Rainbow light Flashes bright Telling tales of coral caves half hid in yellow sand.
Soon they die,the flowers;
Insects live a day;
Clouds dissolve in showers;
Only waves at play Last forever.
Shall endeavor Make a sea of purpose mightier than we dream to-day?
The Fool Errant The Fool Errant sat by the highway of life And his gaze wandered up and his gaze wandered down,A vigorous youth,but with no wish to walk,Yet his longing was great for the distant town.
He whistled a little frivolous tune Which he felt to be pulsing with ecstasy,For he thought that success always followed desire,Such a very superlative fool was he.
A maiden came by on an ambling mule,Her gown was rose-red and her kerchief blue,On her lap she carried a basket of eggs.
Thought the fool,"There is certainly room for two."So he jauntily swaggered towards the maid And put out his hand to the bridle-rein.
"My pretty girl,"quoth the fool,"take me up,For to ride with you to the town I am fain."But the maiden struck at his upraised arm And pelted him hotly with eggs,a score.
The mule,lashed into a fury,ran;
The fool went back to his stone and swore.
Then out of the cloud of settling dust The burly form of an abbot appeared,Reading his office he rode to the town.
And the fool got up,for his heart was cheered.
He stood in the midst of the long,white road And swept off his cap till it touched the ground.
"Ah,Reverent Sir,well met,"said the fool,"A worthier transport never was found.
"I pray you allow me to mount with you,Your palfrey seems both sturdy and young."The abbot looked up from the holy book And cried out in anger,"Hold your tongue!
"How dare you obstruct the King's highroad,You saucy varlet,get out of my way."Then he gave the fool a cut with his whip And leaving him smarting,he rode away.
The fool was angry,the fool was sore,And he cursed the folly of monks and maids.
"If I could but meet with a man,"sighed the fool,"For a woman fears,and a friar upbraids."Then he saw a flashing of distant steel And the clanking of harness greeted his ears,And up the road journeyed knights-at-arms,With waving plumes and glittering spears.
The fool took notice and slowly arose,Not quite so sure was his foolish heart.
If priests and women would none of him Was it likely a knight would take his part?
They sang as they rode,these lusty boys,When one chanced to turn toward the highway's side,"There's a sorry figure of fun,"jested he,"Well,Sirrah!move back,there is scarce room to ride.""Good Sirs,Kind Sirs,"begged the crestfallen fool,"I pray of your courtesy speech with you,I'm for yonder town,and have no horse to ride,Have you never a charger will carry two?"Then the company halted and laughed out loud.
"Was such a request ever made to a knight?""And where are your legs,"asked one,"if you start,You may be inside the town gates to-night.""'T is a lazy fellow,let him alone,They've no room in the town for such idlers as he."But one bent from his saddle and said,"My man,Art thou not ashamed to beg charity!
"Thou art well set up,and thy legs are strong,But it much misgives me lest thou'rt a fool;For beggars get only a beggar's crust,Wise men are reared in a different school."Then they clattered away in the dust and the wind,And the fool slunk back to his lonely stone;He began to see that the man who asks Must likewise give and not ask alone.
Purple tree-shadows crept over the road,The level sun flung an orange light,And the fool laid his head on the hard,gray stone And wept as he realized advancing night.
A great,round moon rose over a hill And the steady wind blew yet more cool;And crouched on a stone a wayfarer sobbed,For at last he knew he was only a fool.
The Green Bowl This little bowl is like a mossy pool In a Spring wood,where dogtooth violets grow Nodding in chequered sunshine of the trees;A quiet place,still,with the sound of birds,Where,though unseen,is heard the endless song And murmur of the never resting sea.
'T was winter,Roger,when you made this cup,But coming Spring guided your eager hand And round the edge you fashioned young green leaves,A proper chalice made to hold the shy And little flowers of the woods.And here They will forget their sad uprooting,lost In pleasure that this circle of bright leaves Should be their setting;once more they will dream They hear winds wandering through lofty trees And see the sun smiling between the leaves.
Hora Stellatrix The stars hang thick in the apple tree,The south wind smells of the pungent sea,Gold tulip cups are heavy with dew.
The night's for you,Sweetheart,for you!
Starfire rains from the vaulted blue.
Listen!The dancing of unseen leaves.
A drowsy swallow stirs in the eaves.
Only a maiden is sorrowing.
'T is night and spring,Sweetheart,and spring!
Starfire lights your heart's blossoming.
In the intimate dark there's never an ear,Though the tulips stand on tiptoe to hear,So give;ripe fruit must shrivel or fall.
As you are mine,Sweetheart,give all!
Starfire sparkles,your coronal.
Fragment What is poetry?Is it a mosaic Of coloured stones which curiously are wrought Into a pattern?Rather glass that's taught By patient labor any hue to take And glowing with a sumptuous splendor,make Beauty a thing of awe;where sunbeams caught,Transmuted fall in sheafs of rainbows fraught With storied meaning for religion's sake.
Loon Point Softly the water ripples Against the canoe's curving side,Softly the birch trees rustle Flinging over us branches wide.
Softly the moon glints and glistens As the water takes and leaves,Like golden ears of corn Which fall from loose-bound sheaves,Or like the snow-white petals Which drop from an overblown rose,When Summer ripens to Autumn And the freighted year must close.
From the shore come the scents of a garden,And between a gap in the trees A proud white statue glimmers In cold,disdainful ease.
The child of a southern people,The thought of an alien race,What does she in this pale,northern garden,How reconcile it with her grace?