title: Rose-ashes, and other poems,
text: •-. •'^^o^' '■ '^^_.*"^ .' 'oK A°^ • '• <* 0-*..i:i^'."*6>, *o^ lO* .!••» "^^^ '«. .** »>V/>u\ ^^ A* » .^J^'>. .^W-; ^^ *, ^. . .^i«»r O, '.".T* A <, **^?Vi*'' .O*" *' ♦ * . , • v^'.^iS^C-^ .0 ->. -^ » '^^^'^' : -^^ m Ca^^viM fSUCl^-^^t^c^ /va^/^:^^- ROSE -ASHES AND OTHER POEMS CARRIE STEVENS WALTER (Mtfnorial Edition) A. C. EATON & CO. i90r I WO O'joies Received OCT 83 <90/ Cnnyrierht Entry CLASS<4 AAC, No. COHY a. Copyright, igoj, by MARY WALTER Contents. Portrait Frontispiece ROSE-ASHES  24 SantaClara Valley (May, 1889) .... 26 A Thought of Farewell 29 On Monte Piedra 31 At Monterey 33 The Fate of Genius . . . * . . . 34 At Lakeport 36 To Adolph Sutro 38 Sunset at Santa Barbara 39 vi Contents IN THE SHADOW :- Page Un Sueiio de la Noche 43 As I Rock My Baby 47 Unrest 49 At Last 52 In the Desert 54 Night at New Almaden 56 A Night Ride 58 Why? 60 On the Border- Land of Tears ..... 62 At the Dawning 63 Fragments (from An Idyl of Santa Barbara) * 65 TEMPEST-TOSSED :— A Dedication . 68  75 Nepenthe • . . . 78 Ojald! 80 And Yet 81 In Bondage 82 Suspense ........ 84 Pursued 85 Nirvana 86 Contents vu OTHER POEMS Page At Santa Cruz 91 Storm-Born 93 Coming Home .....••"-' Willing to Go Forward 99 The Legend of Amapola '02 Alum Rock Canyon '04 In Memory of Mrs. E. O. Smith . . . .106 To Ina Coolbrith 109 At the Cross-road HO Santa Cruz, December 23. 1690. . . .112 Mt. Hamilton ''^ Reincarnation ' '^ Monte Piedra >20 Conflict 122 May 2. 1903 124 Some Day '26 Love 128 Pip and Ingle |29 What Is It to Be Akin 130 Fallibility 133 Fragment 135 Memorial Tributes to Carrie Stevens Walter 139 ROSE -ASHES Whirled from the altar q/ Life^—from its innermost secret recesses,— Warm with the memory of fires that have burned themselves low at its shrine; Fragrant with incense of days that were pure as an angel's caresses;— Gathered in verse-urns at last, are thesi scattered rose-ashes of mine. To the memory of my father, 3( OB lalj ttirr^tt ^tfu^wB. from whom^ with my life-breath, I drew the instincts of song; to whom I owe what possibilities of its expres- sion may be mine; who was to me the embodiment of all that is true and chivalrous in manhood, and who is to me as one who has but gone before to prepare a place for me, [dedicate this first published collection of my verses. CARRIE STEVENS IVALTER. San Jose, Cal., August, iSqo. In the Sunshine California The old Pacific harshly calls to Mendocino's shore, But sighs at Santa Barbara's feet his love-song o'er and o'er; The giant redwoods greeting send to orange, fig and lime, And Siskiyou holds out a cup for wine of Anaheim. Proud Shasta's snow-crowned head looks out to St. Helena's base, Where Napa's vine-wrought beauty smiles in fair Sonoma's face ; Mount Hamilton reads reverently the mys- teries of the skies. Where Santa Clara's valley-sweep in fruited richness lies. 14 Rose- Ashes Armed Alcatraz stands sentinel beside the Golden Gate, Beyond whose portals Farallones, like threat- ening shadows, wait; The commerce of the world steals by, unchal- lenged, day by day. But Tamalpais counts every ship in San Fran- cisco Bay. Across the San Joaquin's broad reach of vines and waving wheat. The old Sierras pour their gold to San Diego's feet ; And northern pine and southern palm woo sea-winds from the west, While over all a spirit broods of romance and unrest. The rose entwines the orange-tree, the sea- winds rock the pines, And wheat-sheaves lift their golden heads amid the grapes' green vines : The latest glow of sunset still enfolds it ever- more, While Strength and Beauty stand hand- clasped, upon this Western shore. Indecision 15 Indecision "My will is bondsman to the dark, I sit within a helmless bark." —Tennyson. I think, to every human soul, Who truly feels life's fullest need. There comes a time, along the years, When Heaven's designs are hard to read; A veil seems drawn before the day, A light gone out where late one shone, The footsteps falter by the way — With voiceless speech the heart makes moan : ''My will is bondsman to the dark, I sit within a helmless bark!" Through years, perhaps, with footstep firm, We fearless walk the varied way ; Life's burdens seem not hard to bear While glad around us shines the day; 16 Rose- Ashes But suddenly our joyous song Is strangely still, we know not why, A weakness, where but late was strength, Creeps 'round the heart, we faintly cry : *'My will is bondsman to the dark, I sit within a helmless bark !" Yet, soon or late, there comes, I think, To all who feel life's highest aim. Reaction from this chill despair, Our ghosts return to whence they came ; We rise, unconquered, from the gloom. Our brows seem fanned by heavenly wings ; Hand-clasped with Hope we breast life's waves, The while the heart triumphant sings : "My will is master of the dark, And angel hands will guide my bark!" Mendocino 1 7 Mendocino Like a host of giant warriors, Mendocino's mountains stand, — Warrior-giants grim and solemn, Face to face and hand to hand. Mail of madrone, spears of redwood, Cloud and sunshine helnieted, Breastplate of the fir and oak-tree, Manzanita-garmented. Sunlight, dim with faint blue shadows, Wraps them with a soft caress, Leaving not on spear or breastplate One harsh curve of ruggedness. Resinous odors, breath of hop-fields. Fragrance of the sweet wild rose, Somnorific, steal upon them, Lull them to a soft repose. 18 Rose- Ashes Mendocino's grand, gray mountains, Warrior-giants grim and hoar. Hushed into eternal silence By some stern edict of yore. Maternity 19 Maternity (To Roy.) I hold two dainty little feet Clasped in my warm and loving hand, So soft and pink, they sure must be Two rose-leaves blown from fairy-land. I hold a tiny, helpless form. Clasped closely to my happy heart, My baby ! mine by right divine, The right of pain — a mother's part. O beauteous life, so fair and new, That yesterday was blent with mine ! O wondrous soul, so lately sprung A sparklet from the Source Divine! God's precious gifts, you come to me Embodied in this helpless form ; My mother-heart accepts the trust As flowers, the sunshine soft and warm. 20 Rose-Ashes My brow seems decked by coronet, The fairest earth has ever seen, The diadem of Motherhood, And God's own hand has crowned me queen What realms are opened to my sight! I tread the regions of the blest ; And all because this little form Lies fair and helpless on my breast ; A tiny bud, whose flower complete May bloom to bless my waning years. Ah, Motherhood, you hold a bliss That best may be expressed in tears. July, 1876 Through Lake County 21 Through Lake County A lake, which seems a silver mirror, swung Up near the clear blue sky. Around whose loveliness the guardian hills In circling beauty lie. Mountains, that hide within their silent breasts Ashes of fires long spent, Whose torches lighted, through the night of Time, Chaos' black firmament. Cedars and pines, which strike their piercing roots In cold volcanoes' hearts, That throbbed their lives out in some dead world grief. As human pain departs. 22 Rose-Ashes Valleys, whose curves are like the carved designs The hand of sculptor makes, Inheritors of all the riches left By long departed lakes. Unnumbered springs and rills, which from the earth In sunshine leap and play, And take, down mountain-side and valley- sweep, Their graceful, sinuous way. This lake, that lonely watched through untold years Orion his pathway trace, Now takes in Beauty's Western Wonderland, By right, an honored place. Above the tombs of countless ages dead, — Nature's mute battle-fields, — Beauty and Strength have wrought their mys- teries, Order his sceptre wields. Though Lake County 23 The burned-out passion of a dead world's pain, — This granite dust of time, — Is re-incarnate in the lovely form Of flower and tree and vine. The Spirit of the Past, that wrought its work And seemed to pass away, Through loam and vine and grape is born again, The rich wine of to-day. The old-world trees, whose lavishness of leaf Formed this rich valley-soil, Yielded their lives in travail to the fruits That now reward our toil. Thus ceaselessly the mystic wheel of Life Makes its eternal round ; No link is lost, no hurry mars its sweep, — One perfect whole is found. 24 Rose- Ashes Scattering the Mists A reuiiniscence of the Grand Encampment of the G. A. R.. held in San Francisco, Augrust, 1880. Stealing over crinkled sand-dunes, creeps the sea-fog on the town, Silent as a spirit legion, through the shadows sweeping down. Through the streets aflame with banners, all a-throb with human life. Cowers the sea-fog sore affrighted — all the place with tumult rife. Measured tread of marching thousands, blaze of flainbeau, blare of guns, Lingering shouts of, ''Sherman !" "Logan !" "Honor to our nation's sons!" All the air a-thrill with music, roses strewn along the ways, This the tribute California, to each honored hero, pays. Scattering the Mists 25 Backward over crinkled sand-dunes, as affrighted spectres flee, Routed, beaten, creeps the sea-fog, sinks into the sheltering sea. 26 Ross- Ashes Santa Clara Valley May, 18S9. Like some fair island, ocean-girt and calm, Whose soft enchantment of dim distances, Beneath the ardent glory of the Sun, Bewilders with its ever-changing grace — This wondrous valley lies. Its clasping waves. The tawny billows of the hills that rise Brown-streaked with curving rows of ripening hay ; These, crossed and cut by many a green ravine — Thick-wooded, dank, — that with long fingers strives To envious stop — yet, witless, only aids The upward reaching of the hills to meet The soft, cool bosom of the clouds, which stoop To their caressing, as fond mothers do. Santa Clara Valley 27 Above the eastern range, the morning sun Flaunts the first banners of the dawn ; and here Mount Hamilton clasps hands with Mission Ridge ; Then, like a king, he marshals toward the south A phalanx of the lesser hills. These go And dim and dimmer grow, 'till far beyond Where Almaden darts sharply out to bar Their way, they stop at last, a hovering band, And, like tired children, cuddle down to rest In the warm sands of sheltered Monterey. Along the western boundary, holding back The hoarse Pacific, that unceasing frets And foams against their sturdy barrier, The hills of Santa Cruz lift stately heads ; Their sides green-flecked with laurel and madrone. Their summits, — dark against the sunset sky. Close serried with the giant redwood trees. Which stand like sentinels upon the heights, — The fortressed heights that guard this farthest West. 28 Rose-Ashes From Monterey to San Francisco Bay, No break is found along this western wall Through which reluctant sunshine could steal back, Despite the formal farewell of the Day, For just one little stolen, hurried kiss, One latest, last farewell — (as lovers do) — To Santa Clara Valley, looking out With shaded eyes that fain would lure it back. These are the sheltering walls that clasp within Their bounding lines a world within itself; An Orient of fairest fruits and flowers ; An Occident of beauty fresh and new. Where polar snow and tropic sun seem blent In flower and fruit of bending orchard trees. This — Santa Clara Valley, lying fair Within the clasping boundary of her hills! A Thought of Farewell 29 A Thought of Farewell I think, my friend, the Hindoo version wrong, Which claims Nirvana is forgetfulness, — That all experience of the ages gone Leaves not one memory to curse or bless. I love to call it by another name. Nirvana — "All-remembering" — ''All-divine," And think that in a grander, larger life, A clearer, broader memory will be mine. That all I've been, along the countless years Since first from Chaos' fount my being sprang,— That all I've felt of joy or wept of tears, Or known of love or disappoifitment's pang, May stand to me in that clear, larger life, For some grand purpose in the all-wise plan, With God's good reason for the life intense That fierce through all my forms of being ran. 30 Rose-Ashes Then, in that time, I know that not the least Of memory's buds that into flower expand, Will be your friendship and your aid to me Through all the years, since first a kindly hand, — A helping hand, that was a guide and shield, You reached to me — a searcher for the light,-- An humble wayside gleaner in the field Wherein you labored with man's glorious ■might. Then every cheering tone, — your words of praise. And every kindly grasping of the hand, Will shine as stars in memory's firmament, That clasps the glory of Nirvana's land. On Monte Piedra On Monte Piedra (A Mountlet in Lake County.) These stoic rocks, profoundly still, What secrets could they not disclose ! Ebbing of seas, and rise of hill, Formation's mighty travail-throes. Tell me, O rocks, what underlies Old St. Helena's massive base? What fount of Nature's mysteries Hides back of Cobb's majestic face? What master spirit wrought the plan Of Loconomi's graceful curves? And trod it first, some god-like man. With giant form and iron nerves. Who grasped with powerful hand the crude, Fierce chaos of a rounding world. And warring atoms, strong and rude. Into harmonious being hurled? 32 Rose- Ashes Tell me the thought that wrought the smile Of pine and cedar on these hills; What merriment knew earth the while, That brought such laugh of rippling rills? What thought divine incarnates Man, Who walks his little round to death? Teach me the wisdom of the plan That mixed these winds with his hot breath. And ere he broke the calm above The slumbers of the countless years, What knew ye of the pangs of love, Or smiles of joy, or passion's tears? Tell me what prophecies you draw Of future from the past you've seen ; And judge, by God's unchanging law. What is to be from what has been. At Monterey 33 At Monterey Along the beach beyond the dunes, I wandered one fair summer day, And heard the waves' low-whispered runes Come up the Bay of Monterey. The long gray reach of sanded shore, The glinting of the sunlit bay. The breakers murmuring evermore Their low sweet tales of Monterey, — All these became a part of me. And mine the rapture of the day — The day I watched the summer sea Creep in and capture Monterey. When life's last gates swing out for me. And stands revealed Heaven's first sweet day, I wonder, will its radiance be Fairer than this, at Monterey? 34 Rose- Ashes The Fate of Genius To Margaret Mather. To consecrate your life to one high aim ; To merge your hopes, desires, ambitions, loves, In one strong purpose — loyalty to Art ; To climb to heights where few have dared to tread, Alone, uncomprehendcd by the crowd That toil, and fret, and struggle far below ; Self-dedicated, to forego the fate Of lowlier women, with the joys and hopes. The loves and cares that round their little worlds : This is the fate of Genius — this is yours, O, peerless Woman, in whose regal soul All grand emotions find their exponent. For you are of the rare and royal few, Whose springs of life, by Heaven's divine decree. The Fate of Genius 35 Have source in some far, snow-born fountain- head, And run forever in deep gorges, cut Outside the placid channel wherein flows The stream of commoner Humanity. 36 Rose- Ashes At Lakeport The circling hills that guard Clear Lake, like lazy giants lie Beneath the ardent sunshine, with their faces to the sky; Konockti sees across her waves Night's elfin shadows play. And loves to catch and fling to her the first red lights of Day. Back from the lake the pretty town goes danc- ing to the hills, That greet her with a gift of flowers and sere- nade of rills; The wine of life is in the air that wafts the fragrance down From resinous pines and odorous flowers to lake and shore and town. The fairest land beneath the sun, within whose border lies At Lakeport 37 The glory of an emerald earth o'erhung by- sapphire skies ; And where, like threads of finest gold, the yel- low sun-rays fall, — Where Beauty makes her dwelling-place, and Heaven is over all. 38 Rose- Ashes To Adolph Sutro Where the radiant land of sunset opens wide its western door, Where Pacific's restless breakers reach their arms out evermore, There is wrought a wondrous poem on the tablets of the rocks, — Wrought with pen of blast and pick-axe, as with throes of earthquake shocks. Truest instincts of the poet matchless lines of beauty trace, Storied places yield their tribute to enhance the mystic grace ; Through the long-advancing ages, gleam of days or gloom of nights, California's sons will thank you for your poem, — ''Sutro Heights." Sunset at Santa Barbara 39 Sunset at Santa Barbara The mountains stand, Clearly defined, against the blood-red sky ; The waves, retreating from the rocky strand, Into the mist and gloom go hand in hand To sob and die. The night comes on, — As day retires with crimson banner furled, — One bright star sits in beauty all alone Upon her pensive brow, as on a throne, Queen of the world. In such a light, So filled with glory, let me ever lie ; With mountains, sunset, and the hush of night, — The waves retreating till they seem to smite The blood-red sky. In the Shadow Un Sueno de la Noche 43 Un Sueno de la Noche (From "An Idyl of Santa Barbara. ') You decked my breast with violets last night, — Their haunting sweetness thrills my pulses yet,— You clasped my eager hands with warm caress, And kissed the sadness from my eyelids wet. My soul is sad at memory of your touch ; Your flowers' rich fragrance smites my heart with pain ; The look of pitying kindness in your eyes Will never come to gladden me again. For all the sweetness of that haunting scene, — Your thrilling touch, — your violets' purple gleam, — The glance of kindness from your speaking eyes, — Were but the offspring of a strange, sweet dream. 44 Rose-Ashes I wake to know your your hand can ne'er clasp mine Thro' all the years — this side of Hope and Heaven ; To know that not one kindly glance of yours Shall ever to my longing eyes be given. I wake to take my burden up again, — Forgot for one sweet hour of dreaming night, — My weary burden of the heart and brain, And do my duty with my woman's might. I would not look upon your face again, — Your strong, proud face that is a god's, to me, — I would not hear the music of your voice, I would not think of you, nor hear, nor see One spoken, written word that could recall Your memory ; for only thus to me Can come a strength to do my daily work. For which my spirit must be brave and free. Un Sueno de la Noche 45 You came into my life for one brief hour, Strong, noble, grand as any god could be, And all the currents of my being's tide. And life itself, henceforth were changed for me. You came — and passed. Now nevermore to me Can come the clasping of your firm true hand, — May shine the tender glory of your eyes — No more to me, this side the Heavenly Land. I pray for strength, — I would be firm and brave To put your very memory away ; I pray for strength, and it is granted me To meet the burdens of the toilful day. But in the dreaming mystery of Night Such visions come, sometimes, of bliss and pain, That, with the dawning of another day, The hard-won battle must be fought again. 46 Rose- Ashes And yet — until we both shall pass the bridge That spans the mystic gulf from shore to shore, There must remain between my soul and yours The bridgeless sea of Silence — evermore. As I Rock My Baby 47 As I Rock My Baby Oh, little golden head that lies So fair upon the mother breast ! Oh, dewy mouth, as roses sweet, So oft to mine in kisses pressed ! Oh, little hands that press my cheek With dear caress of baby touch ! Oh, blue-gray eyes that seek my own With questioning glance that asks so much Dear, restless feet that come and go In-doors and out the whole day long, To music of the lisping voice Far sweeter to my ears than song! I trembling glance adown the years, Strung mist-like on the thread of fate. That bring my winsome baby girl. Her womanhood's most fair estate. 48 Rose-Ashes And dread the time my sheltering arms Can shield her precious form no more, When she has watched, with shaded eyes, My boat glide to the Farther Shore. I wonder — will the proud young head Bend some day to a chastening rod, The while my folded hands, perhaps, Lie 'neath the violet-tufted sod? I wonder — will the bright young eyes Grow dim and heavy with the weight Of tears they are too proud to shed. For life's hopes wrecked and desolate? Oh, little hands, take up your work, Whate'er Hope grants or Life denies ; Look bravely in the face of Fate, And shrink not, droop not, bright young eyes. And, may-be, from the Farther Shore, A mother's love can reach to bless, — Can guide and shield the wayworn feet With more than olden tenderness. January, 1885. Unrest 49 Unrest The faint sea-breezes lift the silken hangings With soft and sad unrest ; The weary song-bird fain would still the music That trembles in his breast. I sit alone, environed by the shadows That steal into the room, And, bolder grown, with pity for my sadness, Wrap me in tender gloom. The pale cream roses in their emerald couches, The sweet-breathed heliotrope, The star-eyed jessamine, whose radiant white- ness Seems emblem best, of hope ; The bending sprays of lily-of-the-valley, With bells like drops of snow, The purple violets, with dewy lustre So like to eyes I know ; 50 Rose- Ashes The large magnolia, empress of the blossoms, Whose fragrance rare and sweet, Is as the essence of all Southern glory Born of magnetic heat, — All smite me with their perfume-laden kisses. As drops of fragrant rain, That stir within my soul a restless cadence Half passion, and all pain. Oh, weary ways, that lie along life's journey. Lone wastes of space and time, That stretch between me and peace that calls me As some far distant chime ! I strive in vain to win a blest nepenthe, Or soothing cenomel ; Still swell along the years life's solemn changes, Sad as a tolling bell. Unrest 51 Oh, strong, pure voices from that blessed future, From which doth emanate Wisdom and peace, — teach me life's hardest lesson — To work, and hope, and wait. 52 Rose-Ashes At Last Along the toiling ways of life, My footsteps come and go ; How sad to me the dust and heat, Your heart may never know, — Dear friend, — The while I come and go. Yet heaviest task would seem but light, Nor long the weariest ways. If I could know I'd win at last, The guerdon of your praise, — Beloved, — After long toiling days. And I could climb the rockiest heights. Or tread the burning sand, If I could meet, when all was done, The clasping of your hand, Your true and loving hand. At Last 53 In darkest hours, my faith could see The sunshine smiling through, Could I but know I'd come, at last, To light and love and you, — Dear heart, — When weary toils are through. 54 Rose- Ashes In the Desert This desert-drouth in which my soul Plods on beneath a burning sky, Has withered all my fairest flowers, The very fount of song is dry. A ceaseless struggle to maintain With slender hands, by force of will, A painful hold on life's rough rocks, Keeps all my song-birds sadly still. I think God made a woman's hands To stroke the babe upon her breast, — To smooth the grief from pain-knit brows, And strew the lotus-flowers of rest. But cruel thorns too often tear The feet of women who must tread Life's rugged thoroughfares, to win Their own or helpless children's bread. In the Desert 55 No Boaz rules the field of Toil To drop with generous hand some grains, For heart-faint Ruth, who gleans across The sharpness of its stubble-plains. She can but walk with purpose firm And heart each hour upraised to God ; The while she prays her sinking feet May find the path her Lord has trod. 56 Rose- Ashes Night at New Almaden Soft the trickling waters slip Through the shadows of the night, Under spectral trees that dip Low their phantom boughs, gray-white. Up the shadowy mountain side Climb dim redwoods to the skies, Gazing out on Night's star-tide In a reverent surprise. Giant ghosts of chimneys rise Dim from summits of the steep, 'Neath which fiery furnace eyes Know no night of rest or sleep. Brawny men their toil-watch keep, Where the drill and pick-axe chime, — In Earth's strongholds dark and deep Break the treasure-vaults of Time. Niihi at New Almaden 57 While the great heart of the Mine Pulses strong beneath our feet, Overhead the roses twine Through the length of silent street. There — Toil's arteries throbbing strong With their tide of living men, — Here — a plaintive Spanish song Thrills the night at Almaden. 58 Rose-Ashes A Night Ride Across the marshes' sombre reach, Where gathering shadows deepening lie, The glassy pools reflect the red Rich glory of the sky, Where fairest mysteries lie. Above the low coast-hills, the moon A new-born crescent lowly swings, Hand-clasped with Night's first star that tells Its tale of heavenly things. While low the slim moon swings. A ghost-like mist creeps slowly up — Creeps silent, slow, from distant bay. O'er gloom of marsh and gleam of pool It spreads its mantle grey, Sim-wroiight from out the bay. A Night Ride 59 Above the noise of rushing train, I hear the marsh-bird's lonesome call, And turn from light and warmth within To watch night's shadows fall, And list the marsh-bird's call. My heart, like mirror pool, reflects A heaven of love I leave behind, A heaven of light and love I pray The shadows may not find, Dear light I leave behind. The clasping of my children's arms, Home's circling light and warmth and love, My lonely spirit calls for these As marsh-bird's cry might prove A cry for home and love. 60 Rose-Ashes Why? Why do we strive to work a glad solution Of all life's problems here? Why should we eager question "Whence?" and ** Wherefore?" Of every falling tear? \Miy grieve that efifort fails of hoped fruition? That love unsought is given? That chafing spirits fret in hateful bondage? That tenderest ties are riven? That what seems wrong in our imperfect vision, Triumphs in place of right, As heaven's dear sunshine leaves the earth in sorrow, Affrighted by the night? WhyP 61 If we could learn God's perfect law of being That rules thro' all the spheres, I think we then should know His glorious reason For toil and pain and tears. In the grand anthem wrought by life's creation Some notes seem dissonant, Because our human ears catch but imperfect Faint fragments of the chant. The march of God is ever forward — onward — Let us this truth discern, Upon Time's dial-plate Fate's mystic fingers Can never backward turn. Could we but see, as with angelic vision. What purpose is in pain, I think, perhaps, that sorrow's saddest numbers Might prove life's glad refrain. 62 Rose- Ashes On the Border-Land of Tears On the border-land of tears, Raised by hopes or crushed by fears, Joy and grief alternate swell, In the soul no peace can dwell. On the border-land of tears Stand the ghosts of vanished years ; All we might be — and are not — Greet us on that haunted spot. Clouds, like ships, from shore to shore To and fro pass evermore. Sable bordered, — scarce appears Tint of peal through mist of tears. All Life's quivering mile-posts loom Sad as grave-stones through the gloom ; Trembling hopes are crushed by fears On the border-land of tears. At the Dawning 63 At the Dawning Frail little barque on the rude ocean cast, — Ocean of Life, dark and wild, — Ah, many's the storm and the firce, cold blast. That may shipwreck thy hopes, ere the voyage be past, And thou be at rest, little child, — Dear one, — Safe from the storms dark and wild. Poor little feet ! that from thorns may bleed, — Thorns 'mid the roses cast! Be patient and suffer, for few will heed When the footsteps fail, or the tired feet bleed 'Till the ending comes at last, — Poor feet, — And thorns and roses are past. 64 Rose-Ashes Wondering eyes! to be dimmed by tears, — Tears often hid by a smile — Glad eyes, you'll grow sad in the coming years. For falsehood and treachery weeping your tears, 'Neath the pitiful mask of a smile — Sad eyes, — Yes, weeping a weary while. Dear little heart! that must ache so sore, — Ache with a cruel pain — When bright visions fade, and hope shines no more,^ — Yes, ache till you reach the radiant shore Far over Life's troubled main, — Dear heart, — Where endeth all woe and pain. Fragments 65 Fragments (From "An Idyl of Santa Barbara.") NIGHT-FALL AT SANTA BARBARA A precious amber vase just filled from Elysian fountains, Whose sacred libation is poured to the year's expiring ember, — A chalice whose wine is spilled over ocean and islands and mountains, Is the close of this perfect day of our California December. Like ghosts of the past stand the towers cross- tipped of the church of the Mission, While closer and closer the shadows creep round them like stricken things, — The shadows that seem like the souls of the years that have bowed at its altar. Or land-birds blown out over ocean that droop their desolate wings. 66 Rose- Ashes SANTA BARBARA Where the roses' rich gifts are completest, Where sea-winds kiss odorous trees, Where song's liquid numbers are sweetest Santa Barbara looks out o'er the seas. LOVE Among the silver threads of Life So closely twine Love's golden strands, That if we loose their clinging hold, The fabric crumbles in our hands. Tempest-Tossed A DEDICATION An underground fountain zuhose springing Bespangles the desert luith flowers ; A 7test-hidden bird zvliose loiu singing Breaks silence of desolate hours; A low bank of violets, leaf hiddeti, IVhose odor is sensuous bliss; A bold wish that creeping ufibiddett, Li fts face for a welcoming kiss; Ti uc source of Life's deep inspiration, IVhose beauty and fragrance are mine. In the hush of a soul's exaltation This offering I place on your shrine. Spanish Song 69 Spanish Song (From "An Idyl of Santa Barbara.") What does it -mean, — this tyrant spell that holds me A captive in its chain, — That thrills my wayward heart with strong emotion — Love's passion and its pain? O, restless soul that beats Life's bar unceasing, — A tiger held in thrall, — O, passion's surge that would engulf calm reason, And give to Love life's all ! Can I not curb the strong, defiant feeling That struggles in my soul. And scorns all form and law that cold convention Would frame in Love's control? 70 Rose- Ashes I strive in vain, for all that life could grant me. Or hope's bright vision greet, My woman's heart would — haughty as an empress — Fling proudly at your feet, And ask no thought from you in compensation, No love-thrill in return; My own, unsought, from Life's rich depths must seek me. All else my heart would spurn. You are to me the noblest realization Of manhood grand and true. The one man in God's universe — I care not What I may be to you. And thus to live — swayed by a godlike feeling That may not be expressed, To bravely strive — yet never quite subduing Love's longing and unrest. The Cry of the Spirit 71 The Cry of the Spirit The words that are spoken but shadow The thoughts that are never expressed, And back of life's turmoil there lieth The infinite rapture of rest. From over the mountains enshadowed There flusheth the glory of dawn ; Gethsemane's gateway but claspeth The way that a Saviour has gone. Through avenues cypress-embordered, Love walketh with radiant crown ; From cross-tipped summits of anguish The pitying Christ looketh down. We turn from the hands that are offered To those that we cannot grasp, And faint in our terrible longing For forms that we never may clasp. 72 Rose- Ashes From the arms held out to embrace us, We shrink with a moaning, to pray For the pressure of arms that are folded Forever and ever away. O, what does it mean — all this yearning For something forever beyond, This passionate cry of the spirit, This waiting on days undawned? O, fathomless ocean of longing That breaks on a glittering strand Beyond where our thought-shafts may quiver, — The shore of an unknown land. You bear on your bosom forever Our shallops of hope — pain-born — Sent out in the nights of our sorrow. To seek for the harbor of morn. A Woman* s Response 73 A Woman's Response My friend, your words of eloquence, Your tones of passion-pleading, The tremulous music of your voice, Fall on my heart unheeding. A dark face, like a cameo, Comes evermore before me, To exorcise the passion-spell Your thrilling touch casts o'er me. When I would yield me to the tide That torrent-like impels me, A dreamy memory lulls my brain. And from your arms compels me ; — The memory of a proud, dark face, With eyes of tender meaning. Which I may never seek across The chasms intervening. 74 Rose- Ashes Ah ! Life, for me, means one long strife With rebel foes internal, A ceaseless struggle of the soul To stand on heights supernal. The dark face like a cameo, With eyes of tender meaning. May never come to me across The chasms intervening. At Love's high altar I have bowed. The sacred Host revealing, I cannot prove apostate now. At shrines less holy, kneeling. And so, I cannot see your eyes So full of passion-pleading; The tremulous music of your voice l-'alls on my heart unheeding. After All 75 After All I have come to my room all alone to-night, A respite from care here to borrow ; But I sink on my knees by the side of my couch, Bowed down by a tempest of sorrow. I have been so brave through the long busy day For the toil and the earnest endeavor, That I deemed my feet on the strong white heights Would stand thus securely forever. I have prayed for strength, and I thought it was mine. Every passionate heart-cry to smother ; The touch of your hand should be henceforth to me I said — but as that of another. 76 Rose-Ashes And calmly I stood on the summits of peace, And heard not the pitiful sobbing Of sorrowful surges which beat at their base With ceaseless, insistent throbbing. And yet — after all — I have come to my room, A tryst here with memory keeping, But to sink on my knees by the side of my couch In a pitiful tempest of weeping. My love, must it always end this way for me, — This strife of the spirit and human, — ]\Iust I be, when all the strong effort is done, Just a loving and sorrowful woman? Must ever I toil to gain heavenly heights Where respite from passion is surest, To be always hurled from their summits of peace When I deem that my feet are securest? After All 77 To be hurled by the thought of a long ago kiss, Or the thrilling of vanished caresses, — Borne down by a flood-tide of memory, thick- strewn With the flotsam a wrecked Past possesses. 78 Rose-Ashes Nepenthe I live as in a dream, Treading alone life's pathway through the years, Walking alone, alike in smiles or tears — Walking as in a dream. It seems but vaguely true That many changing years have passed me by, — So many years — since last I said "Good-bye" To love — and hope — and you. Ah, well ! 'twas better so, — Better we parted in the years long flown, Better that I should live my life alone, And sadly bid you go. For your bright pathway led To that dim height where Fame defieth Death, Mine through deep vales fanned by the fevered breath Of hopes now cold and dead. Nepenthe 79 Yet once I fondly deemed That naught on Earth could ever soothe my grief, That Heaven alone could give my soul relief, So sad to me life seemed. I smile — and yet I sigh — To think that once — ah, once — I loved you so — Made you my idol, and could feel such woe To speak the last "Good-bye." All feeling now is fled; No pain stirs in my heart at thought of you. Only the faith that Love and Heaven are true, — All — all beside is dead. 80 Rose-Ashes Ojald I wish I knew that from this wearying dark- ness, Through which I grope my way, I'd come at last to see the clear blue heavens. And greet God's perfect day. If some day I should turn from toil and sadness, To meet your clasping hand. And know, at last, that all my soul's deep longing Your own could understand, — Could I but know that in some far sweet morning, A\'e should stand side by side. And in that hour find all Life's questions answered, I should be satisfied. And Yet 81 And Yet I would my soul were free From love's sweet slavery, The heights of perfect peace to proudly greet ; I'd know no chains to fret, No bonds of love, — and yet Love's slavery is so sweet! Could I forget you, dear, Cease wishing you were here, Cease holding my soul's arms your own to meet, I know that peace I'd gain, In freedom from Love's chain, But — slavery is so sweet! And so — I cannot, dear. Cease wishing you were here, Cease holding my soul's arms your own to meet, Nor even wish to be From such dear bondage free — Love's slavery is so sweet ! 82 Rose- Ashes In Bondage "Let us be free," we said, "to come and go. Bound by no ties that fetter us in vain, No viewless chains the world should never know, That cut into the heart with ceaseless pain." "We will be free," I said, I was so strong To win the radiant heights where souls are free. My words seemed echo of a brave sweet song That passed in waves of light from you to me. The clasping of your hand I put away, And turned me from the love-light of your eyes; I was so brave, I thought, to turn away And shut the gate 'twixt me and Paradise. In Bondage 83 To turn away — because an angel stood With sword of duty, pointing stern the way Through starless night and dreary solitude, Where Love and Pity send no hopeful ray. And am I free? Yes, as the prisoned bird That beats its weary wings against the bars, Is free to soar and let her song be heard Full in the glory of the sun and stars. Yes, free — as all things caged and bound are free To cast aside their chains for dance and song; I live to know that, through eternity Love's chains beyond all human will are strong. 84 Rose- Ashes Suspense O, torturing sweetness of kisses That wait — and long to be given ! O, tender completeness of blisses That beckon from Hope's dream-heaven ! Will dear hands that greet us in grasping Respond to the thrill of our own? \\\\\ fond arms that meet us in clasping Hold us close — as in dreams they have done? O, eyes that with love-light are burning, Will your warm glance ever grow cold With the shadow of change or of turning From the passionate ardor of old? Pursued 85 Pursued Pursued by the fear that a sorrow May steal like a wolf to my fold, — By dread lest the dawn of to-morrow May herald some anguish untold. Oppressed by a shadowy terror That Wrong has crept in for the Right, That Truth has been murdered by Error — Her blood blurs the fountain of light. O, Mountains of Peace that like spectres Seem shivering and shrinking away. Shall ever I tread your calm summits In strength of some far distant day? 86 Rose- Ashes Nirvana To cease the toil, the strife, the fierce endeavor, To close sad, tearful eyes, To fold the weary hands in restful stillness. After death's glad surprise. To lie enmantled by the cool green clover, In hush of dreamless rest, To heed no more the mystery of Day's dawning, Or red death in the west. To claim a kinship with the stoic mountain. In placid silentness, A brotherhood with rocks and turf and grasses Which rain and winds caress. To put aside the strife for worldly treasures, All passionate desire, To be absorbed into the womb of Nature, Merged in creative fire. Nirvana 87 To be embodied in the trees and blossoms, Or winds and rainbow lights, The psychic essence of cloud-tints and sunshine, Or grace of swallow-flights. To see the End clasp hands with the Beginning, — Life's mystic circle, wrought By plan Divine, — each earth-born link a symbol With deepest meaning fraught. OTHER POEMS At Santa Cruz 91 At Santa Cruz For hours I watched the languid breakers creep Along the smooth, gray beach at Santa Cruz, — A charmed watch I could not choose but keep, Lest I some witchery of the scene should lose. Across the dreamy distance of the bay, Whose azure dimples glisten in the light. The low foot-hills that shelter Monterey Like half-seen spectres tremble in my sight. Ben Lomond, monarch of the hills that hold This green-walled crescent in a fond embrace, Stands like a giant of the days of old. And lifts to heaven his calm, majestic face. 92 Rose-Ashes From deep ravines and summits dark with pines, From rugged hills where laurel and madrone Mingle with redwoods, or where wild wood vines Creep through deep glens no human foot has known, Float resinous odors on the warm, soft gale To meet the sea-winds and the ocean dews, These meeting forces mix, dissolve, exhale And spill their incense over Santa Cruz. And while I heard the languid breakers moan, And pulse their ceaseless tide upon the sands, I learned a secret in their monotone, And read the signal of their white foam hands. storm- Born 93 Storm-Born Like forms half seen, that float Adown the quivering river of our sleep, I see the grand gray hills their vigil keep. Through storm and mist that down their bare sides sweep. They seem as things remote. Chant me your hymn, oh Storm, And Night and Darkness that around me lie! Shout me your deepest meaning, oh ye Sky, And Lightning-darts, that waken but to die In Thunder's fierce alarm ! Are ye not types of Life, Ye haunting spirits of the upper deep. Strong human life, born but to watch and weep. Whose restless throbs find, but with Death's calm sleep. Surcease of toil and strife? 94 Rose-Ashes Dost symbol Love divine, Ye everlasting hills, whose regal crest Is pillowed on the Storm's tumultuous breast? Not Time nor wildest Storm thrills with unrest That steadfast heart of thine. Oh Life, that ceaselessly ]\Ioans and complains as weary heart-sick child, Thy father bids thee turn from tempests wild To Love — thy mother. Thee, their wayward child. She calls most tenderly. Coming Home 95 Coming Home Gleaming through rain and darkness I see the lights of my home, Where my children all are gathered Waiting for "Mamma" to come. My eldest born — my Willie — Who leaves for a moment his book, — The ''Arabian Night's Entertainments," To come to the window and look. He is dreaming of fairies and genii. And castles, strong and grand. Which he shall go forth to conquer With the strength of his own right hand. My son, when you go out to battle, To do a man's brave part, You will find there are giants to conquer Whose homes are in the heart. 96 Rose- Ashes Do battle 'gainst Wrong and Oppression, Take arms in Humanity's cause, Strike for Right and for Principle always, Regardless of blame or applause. There is Mary, — my first-born daughter, — With her tender, woinanly grace, And the beautiful soul that speaks through her eyes And glorifies her face; The pearl of mother's treasures In the diadem of Home. Ah ! my heart is filled with longing As I think of the years that must come; When she shall take up her life-work Of willing hands or brain. And mother's arms can shield her no more From the heart-aches and the pain. Then my little, restless Roy, With his fancies queer and quaint, Repeating odd lines from Whittier, His childish patron saint. Coming Home 97 Will life be cruel to you, My delicate, sensitive one. When you go out to meet its giants, That each must encounter alone? May angels of love attend you. For your spirit w^ould faint, I fear, Without their kind ministrations And their presence ever near. Last, my golden-haired "Delmasita," Whose blue-gray eyes reveal That the secrets of the Pyramids Their v^ondrous depths conceal. Child of Life's glorious promise Of Prediction and Prophecy, That hint of a life-work for brain and will The fates have assigned to thee. Remember that where much is given Very much will be required, And do whatever is thine to do By the highest motives inspired. 96 Rose-Ashes And thus my heart gives them greeting Across the lessening space Of dark, which I traverse to meet them And take my accustomed place. Ah! I know I'll remember in Heaven This joyful coming home, — When I shall be watching and waiting, For my children all to come. December, 1884. 