green cheese by moonlit trees For her to take away.

And never squeak, my children, Nor gnaw the smoke-house door: The owl-queen then will love us And send her birds no more.

The Beggar Speaks

"What Mister Moon Said to Me."

Come, eat the bread of idleness, Come, sit beside the spring: Some of the flowers will keep awake, Some of the birds will sing.

Come, eat the bread no man has sought For half a hundred years: Men hurry so they have no griefs, Nor even idle tears:

They hurry so they have no loves: They cannot curse nor laugh -- Their hearts die in their youth with neither Grave nor epitaph.

My bread would make them careless, And never quite on time -- Their eyelids would be heavy, Their fancies full of rhyme:

Each soul a mystic rose-tree, Or a curious incense tree: .... Come, eat the bread ofidleness, Said Mister Moon to me.

What the Forester Said

The moon is but a candle-glow That flickers thro' the gloom: The starry space, a castle hall: And Earth, the children's room, Where all night long the old trees stand To watch the streams asleep: Grandmothers guarding trundle-beds: Good shepherds guarding sheep.

A Net to Snare the Moonlight [What the Man of Faith said]

The dew, the rain and moonlight All prove our Father's mind. The dew, the rain and moonlight Descend to bless mankind.

Come, let us see that all men Have land to catch the rain, Have grass to snare the spheres of dew, And fields spread for the grain.

Yea, we would give to each poor man Ripe wheat and poppies red, -- A peaceful place at evening With the stars just overhead:

A net to snare the moonlight, A sod spread to the sun, A place of toil by daytime, Of dreams when toil is done.