The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe Dreamers

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe DreamersThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: The DreamersAuthor: Theodosia Pickering GarrisonRelease date: January 15, 2007 [eBook #20373]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Jeffrey Johnson and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive/American Libraries.)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DREAMERS ***

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The DreamersAuthor: Theodosia Pickering GarrisonRelease date: January 15, 2007 [eBook #20373]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Jeffrey Johnson and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive/American Libraries.)

Title: The Dreamers

Author: Theodosia Pickering Garrison

Release date: January 15, 2007 [eBook #20373]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Jeffrey Johnson and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DREAMERS ***

George H. Doran company logo

NEW YORKGEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

TOF. J. F.September, 1917

For the privilege of reprinting the poems included in this volume the author thanks the Editors of Scribner's, Harper's Magazine, Harper's Bazar, McClure's, Collier's Weekly, The Delineator, The Designer, Ainslee's, Everybody's, The Smart Set, The Cosmopolitan, Lippincott's, Munsey's, The Rosary, The Pictorial Review, The Bookman, and the Newark Sunday Call.

The DreamersThree Songs in a GardenThe ReturnBlack SheepMonseigneur PlaysUnbeliefThe Silent OneThe RoseThe Song of the Young PageThe New SpringThe BurdenThe BrideThe Seer of HeartsThe Unseen MiracleThe April BoughsTransientsThe MotherWhen Pierrot PassesThe PoetMagdalenA Salem MotherThe DaysThe CallThe ParasiteYouthThe Empty HouseThe Broken LuteOrchardsTwilightA Love SongOld BoatsBeautyA SongMothers of MenLovelace Grown OldShadeThe VagabondDistanceThe GypsyingGood-bye, PierretteThe AwakeningThe Wedding GownThe DisciplesThe UnknowingHeart of a Hundred SorrowsThe ReturningThe InlanderAd FinemA Song of HeloiseThe ReturnThe PoplarsThe Little Joys

HimselfThe FairHis Dancing DaysSheilaThe GriefThe IntroductionThe Stay-at-home

THE DREAMERS

The gypsies passed her little gate—

She stopped her wheel to see,—

A brown-faced pair who walked the road,

Free as the wind is free;

And suddenly her tidy room

A prison seemed to be.

Her shining plates against the walls,

Her sunlit, sanded floor,

The brass-bound wedding chest that held

Her linen's snowy store,

The very wheel whose humming died,—

Seemed only chains she bore.

She watched the foot-free gypsies pass;

She never knew or guessed

The wistful dream that drew them close—

The longing in each breast

Some day to know a home like hers,

Wherein their hearts might rest.

THREE SONGS IN A GARDEN

White rose-leaves in my hands,

I toss you all away;

The winds shall blow you through the world

To seek my wedding day.

Or East you go, or West you go

And fall on land or sea,

Find the one that I love best

And bring him here to me.

And if he finds me spinning

'Tis short I'll break my thread;

And if he finds me dancing

I'll dance with him instead;

If he finds me at the Mass—

(Ah, let this not be,

Lest I forget my sweetest saint

The while he kneels by me!)

My lilies are like nuns in white

That guard me well all day,

But the red, red rose that near them grows

Is wiser far than they.

Oh, red rose, wise rose,

Keep my secret well;

I kiss you twice, I kiss you thrice

To pray you not to tell.

My lilies sleep beneath the moon,

But wide awake are you,

And you have heard a certain word

And seen a dream come true.

Oh, red rose, wise rose,

Silence for my sake,

Nor drop to-night a petal light

Lest my white lilies wake.

III

Will the garden never forget

That it whispers over and over,

"Where is your lover, Nanette?

Where is your lover—your lover?"

Oh, roses I helped to grow,

Oh, lily and mignonette,

Must you always question me so,

"Where is your lover, Nanette?"

Since you looked on my joy one day,

Is my grief then a lesser thing?

Have you only this to say

When I pray you for comforting?

Now that I walk alone

Here where our hands were met,

Must you whisper me every one,

"Where is your lover, Nanette?"

I have mourned with you year and year,

When the Autumn has left you bare,

And now that my heart is sere

Does not one of your roses care?

Oh, help me forget—forget,

Nor question over and over,

"Where is your lover, Nanette?

Where is your lover—your lover?"

THE RETURN

I lost Young Love so long ago

I had forgot him quite,

Until a little lass and lad

Went by my door to-night.

Ah, hand in hand, but not alone,

They passed my open door,

For with them walked that other one

Who paused here Mays before.

And I, who had forgotten long,

Knew suddenly the grace

Of one who in an empty land

Beholds a kinsman's face.

Oh, Young Love, gone these many years,

'Twas you came back to-night,

And laid your hand on my two eyes

That they might see aright,

And took my listless hand in yours

(Your hands without a stain),

And touched me on my tired heart

That it might beat again.

BLACK SHEEP

"Black Sheep, Black Sheep,

Have you any wool?"

"That I have, my Master,

Three bags full."

One is for the mother who prays for me at night—

A gift of broken promises to count by candle-light.

One is for the tried friend who raised me when I fell—

A gift of weakling's tinsel oaths that strew the path to hell.

And one is for the true love—the heaviest of all—

That holds the pieces of a faith a careless hand let fall.

Black Sheep, Black Sheep,

Have you ought to say?

A word to each, my Master,

Ere I go my way.

A word unto my mother to bid her think o' me

Only as a little lad playing at her knee.

A word unto my tried friend to bid him see again

Two laughing lads in Springtime a-racing down the glen.

A word unto my true love—a single word—to pray

If one day I cross her path to turn her eyes away.

MONSEIGNEUR PLAYS

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte—

Within her gilded chair the Queen

Listens, her rustling maids between;

A very tulip-garden stirred

To hear the fluting of a bird;

Faint sunlight through the casement falls

On cupids painted on the walls

At play with doves. Precisely set

Awaits the slender legged spinet

Expectant of its happy lot,

The while the player stays to twist

The cobweb ruffle from his wrist.

A pause, and then—(Ah, whisper not)

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte.

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte—

Hark, 'tis the faintest dawn of Spring,

So still the dew drops whispering

Is loud upon the violets;

Here in this garden of Pierrettes'

Where Pierrot waits, ah, hasten Sweet,

And hear; on dainty, tripping feet

She comes—the little, glad coquette.

"Ah thou, Pierrot?" "Ah thou, Pierrette?"

A kiss, nay, hear—a bird wakes, then

A silence—and they kiss again,

"Ah, Mesdames, have you quite forgot—"

(So laughs his music.) "Love's first kiss?

Let this note lead you then, and this

Back to that fragrant garden-spot."

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte.

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte—

Ah, hear—in that last note they go

The little lovers laughing so;

Kissing their finger-tips, they dance

From out this gilded room of France.

Adieu! Monseigneur rises now

Ready for compliment and bow,

Playing about his mouth the while

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