A Kaleidoscope

Nicholas Vachel Lindsay

[After seeing the reel calledOil and Water.]

Beauty has a throne-roomIn our humorous town,Spoiling its hobgoblins,Laughing shadows down.Dour musicians tortureRag-time ballads vile,But we walk serenelyDown the odorous aisle.We forgive the squalor,And the boom and squeal,For the Great Queen flashesFrom the moving reel.Just a prim blonde strangerIn her early day,Hiding brilliant weapons,Too averse to play;Then she burst upon usDancing through the night,Oh, her maiden radiance,Veils and roses white!With new powers, yet cautious,Not too smart or skilled,That first flash of dancingWrought the thing she willed:—Mobs of us made nobleBy her strong desire,By her white, upliftingRoyal romance-fire.Though the tin pianoSnarls its tango rude,Though the chairs are shakyAnd the drama’s crude,Solemn are her motions,Stately are her wiles,Filling oafs with wisdom,Saving souls with smiles;Mid the restless actorsShe is rich and slow,She will stand like marble,She will pause and glow,Though the film is twitchingKeep a peaceful reign,Ruler of her passion,Ruler of our pain!

Beauty has a throne-room

In our humorous town,

Spoiling its hobgoblins,

Laughing shadows down.

Dour musicians torture

Rag-time ballads vile,

But we walk serenely

Down the odorous aisle.

We forgive the squalor,

And the boom and squeal,

For the Great Queen flashes

From the moving reel.

Just a prim blonde strangerIn her early day,Hiding brilliant weapons,Too averse to play;Then she burst upon usDancing through the night,Oh, her maiden radiance,Veils and roses white!With new powers, yet cautious,Not too smart or skilled,That first flash of dancingWrought the thing she willed:—Mobs of us made nobleBy her strong desire,By her white, upliftingRoyal romance-fire.Though the tin pianoSnarls its tango rude,Though the chairs are shakyAnd the drama’s crude,Solemn are her motions,Stately are her wiles,Filling oafs with wisdom,Saving souls with smiles;Mid the restless actorsShe is rich and slow,She will stand like marble,She will pause and glow,Though the film is twitchingKeep a peaceful reign,Ruler of her passion,Ruler of our pain!

Just a prim blonde stranger

In her early day,

Hiding brilliant weapons,

Too averse to play;

Then she burst upon us

Dancing through the night,

Oh, her maiden radiance,

Veils and roses white!

With new powers, yet cautious,

Not too smart or skilled,

That first flash of dancing

Wrought the thing she willed:—

Mobs of us made noble

By her strong desire,

By her white, uplifting

Royal romance-fire.

Though the tin piano

Snarls its tango rude,

Though the chairs are shaky

And the drama’s crude,

Solemn are her motions,

Stately are her wiles,

Filling oafs with wisdom,

Saving souls with smiles;

Mid the restless actors

She is rich and slow,

She will stand like marble,

She will pause and glow,

Though the film is twitching

Keep a peaceful reign,

Ruler of her passion,

Ruler of our pain!

You shall not hide forever,I shall your path discern;I have the key to Heaven,Key to the pits that burn.Saved ones will help me, lost onesSpy on your secret way—Show me your flying footprintsOn past your death-bed day.If by your pride you stumbleDown to the demon-land,I shall be there beside you,Chained to your burning hand.If, by your choice and pleasure,You shall ascend the sky,I, too, will mount that stairway,You shall not put me by.There, ’mid the holy people,Healed of your blasting scorn,Clasped in these arms that hunger,Splendid with dreams reborn,You shall be mastered, lady,Knowing, at last, Desire—Lifting your face for kisses—Kisses of bitter fire.

You shall not hide forever,I shall your path discern;I have the key to Heaven,Key to the pits that burn.

You shall not hide forever,

I shall your path discern;

I have the key to Heaven,

Key to the pits that burn.

Saved ones will help me, lost onesSpy on your secret way—Show me your flying footprintsOn past your death-bed day.

Saved ones will help me, lost ones

Spy on your secret way—

Show me your flying footprints

On past your death-bed day.

If by your pride you stumbleDown to the demon-land,I shall be there beside you,Chained to your burning hand.

If by your pride you stumble

Down to the demon-land,

I shall be there beside you,

Chained to your burning hand.

If, by your choice and pleasure,You shall ascend the sky,I, too, will mount that stairway,You shall not put me by.

If, by your choice and pleasure,

You shall ascend the sky,

I, too, will mount that stairway,

You shall not put me by.

There, ’mid the holy people,Healed of your blasting scorn,Clasped in these arms that hunger,Splendid with dreams reborn,

There, ’mid the holy people,

Healed of your blasting scorn,

Clasped in these arms that hunger,

Splendid with dreams reborn,

You shall be mastered, lady,Knowing, at last, Desire—Lifting your face for kisses—Kisses of bitter fire.

You shall be mastered, lady,

Knowing, at last, Desire—

Lifting your face for kisses—

Kisses of bitter fire.

Ah, in the night, all music haunts me here ...Is it for naught high Heaven cracks and yawnsAnd the tremendous amaranth descendsSweet with glory of ten thousand dawns?Does it not mean my God would have me say:—“Whether you will or no, oh city youngHeaven will bloom like one great flower for you,Flash and loom greatly, all your marts among?”Friends I will not cease hoping, though you weep.Such things I see, and some of them shall comeThough now our streets are harsh and ashen-grey,Though now our youths are strident, or are dumb.Friends, that sweet town, that wonder-town shall rise.Naught can delay it. Though it may not beJust as I dream, it comes at last, I knowWith streets like channels of an incense-sea!

Ah, in the night, all music haunts me here ...Is it for naught high Heaven cracks and yawnsAnd the tremendous amaranth descendsSweet with glory of ten thousand dawns?

Ah, in the night, all music haunts me here ...

Is it for naught high Heaven cracks and yawns

And the tremendous amaranth descends

Sweet with glory of ten thousand dawns?

Does it not mean my God would have me say:—“Whether you will or no, oh city youngHeaven will bloom like one great flower for you,Flash and loom greatly, all your marts among?”

Does it not mean my God would have me say:—

“Whether you will or no, oh city young

Heaven will bloom like one great flower for you,

Flash and loom greatly, all your marts among?”

Friends I will not cease hoping, though you weep.Such things I see, and some of them shall comeThough now our streets are harsh and ashen-grey,Though now our youths are strident, or are dumb.

Friends I will not cease hoping, though you weep.

Such things I see, and some of them shall come

Though now our streets are harsh and ashen-grey,

Though now our youths are strident, or are dumb.

Friends, that sweet town, that wonder-town shall rise.Naught can delay it. Though it may not beJust as I dream, it comes at last, I knowWith streets like channels of an incense-sea!

Friends, that sweet town, that wonder-town shall rise.

Naught can delay it. Though it may not be

Just as I dream, it comes at last, I know

With streets like channels of an incense-sea!

We find your soft Utopias as whiteAs new-cut bread, as dull as life in cells,Oh scribes that dare forget how wild we are,How human breasts adore alarum bells.You house us in a hive of prigs and saintsCommunal, frugal, clean, and chaste by law.I’d rather brood in bloody ElsinoreOr be Lear’s fool, straw-crowned amid the straw.Promise us all our share in Agincourt.Say that our clerks shall venture scorns and death.That future ant-hills will not be too goodFor Henry Fifth, or Hotspur, or Macbeth.Promise that through tomorrow’s spirit-warMan’s deathless soul will hack and hew its way,Each flaunting Cæsar climbing to his fateScorning the utmost steps of yesterday.And never a shallow jester any more.Let not Jack Falstaff spill the ale in vain.Let Touchstone set the fashions for the wise,And Ariel wreak his fancies through the rain!

We find your soft Utopias as whiteAs new-cut bread, as dull as life in cells,Oh scribes that dare forget how wild we are,How human breasts adore alarum bells.

We find your soft Utopias as white

As new-cut bread, as dull as life in cells,

Oh scribes that dare forget how wild we are,

How human breasts adore alarum bells.

You house us in a hive of prigs and saintsCommunal, frugal, clean, and chaste by law.I’d rather brood in bloody ElsinoreOr be Lear’s fool, straw-crowned amid the straw.

You house us in a hive of prigs and saints

Communal, frugal, clean, and chaste by law.

I’d rather brood in bloody Elsinore

Or be Lear’s fool, straw-crowned amid the straw.

Promise us all our share in Agincourt.Say that our clerks shall venture scorns and death.That future ant-hills will not be too goodFor Henry Fifth, or Hotspur, or Macbeth.

Promise us all our share in Agincourt.

Say that our clerks shall venture scorns and death.

That future ant-hills will not be too good

For Henry Fifth, or Hotspur, or Macbeth.

Promise that through tomorrow’s spirit-warMan’s deathless soul will hack and hew its way,Each flaunting Cæsar climbing to his fateScorning the utmost steps of yesterday.

Promise that through tomorrow’s spirit-war

Man’s deathless soul will hack and hew its way,

Each flaunting Cæsar climbing to his fate

Scorning the utmost steps of yesterday.

And never a shallow jester any more.Let not Jack Falstaff spill the ale in vain.Let Touchstone set the fashions for the wise,And Ariel wreak his fancies through the rain!

And never a shallow jester any more.

Let not Jack Falstaff spill the ale in vain.

Let Touchstone set the fashions for the wise,

And Ariel wreak his fancies through the rain!

Incense and splendor haunt me as I go.Though my good works have been, alas, too few,Though I do naught, High Heaven comes down to meAnd future ages pass in tall review.I see the years to come as armies vast,Stalking tremendous through the fields of time.Man is unborn. Tomorrow he is bornFlamelike to hover o’er the moil and grime;Striving, aspiring till the shame is gone,Sowing a million flowers where now we mourn—Laying new precious pavements with a song,Founding new shrines, the good streets to adorn.I have seen lovers by those new-built wallsClothed like the dawn, in orange, gold, and red;Eyes flashing forth the glory-light of loveUnder the wreaths that crowned each royal head.Life was made greater by their sweetheart prayers;Passion was turned to civic strength that day—Piling the marbles, making fairer domesWith zeal that else had burned bright youth away.I have seen priestesses of life go byGliding in Samite through the incense-sea:—Innocent children marching with them there,Singing in flowered robes—“the Earth is free!”While on the fair deep-carved, unfinished towersSentinels watched in armor night and day—Guarding the brazier-fires of hope and dream—Wild was their peace, and dawn-bright their array!

Incense and splendor haunt me as I go.Though my good works have been, alas, too few,Though I do naught, High Heaven comes down to meAnd future ages pass in tall review.

Incense and splendor haunt me as I go.

Though my good works have been, alas, too few,

Though I do naught, High Heaven comes down to me

And future ages pass in tall review.

I see the years to come as armies vast,Stalking tremendous through the fields of time.Man is unborn. Tomorrow he is bornFlamelike to hover o’er the moil and grime;

I see the years to come as armies vast,

Stalking tremendous through the fields of time.

Man is unborn. Tomorrow he is born

Flamelike to hover o’er the moil and grime;

Striving, aspiring till the shame is gone,Sowing a million flowers where now we mourn—Laying new precious pavements with a song,Founding new shrines, the good streets to adorn.

Striving, aspiring till the shame is gone,

Sowing a million flowers where now we mourn—

Laying new precious pavements with a song,

Founding new shrines, the good streets to adorn.

I have seen lovers by those new-built wallsClothed like the dawn, in orange, gold, and red;Eyes flashing forth the glory-light of loveUnder the wreaths that crowned each royal head.

I have seen lovers by those new-built walls

Clothed like the dawn, in orange, gold, and red;

Eyes flashing forth the glory-light of love

Under the wreaths that crowned each royal head.

Life was made greater by their sweetheart prayers;Passion was turned to civic strength that day—Piling the marbles, making fairer domesWith zeal that else had burned bright youth away.

Life was made greater by their sweetheart prayers;

Passion was turned to civic strength that day—

Piling the marbles, making fairer domes

With zeal that else had burned bright youth away.

I have seen priestesses of life go byGliding in Samite through the incense-sea:—Innocent children marching with them there,Singing in flowered robes—“the Earth is free!”

I have seen priestesses of life go by

Gliding in Samite through the incense-sea:—

Innocent children marching with them there,

Singing in flowered robes—“the Earth is free!”

While on the fair deep-carved, unfinished towersSentinels watched in armor night and day—Guarding the brazier-fires of hope and dream—Wild was their peace, and dawn-bright their array!

While on the fair deep-carved, unfinished towers

Sentinels watched in armor night and day—

Guarding the brazier-fires of hope and dream—

Wild was their peace, and dawn-bright their array!

Too soon you wearied of our tears.And then you danced with spangled feet,Leading Belshazzar’s chattering courtA-tinkling through the shadowy street.With mead they came, with chants of shame,Desire’s red flag before them flew.And Istar’s music moved your mouthAnd Baal’s deep shames rewoke in you.Now you could drive the royal car:Forget our Nation’s breaking load:—Now you could sleep on silver beds—(Bitter and dark was our abode).And so for many a night you laughedAnd knew not of my hopeless prayer,Till God’s own spirit whipped you forthFrom Istar’s shrine, from Istar’s stair.Darling daughter of Babylon—Rose by the black Euphrates flood—Again your beauty grew more dearThan my slave’s bread, than my heart’s blood.We sang of Zion, good to know,Where righteousness and peace abide ...What of your second sacrilegeCarousing at Belshazzar’s side?Once, by a stream, we clasped tired hands—Your paint and henna washed away.Your place (you said) was with the slavesWho sewed the thick cloth, night and day.You were a pale and holy maidToil-bound with us. One night you said:—“Your God shall be my God untilI slumber with the patriarch dead.”Pardon, daughter of Babylon,If, on this night rememberingOur lover walks under the wallsOf hanging gardens in the spring—A venom comes, from broken hope—From memories of your comrade-song,Until I curse your painted eyesAnd do your flower-mouth too much wrong.

Too soon you wearied of our tears.

And then you danced with spangled feet,

Leading Belshazzar’s chattering court

A-tinkling through the shadowy street.

With mead they came, with chants of shame,

Desire’s red flag before them flew.

And Istar’s music moved your mouth

And Baal’s deep shames rewoke in you.

Now you could drive the royal car:Forget our Nation’s breaking load:—Now you could sleep on silver beds—(Bitter and dark was our abode).And so for many a night you laughedAnd knew not of my hopeless prayer,Till God’s own spirit whipped you forthFrom Istar’s shrine, from Istar’s stair.

Now you could drive the royal car:

Forget our Nation’s breaking load:—

Now you could sleep on silver beds—

(Bitter and dark was our abode).

And so for many a night you laughed

And knew not of my hopeless prayer,

Till God’s own spirit whipped you forth

From Istar’s shrine, from Istar’s stair.

Darling daughter of Babylon—Rose by the black Euphrates flood—Again your beauty grew more dearThan my slave’s bread, than my heart’s blood.We sang of Zion, good to know,Where righteousness and peace abide ...What of your second sacrilegeCarousing at Belshazzar’s side?

Darling daughter of Babylon—

Rose by the black Euphrates flood—

Again your beauty grew more dear

Than my slave’s bread, than my heart’s blood.

We sang of Zion, good to know,

Where righteousness and peace abide ...

What of your second sacrilege

Carousing at Belshazzar’s side?

Once, by a stream, we clasped tired hands—Your paint and henna washed away.Your place (you said) was with the slavesWho sewed the thick cloth, night and day.You were a pale and holy maidToil-bound with us. One night you said:—“Your God shall be my God untilI slumber with the patriarch dead.”

Once, by a stream, we clasped tired hands—

Your paint and henna washed away.

Your place (you said) was with the slaves

Who sewed the thick cloth, night and day.

You were a pale and holy maid

Toil-bound with us. One night you said:—

“Your God shall be my God until

I slumber with the patriarch dead.”

Pardon, daughter of Babylon,If, on this night rememberingOur lover walks under the wallsOf hanging gardens in the spring—A venom comes, from broken hope—From memories of your comrade-song,Until I curse your painted eyesAnd do your flower-mouth too much wrong.

Pardon, daughter of Babylon,

If, on this night remembering

Our lover walks under the walls

Of hanging gardens in the spring—

A venom comes, from broken hope—

From memories of your comrade-song,

Until I curse your painted eyes

And do your flower-mouth too much wrong.

I went down into the desertTo meet Elijah—Or some one like, arisen from the dead.I thought to find him in an echoing cave,For so my dream had said.I went down into the desertTo meet John the Baptist.I walked with feet that bled,Seeking that prophet, lean and brown and bold.I spied foul fiends instead.I went down into the desertTo meet my God,By Him be comforted.I went down into the desertTo meet my GodAnd I met the Devil in Red.I went down into the desertTo meet my God.Oh Lord, my God, awaken from the dead!I see you there, your thorn-crown on the ground—I see you there, half-buried in the sand—I see you there, your white bones glistening, bare,The carrion birds a-wheeling round your head!

I went down into the desertTo meet Elijah—Or some one like, arisen from the dead.I thought to find him in an echoing cave,For so my dream had said.

I went down into the desert

To meet Elijah—

Or some one like, arisen from the dead.

I thought to find him in an echoing cave,

For so my dream had said.

I went down into the desertTo meet John the Baptist.I walked with feet that bled,Seeking that prophet, lean and brown and bold.I spied foul fiends instead.

I went down into the desert

To meet John the Baptist.

I walked with feet that bled,

Seeking that prophet, lean and brown and bold.

I spied foul fiends instead.

I went down into the desertTo meet my God,By Him be comforted.I went down into the desertTo meet my GodAnd I met the Devil in Red.

I went down into the desert

To meet my God,

By Him be comforted.

I went down into the desert

To meet my God

And I met the Devil in Red.

I went down into the desertTo meet my God.Oh Lord, my God, awaken from the dead!I see you there, your thorn-crown on the ground—I see you there, half-buried in the sand—I see you there, your white bones glistening, bare,The carrion birds a-wheeling round your head!

I went down into the desert

To meet my God.

Oh Lord, my God, awaken from the dead!

I see you there, your thorn-crown on the ground—

I see you there, half-buried in the sand—

I see you there, your white bones glistening, bare,

The carrion birds a-wheeling round your head!

The Church of Vision and Dream

Is it for naught that where the tired crowds seeOnly a place for trade, a teeming square,Doors of high portent open unto meCarved with great eagles, and with Hawthorns rare?Doors I proclaim, for there are rooms forgotRipened through æons by the good and wise:Walls set with Art’s own pearl and amethystAngel-wrought hangings there, and heaven-hued dyes:—Dazzling the eye of faith, the hope-filled heart:—Rooms rich in records of old deeds sublime:Books that hold garnered harvests of far landsPictures that tableau Man’s triumphant climb:Statues so white, so counterfeiting life,Bronze so ennobled, so with glory fraughtThat the tired eyes must weep with joy to see,And the tired mind in Beauty’s net be caught.Come, enter there, and meet Tomorrow’s Man,Communing with him softly, day by day.Ah, the deep vistas he reveals, the dreamOf Angel-bands in infinite array—Bright angel-bands that dance in paths of earthWhen our despairs are gone, long overpast—When men and maidens give fair hearts to ChristAnd white streets flame in righteous peace at last!

Is it for naught that where the tired crowds seeOnly a place for trade, a teeming square,Doors of high portent open unto meCarved with great eagles, and with Hawthorns rare?

Is it for naught that where the tired crowds see

Only a place for trade, a teeming square,

Doors of high portent open unto me

Carved with great eagles, and with Hawthorns rare?

Doors I proclaim, for there are rooms forgotRipened through æons by the good and wise:Walls set with Art’s own pearl and amethystAngel-wrought hangings there, and heaven-hued dyes:—

Doors I proclaim, for there are rooms forgot

Ripened through æons by the good and wise:

Walls set with Art’s own pearl and amethyst

Angel-wrought hangings there, and heaven-hued dyes:—

Dazzling the eye of faith, the hope-filled heart:—Rooms rich in records of old deeds sublime:Books that hold garnered harvests of far landsPictures that tableau Man’s triumphant climb:

Dazzling the eye of faith, the hope-filled heart:—

Rooms rich in records of old deeds sublime:

Books that hold garnered harvests of far lands

Pictures that tableau Man’s triumphant climb:

Statues so white, so counterfeiting life,Bronze so ennobled, so with glory fraughtThat the tired eyes must weep with joy to see,And the tired mind in Beauty’s net be caught.

Statues so white, so counterfeiting life,

Bronze so ennobled, so with glory fraught

That the tired eyes must weep with joy to see,

And the tired mind in Beauty’s net be caught.

Come, enter there, and meet Tomorrow’s Man,Communing with him softly, day by day.Ah, the deep vistas he reveals, the dreamOf Angel-bands in infinite array—

Come, enter there, and meet Tomorrow’s Man,

Communing with him softly, day by day.

Ah, the deep vistas he reveals, the dream

Of Angel-bands in infinite array—

Bright angel-bands that dance in paths of earthWhen our despairs are gone, long overpast—When men and maidens give fair hearts to ChristAnd white streets flame in righteous peace at last!

Bright angel-bands that dance in paths of earth

When our despairs are gone, long overpast—

When men and maidens give fair hearts to Christ

And white streets flame in righteous peace at last!

The mouse that gnawed the oak-tree downBegan his task in early life,He kept so busy with his teethHe had no time to take a wife.He gnawed and gnawed through sun and rain,When the ambitious fit was on,Then rested in the sawdust tillA month in idleness had gone.He did not move about to huntThe coteries of mousie-men;He was a snail-paced stupid thingUntil he cared to gnaw again.The mouse that gnawed the oak-tree downWhen that tough foe was at his feet—Found in the stump no angel-cakeNor buttered bread, no cheese, nor meat—The forest-roof let in the sky.“This light is worth the work,” said he.“I’ll make this ancient swamp more light”—And started on another tree!

The mouse that gnawed the oak-tree downBegan his task in early life,He kept so busy with his teethHe had no time to take a wife.

The mouse that gnawed the oak-tree down

Began his task in early life,

He kept so busy with his teeth

He had no time to take a wife.

He gnawed and gnawed through sun and rain,When the ambitious fit was on,Then rested in the sawdust tillA month in idleness had gone.

He gnawed and gnawed through sun and rain,

When the ambitious fit was on,

Then rested in the sawdust till

A month in idleness had gone.

He did not move about to huntThe coteries of mousie-men;He was a snail-paced stupid thingUntil he cared to gnaw again.

He did not move about to hunt

The coteries of mousie-men;

He was a snail-paced stupid thing

Until he cared to gnaw again.

The mouse that gnawed the oak-tree downWhen that tough foe was at his feet—Found in the stump no angel-cakeNor buttered bread, no cheese, nor meat—

The mouse that gnawed the oak-tree down

When that tough foe was at his feet—

Found in the stump no angel-cake

Nor buttered bread, no cheese, nor meat—

The forest-roof let in the sky.“This light is worth the work,” said he.“I’ll make this ancient swamp more light”—And started on another tree!

The forest-roof let in the sky.

“This light is worth the work,” said he.

“I’ll make this ancient swamp more light”—

And started on another tree!

I’ll haunt this town, though gone the maids and menThe darling few, my friends and loves today.My ghost returns, bearing a great sword-penWhen far off children of their children play.That pen will drip with moonlight and with fire;I’ll write upon the church-doors and the walls;And reading there, young hearts shall leap the higherThough drunk already with their own love-calls.Still led of love, and arm in arm, strange goldShall find in tracing the far-speeding trackThe dauntless war-cries that my sword-pen boldShall carve on terraces and tree-trunks black—On tree-trunks black, ’mid orchard-blossoms white—Just as the phospherent merman, struggling home,Jewels his fire-paths in the tides at nightWhile hurrying sea-babes follow through the foam.And, in the winter, when the leaves are deadAnd the first snow has carpeted the street,While young cheeks flush a healthful Christmas red,And young eyes glisten with youth’s fervor sweet—My pen will cut in snow my hopes of yore,Cries that in channelled glory leap and shine—My village gospel—living evermore’Mid those rejoicing loyal friends of mine.

I’ll haunt this town, though gone the maids and menThe darling few, my friends and loves today.My ghost returns, bearing a great sword-penWhen far off children of their children play.

I’ll haunt this town, though gone the maids and men

The darling few, my friends and loves today.

My ghost returns, bearing a great sword-pen

When far off children of their children play.

That pen will drip with moonlight and with fire;I’ll write upon the church-doors and the walls;And reading there, young hearts shall leap the higherThough drunk already with their own love-calls.

That pen will drip with moonlight and with fire;

I’ll write upon the church-doors and the walls;

And reading there, young hearts shall leap the higher

Though drunk already with their own love-calls.

Still led of love, and arm in arm, strange goldShall find in tracing the far-speeding trackThe dauntless war-cries that my sword-pen boldShall carve on terraces and tree-trunks black—

Still led of love, and arm in arm, strange gold

Shall find in tracing the far-speeding track

The dauntless war-cries that my sword-pen bold

Shall carve on terraces and tree-trunks black—

On tree-trunks black, ’mid orchard-blossoms white—Just as the phospherent merman, struggling home,Jewels his fire-paths in the tides at nightWhile hurrying sea-babes follow through the foam.

On tree-trunks black, ’mid orchard-blossoms white—

Just as the phospherent merman, struggling home,

Jewels his fire-paths in the tides at night

While hurrying sea-babes follow through the foam.

And, in the winter, when the leaves are deadAnd the first snow has carpeted the street,While young cheeks flush a healthful Christmas red,And young eyes glisten with youth’s fervor sweet—

And, in the winter, when the leaves are dead

And the first snow has carpeted the street,

While young cheeks flush a healthful Christmas red,

And young eyes glisten with youth’s fervor sweet—

My pen will cut in snow my hopes of yore,Cries that in channelled glory leap and shine—My village gospel—living evermore’Mid those rejoicing loyal friends of mine.

My pen will cut in snow my hopes of yore,

Cries that in channelled glory leap and shine—

My village gospel—living evermore

’Mid those rejoicing loyal friends of mine.

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