The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe Secret Way

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe Secret WayThis 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 Secret WayAuthor: Zona GaleRelease date: August 21, 2019 [eBook #60146]Most recently updated: October 17, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET WAY ***

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 Secret WayAuthor: Zona GaleRelease date: August 21, 2019 [eBook #60146]Most recently updated: October 17, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

Title: The Secret Way

Author: Zona Gale

Release date: August 21, 2019 [eBook #60146]Most recently updated: October 17, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET WAY ***

THE SECRET WAY

[Image unavailable: portrait of the author.]

Copyrighted by E. O. Hoppé

BYZONA GALENew YorkTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY1921All rights reservedPRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICACopyright, 1921,ByTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY.Set up and printed. Published September, 1921.Press ofJ. J. Little & Ives CompanyNew York, U. S. A.

“A great life, an entire civilization lies just outside the pale of common thought.... Such life is different from any yet imagined.... I see as clearly as the noonday that this is not all. I see other and higher conditions than existence.... The very idea that there is another Idea is something gained.”—Richard Jeffries.

—Richard Jeffries.

Stark on the window’s early greyLined out in squares by casement bars,She saw her lily lift to takeThe sinking stars.Within the room’s delaying darkIntimate things lay dim and stillWith all their day-time friendlinessGone false and chill.Her hand upon the coverlet,Her face low in the linen’s cleft,They were as wan as water-flowersBy light bereft.And never was bloom brought to her couchBut shed the odour of a sighBecause she was as white as they,And they must die.“O Pale, lit deep within the darkOf your young eyes, a stifled lightLeaps thin and keen as melodyAnd leavens night.“It is a light that did not burnWhen you were gay at mart and fair;O Pale, what is that starry fire,Fed unaware?”Then softly she: “I may not tellWhat other eyes behold in mine;But I have melted night and dayIn some wild wine.“I may not read the graven cupExhaustless as a brimming bellDistilling silver; but I drankAnd all is well.“One morn like this, bitter still,I waited for the early stirOf those who slept the while I watchedWhat muffled wonders were.“I saw my lily on the sill;I saw my mirror on the wallTake light that was not; and I sawMy spectral taper tall.“Why I had known these quiet thingsSince I could speak. Yet suddenlyThey all touched hands and in one breathThey spoke to me.“I may not tell you what they said.The strange part is that I must lieAnd never tell you what we say——These things and I.“I only know that common thingsBear sudden little spirits setFree by the rose of dawn and byNight’s violet.“I only know that when I hearClear tone, the haunted echoes bearLegions of little winged feetOn printless air.“And when warm colour weds my lookA word is uttered tremblingly,With meaning fall—but I know notWhat it may be.“I only know that now I findAbiding beauty everywhere;Or if it bide not, that it fadesIs still more fair.I long to question those I loveAnd yet I know not what to say;I am alone as one uponSome secret way.“My words are barren of my bliss;The strange part is that I must lieAnd never tell you what we say—These things and I.“So will it be when I am not.A little more perhaps to tell;Yet then as now I may not sayWhat I know well.”She died when all the east was red.And we are they who know her fateBecause we love the way of lifeThat she had found too late.

Stark on the window’s early greyLined out in squares by casement bars,She saw her lily lift to takeThe sinking stars.

Within the room’s delaying darkIntimate things lay dim and stillWith all their day-time friendlinessGone false and chill.

Her hand upon the coverlet,Her face low in the linen’s cleft,They were as wan as water-flowersBy light bereft.

And never was bloom brought to her couchBut shed the odour of a sighBecause she was as white as they,And they must die.

“O Pale, lit deep within the darkOf your young eyes, a stifled lightLeaps thin and keen as melodyAnd leavens night.

“It is a light that did not burnWhen you were gay at mart and fair;O Pale, what is that starry fire,Fed unaware?”

Then softly she: “I may not tellWhat other eyes behold in mine;But I have melted night and dayIn some wild wine.

“I may not read the graven cupExhaustless as a brimming bellDistilling silver; but I drankAnd all is well.

“One morn like this, bitter still,I waited for the early stirOf those who slept the while I watchedWhat muffled wonders were.

“I saw my lily on the sill;I saw my mirror on the wallTake light that was not; and I sawMy spectral taper tall.

“Why I had known these quiet thingsSince I could speak. Yet suddenlyThey all touched hands and in one breathThey spoke to me.

“I may not tell you what they said.The strange part is that I must lieAnd never tell you what we say——These things and I.

“I only know that common thingsBear sudden little spirits setFree by the rose of dawn and byNight’s violet.

“I only know that when I hearClear tone, the haunted echoes bearLegions of little winged feetOn printless air.

“And when warm colour weds my lookA word is uttered tremblingly,With meaning fall—but I know notWhat it may be.

“I only know that now I findAbiding beauty everywhere;Or if it bide not, that it fadesIs still more fair.

I long to question those I loveAnd yet I know not what to say;I am alone as one uponSome secret way.

“My words are barren of my bliss;The strange part is that I must lieAnd never tell you what we say—These things and I.

“So will it be when I am not.A little more perhaps to tell;Yet then as now I may not sayWhat I know well.”

She died when all the east was red.And we are they who know her fateBecause we love the way of lifeThat she had found too late.

Old Eyelot sees what never is.She says: “Pale lights move on the hill,Deep in the air are treasuries.”She says: “I never go to millWood-way but something walks with me,So go wood-way I always will.Wood-walking, I go mad to seeWhat will die out just as I turnTo catch it by the crooked tree.I pass the bush that I saw burningWith wild black flame at full of moon.That was a sight to set one learningWhat things one merely doubts at noon.A-well, I know not what I learned.God send that you may learn it soon.Windows for walls, thoughts that have turnedBack into folk, gateways of horn,And the wild hearts that men have burned,These things I see. And ay, one mornI saw the little people bearAway my little child new-born.They gave her food yielded in air,Honey and rose-down.I looked and she was very fair.So when the people of the town(Who did not know) believed her deadAnd wrapped her in a cloudy gownI did not mourn. I only said:“She is the daughter of the DayAnd with the Night she has been wed.“I am the mother of that oneBorn for two worlds. And I am sheWho sees more things than moon and sunAnd little stars will ever see.”* * *Old Eyelot sees what never is.She says: “Green lights move on the leas,Deep in the air are treasuries.”I wonder what old Eyelot sees?

Old Eyelot sees what never is.She says: “Pale lights move on the hill,Deep in the air are treasuries.”

She says: “I never go to millWood-way but something walks with me,So go wood-way I always will.

Wood-walking, I go mad to seeWhat will die out just as I turnTo catch it by the crooked tree.

I pass the bush that I saw burningWith wild black flame at full of moon.That was a sight to set one learning

What things one merely doubts at noon.A-well, I know not what I learned.God send that you may learn it soon.

Windows for walls, thoughts that have turnedBack into folk, gateways of horn,And the wild hearts that men have burned,

These things I see. And ay, one mornI saw the little people bearAway my little child new-born.

They gave her food yielded in air,Honey and rose-down.I looked and she was very fair.

So when the people of the town(Who did not know) believed her deadAnd wrapped her in a cloudy gown

I did not mourn. I only said:“She is the daughter of the DayAnd with the Night she has been wed.

“I am the mother of that oneBorn for two worlds. And I am sheWho sees more things than moon and sunAnd little stars will ever see.”

* * *

Old Eyelot sees what never is.She says: “Green lights move on the leas,Deep in the air are treasuries.”I wonder what old Eyelot sees?

An ancient wildwood showed its heart to me.(O Little Wind that brought me what it said!)I went within its great nave reverently.There dwelt the silence ever lightly wedWith winged sound. There the persuading greenTook ancient citadels with soundless tread.Was not the opening blue of buds betweenSoft solitary leaves a lyric setTo music of the things that lift and lean?My hands were mother-tender of the netOf silk they found. My feet were lightTo loose no dew from the least violet.The fragile fabric of dissolved nightSeemed in the air. A million little mindsKept concert in the very realm of sight.O—and suddenly as sunlight findsWhite towers I heard the ancient wood unfoldIts ancient secret piped by little winds.“Behold the beauty in me. O beholdThe beauty that makes utter peace, in me;Beauty that is immeasurably old.”The whole world like a bell heard echoingly.Words wonderful! I found a fairy bedAnd saw that which the wildwood let me see.(O Little Wind that brought me what it said!)

An ancient wildwood showed its heart to me.(O Little Wind that brought me what it said!)I went within its great nave reverently.

There dwelt the silence ever lightly wedWith winged sound. There the persuading greenTook ancient citadels with soundless tread.

Was not the opening blue of buds betweenSoft solitary leaves a lyric setTo music of the things that lift and lean?

My hands were mother-tender of the netOf silk they found. My feet were lightTo loose no dew from the least violet.

The fragile fabric of dissolved nightSeemed in the air. A million little mindsKept concert in the very realm of sight.

O—and suddenly as sunlight findsWhite towers I heard the ancient wood unfoldIts ancient secret piped by little winds.

“Behold the beauty in me. O beholdThe beauty that makes utter peace, in me;Beauty that is immeasurably old.”

The whole world like a bell heard echoingly.Words wonderful! I found a fairy bedAnd saw that which the wildwood let me see.(O Little Wind that brought me what it said!)

Night is here and star-riseAnd demeanour of the dark.Visioned by my closed eyesNow I lie within an arc.Lyric loom,All the silence is a-harkFor a poppy bud to bloomIn some flowery harmonyWoven through this quiet room.Prick of light and shadow take me,Fire and stars and voices keep,Fairy clamour will not wake me ...... Sleep.But that warm grave of sleepNothing save myself immures.Singing light and dreaming deepNow my spirit walks with yours.

Night is here and star-riseAnd demeanour of the dark.Visioned by my closed eyes

Now I lie within an arc.Lyric loom,All the silence is a-hark

For a poppy bud to bloomIn some flowery harmonyWoven through this quiet room.

Prick of light and shadow take me,Fire and stars and voices keep,Fairy clamour will not wake me ...... Sleep.

But that warm grave of sleepNothing save myself immures.Singing light and dreaming deepNow my spirit walks with yours.

Leaves loosened when there blowNo winds; long fields whose greenDim beneath the darling bowOf the May-moon is seen;Robins at dawn; the keenSour odour of vines—these showFrail meanings caught betweenThe bourne of yes and no.Yet there is tender artTo fathom what they mean,Deep in the heart.I go among them. Now I leanWhere willows fret the flowOf water that has beenFor miles to glean.And in the osiers—OAn ouphe, an elfin queen.I did not see her—lo,The osiers did not part,Yet she was there I ween,Deep in the heart.

I go among them. Now I leanWhere willows fret the flowOf water that has beenFor miles to glean.And in the osiers—OAn ouphe, an elfin queen.I did not see her—lo,The osiers did not part,Yet she was there I ween,Deep in the heart.

Envoy

Spells, lay upon the screenThe things that move me so.I ask the better part:To see with eyes sereneWhat things these others know——Deep in the heart.

On summer slopes lit whiteWith old desire of day,The air with pearl bedightPrepares for gold array.The sun-drugged stars delayTo die; the winds take frightAnd question, and betrayFrail sounds for my delight.O voice of ancient springs!O little echo-flight!O harp of things!In grasses that lie bright,In grasses that lie grey,Up on the clouded heightDown in the zone of MayAre printless feet astray.Airy the hands that smiteThe lyre in nameless lay;And the great gods inviteEcho of earth chantingsOn quiet wing away.O—harp of things!

In grasses that lie bright,In grasses that lie grey,Up on the clouded heightDown in the zone of MayAre printless feet astray.Airy the hands that smiteThe lyre in nameless lay;And the great gods inviteEcho of earth chantingsOn quiet wing away.O—harp of things!

Envoy

Harp, is it this that you say?“Delicate is my might,Quickening the voice that sings;For I am sense grown fey.I am word of the morn and the night.”O harp of things!

Now out of dream old springsFlow soft with many redAnd golden fluttering things.Sweetly from underheadAll the wan air is fedWith faint rememberingsOf hours long buried.Rose-rumours steal and stir;They come on wind-like wings.The old odours that wereNard and mint and myrrh.I think that as there clingsColour to blossoms shed,So love and all that sings,So hearts that beat and bledWere with old fragrance wed.Now when the garden flingsOn many a secret threadSweets to the wanderer,Some buried witch-bell ringsThe old odours that wereNard and mint and myrrh.

I think that as there clingsColour to blossoms shed,So love and all that sings,So hearts that beat and bledWere with old fragrance wed.Now when the garden flingsOn many a secret threadSweets to the wanderer,Some buried witch-bell ringsThe old odours that wereNard and mint and myrrh.

Envoy

Spring, let me lay my headWhere the wild season singsSome dead girl’s heart from her.O young heart, ages dead,Old odours thrill mute strings.The old odours that wereNard and mint and myrrh.

The way that shadow fell along the floor!I too have waited for a shadow.

Hokku

Two butterflies. Two birds. O the wide night of space.Sweet, hold me close.

Hokku

Yellow I see is my close friend.She can create a sun.

Hokku

I would have stayed the dawn down the dark sky.But there were many dawns.

Hokku

A child’s faint cry. But you and I have hadA birth since birth. Only there was no cry.

Hokku

A candle flame. My love has put it out.It did not know its bliss. Shall I, in death?

Hokku

Cloths, fans, stones slumberous, colour and fancy and lilt.No hard straight place to be. O quiet sky.

Hokku

I made a garden. Afterward it died.It never even knew it was a garden.

When did Spring die? I did not see her goDown the bright lane she painted. All flower-stillShe moved among her emblems on the hillTouching away their burden of old snow.Was it on some great down where long winds flowThat the wild spirit of Spring went out to fillThe eyes of Summer? Did a daffodilLift the pale urn remote where she lies low?O not as other moments did she die,That woman-season outlined like a rose.Before the banner of Autumn’s scarlet boughThe Summer fell; and Winter with a cryWed with March wind. Spring did not die like thoseBut vaguely, as if Love had prompted: Now.

O not as other moments did she die,That woman-season outlined like a rose.Before the banner of Autumn’s scarlet boughThe Summer fell; and Winter with a cryWed with March wind. Spring did not die like thoseBut vaguely, as if Love had prompted: Now.

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