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[Illustration: Leigh Gordon Giltner]




The Path of Dreams

_POEMS_

_BY LEIGH GORDON GILTNER_

[Illustration]

Fleming H. Revell Company
Chicago : New York : Toronto




COPYRIGHT 1900

BY LEIGH GORDON GILTNER




_TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER_




Contents

In Woodland Ways                9

Ashes of Roses                 11

A Challenge                    13

And Yet...                    15

The Master-Player              16

Afterbloom                     17

To Bliss Carman                18

When Love Passed By            19

Hedonism... Euthumism      21-22

Under the Leaves               23

Carmen                         23

To R. D. MacLean               26

Love and Death                 26

A Winter Landscape             27

Roses and Rue                  28

Severance                      47

Spartacus                      48

The Dead Leader                50

Hagar                          51

Flower-Fancies              52-53

Circe                          54

To A. M. M.                    55

Loveless                       56

Clytie--The Sunflower          57

In Bondage                     61

To a Singer                    63

Blossom of Brine               64

A Memory                       65

To Margaret                    66

Regret                         67

"God Bless You, Dear"          69

Roses                          71

The Poet                       72

Shylock                        72

To Charles J. O'Malley         73

Antithesis                     74

In Fortune's Twilight          74

Fate                           75

The Path of Dreams             76

An Autumn Song                 78

Vain                           79

Sartor Resartus                80

Illumed                        82

In The Play                    83

To E. P. B.                    84

Through The Dark               85

Preluding                      86

The Heights of Silence         87

Andromeda                      88

Requital                       90

When Fades the Light           91

Butterflies                    92

In the Dark Forest             93

Insatiate                      95




To One Who Sleeps

(Obiit, June 8th, 1894.)


_Tho' storm and summer shine for long have shed
Or blight or bloom above thy quiet bed,
Tho' loneliness and longing cry thee dead--
Thou art not dead, beloved. Still with me
Are whilom hopings that encompass thee
And dreams of dear delights that may not be.
Asleep--adream perchance, dost thou forget
The sometime sorrow and the fevered fret,
Sting of salt tears and long unbreathed regret?
Liest thou here thro' long sunshiny hours,
Holding sweet converse with the springing flowers,
Harking the singing of the warm sweet showers
That fall like happy tears... dost hear
The birds that unafraid assail thine ear--
And yet art silent when I whisper? Dear,
      Dost thou not hear?_

_Lying so low beneath the bending grass
In long, still smiling tranced for aye--alas!
Thou dost not harken when my footsteps pass.
If haply I some tender thing should tell
Thee of the springtime flowers thou once loved well--
Anemone and shining asphodel;
Should steal from Nature some enchanted lay,
Some bird-song lilted where green branches sway--
Heart-music that could stir thy heart alway;
Should call thee by the old fond name again,
Should tell thee all a heart's enduring pain
And long rememb'ring, would'st thou mute remain?
Alas! nor sigh nor song can thrill the ear
Tuned to Israfel's music in the sphere
Where things to thee erst dear no more are dear.
      Thou dost not hear!_




THE PATH OF DREAMS




In Woodland Ways


Out of the poignant glare, the shadeless heat
Of summer noon, beseech thee follow me
Into the dim, dream-haunted secrecy
The cool, green glooms, the grottoed deep retreat,
Of yon old wood; down aisles of lichened trees--
Grey Merlins clasped by lissom Viviens
Of clinging vine--to cloistered sylvan glens,
Where Nature weaves her fairest mysteries.

Here let us rest a little--find surcease
For feet grown weary of the thridded street
That echoes ever to the ceaseless beat
Of human tread;--a brief while know the ease
Of dreamful rest, to slumb'rous languors stilled
On Orient rugs of dappled mosses spread
In nooks where blossom, purple, white and red,
The flowers Summer's lavish hands have spilled.

Wild woodland creatures near us unafraid,
Some strange enchantment doth the forest hold--
Was that a sungleam, or a wand of gold
By tricksy Puck or wanton Ariel swayed?
Old oaks and beeches open wide their doors
And hamadryads veiled in golden sheen
Floating diaphanous o'er robes of green
Walk with still feet the forest's russet floors.

Lo, here are fairies hid in flower-bells,
There wood-nymphs fleeing from pursuing fauns,
And naiads fleshed with hues of rosy dawns
Lie dreaming by white streams in dusky dells;
We tread dim paths untrod by foot of man
And hark the horn of Dian ringing clear;
While faint, elusive, thin--now far, now near,
Meseems I hear the oaten pipe of Pan.

And while o'erhead the plaining wood-dove grieves,
The cardinal--a winged, scarlet flower--
Sprays all the air with song, a golden shower
Of flutes-notes sifting downward thro' the leaves.
Ah, sweet enchantment doth the forest hold,
For Nature's self doth haunt these woodland ways,
My fevered brow on her cool breast she lays
And care slips from me as a garment old.




Ashes of Roses


Skies glooming overhead,
  Autumn winds sighing;
Bare yonder garden bed,
  Flowers low lying.
All their rich radiance fled,
All their pale petals shed,
Wan wraiths of Summer sped,
  In Autumn's closes;
Crimson and cream and gold
Strewn on earth's bosom cold,
Mingling with umber mold--
      Ashes of roses.

See, in yon waning West
  Rich roses blowing
On Heaven's palimpsest
  God's message glowing;
Rose hues and amethyst
Drenched in purpureate mist,
Darkness with Day keeps tryst,
  Night's curtain closes;
Quenched is the burning gold,
Shadowed the upland wold,
Day's fires grow dull and cold
      Ashes of roses.

So on this heart of mine
  Shadows are lying;
Lotus and rue entwine,
  Dim dreams are dying;
Stilled is the thrill divine,
Spilled is the amber wine,
Dimly the cold stars shine;
  Wan age discloses
All youth's bright blossoms dead,
All love's rare radiance sped,
All hope's pure petals shed--
      Ashes of roses.




A Challenge


To have lived, to have loved, to have triumphed!--what more can the
  world bestow?
I stand at the close of the conflict, my foot on the neck of my foe.
Prone in the dust lies the demon Despair, still shouting his shibboleth
To the treacherous Amazon dark-browed Fate, and her grisly comrade, Death.
To have lived! To have felt in my veins the surge of the rich, red tide of
  life,
The quickening stir of the strong man's heart that thrills to the sound
  of strife;
To have wrested success from defeat, to have striven, and struggled,
  and won--
Shall this seem a small thing, think you, when the Battle of Ages is done?
To have loved! To have known of all raptures, the rapture supernal, divine,
To have felt the throb of your heart on my heart and the bloom of your
  lips pressed to mine;
To have ranked with the gods on Olympus--myths tell us immortal Jove
Cleft with his swan-wings the blue of the sky for boon of a mortal's
  love....
I have lived, I have loved, I have triumphed! Let Death come, or early
  or late!
I hurl my challenging gauntlet full in the face of Fate!
Fate may make wreck of a future--how can she alter the past?
I have tasted the sweets of life's chalice--why shrink from the lees
  at the last?
How should I cavil at aught that shall come--I stand with your head on
  my breast--
I have fought as I might--I have gained _you_, beloved... to God's
  mercy the rest!
Tho' the heavens darken above me and the sky be shrunk as a scroll,
In the wreck and ruin of riven worlds, should I falter, O Soul of my soul?
Tho' the demon Despair, where he vanquished lies, still utter his
  shibboleth--
I fling my glove in the face of Fate and smile in the eyes of Death!




And Yet...


Upon the meads where we were wont to stray,
'Guiling with springtime hopes the winter hours,
The Spring has smiled; yon <DW72> that late gloomed gray
And sternly sad, 'neath April's tender showers
Grows green and glad again. The rippled grass,
A soundless sea o'er which white cloud-sails pass,
Breaks at my feet in billows foamed with flowers;
And blue-eyed myrtle blooms with lashes wet
Smile to me thro' their tears. The skies are blue,
And life is sweet to-day and hope seems true;
My heart is barren of its long regret--
      And yet...

The willow wears a wistful green. A dream
Of Summer warmth the wine-sweet breezes hold,
Fair wildings blow--bright buttercups agleam
Like shining sequins scattered on the wold,
And daffodills--a wealth of faery gold.
The building birds their coming bliss presage
With lilt and lyric brimming o'er the page
Of Nature's volume bound in green and gold.
Here'mid the birds and blossoms 'neath the blue--
My heart unburthened of the old regret--
Let me forget long striving to forget;
For life is sweet to-day and hope seems true--
And yet...




The Master-Player


Mute was the mighty organ. None might break
The silence that had thralled it since was stilled
The master-hand beneath whose touch it thrilled
To music such as choiring seraphs make--
Until a mightier Master came to wake
Th' elusive chords and subtle harmonies
That lay imprisoned in the cold white keys
And once again the soul of Music spake.
Methought my soul's most perfect melodies
No hand again to sonance could evoke--
A silent harp whose potence none might prove--
But, lo! one came who swept its chords and woke
Celestial strains, divinest harmonies,
Responsive to the master-touch of Love.




Afterbloom


Gay was her garden as some gorgeous fabric
    Weft on an Orient loom,
Star-set upon the sward quaint, old-time blossoms
    Wrought broidery of bloom.

Verbenas, dahlias, asters, scarlet cannas
    Like torches flaming tall;
(Methought the fair, old face, enframed in silver,
    The sweetest flower of all!)

And one rare rose she watched each year with hoping
    Till the dear eyes grew dim--
But ere a single blossom burst in beauty
    God took her home to Him.
Yet when the Spring next woke the earth to laughter
    And boon of blossom gave,
Starred was the rose with white, unearthly flowers--
   We laid them on her grave.

       *       *       *       *       *

And so, meseems, the buds we woo most fondly
    Nor light nor perfume shed;
And Love's gold-hearted rose and Hope's star-flower
    Oft bloom when we are dead.




To Bliss Carman


Great hearted brother to the wilderness,
  Comrade of Wind and Sea! Interpreter
Of nomad Nature! Ere the quick'ning stir
  Of Spring-sap thrills the wood from sullen stress
Of Winter's spell--away from thronged press
  Of urban ways thy wild feet wander far
Tracking the steps of some white Northern star
  Whose rays are beacon to thy restlessness.
Weird mystic of the Northland's mystery,
  Thou 'front'st the Unseen Shadow, nor dost fear
To meet the Scarlet Hunter on the trail;
  Pagan as Pan; to all things sylvan dear,
Nature's own vagrant, buoyant, driftless, free--
  All winds and woods and waters cry thee hail!




When Love Passed By


I dreamt of love in the golden glory
Of youth unshadowed by cloud or care;
Steeped in the love-lore of song and story,
I said, "My Love shall be wondrous fair."

I said, "Her hands shall be filled with flowers,
(My heart shall tell me when Love draws nigh!)
She shall steal sweet boon from the graceless hours,
Her eyes shall be blue as the cerule sky.

"Her hair shall be bright as the stars' gold gleaming,
Her lips shall be red with her heart's rich wine,
Her face shall be fair as my fondest dreaming,
Each pulse of my being shall call her mine!"

Then long for the voice of my heart I harkened,
Tranced in love's hoping--all hope else forgot--
I waited lonely; the daylight darkened,
The twilight deepened--but love came not.

Then One passed by in the dusking shadows,
The night's dusk shadows slept on her hair--
She passed like a gleam o'er the dew-drenched meadows,
And my heart throbbed fast--but she was not fair.

Her face was pale and her dark eyes pleading,
Her smile was wistful and gravely sweet;
She passed me by where I stood unheeding,
And dropped a violet at my feet.

She went her way o'er the silent meadows,
(Ah, traitorous heart that you tricked me so!)
I sat alone in the deepening shadows--
Love had passed by--and I did not know.




Hedonism


Since we must sleep the endless Sleep at last,
Since Life's grim juggernaut 'neath ruthless wheels
Crushes the heart; since Age like Winter steals
On Youth's fair-flowered fields with blighting blast--
Then to the gods our doubts and fears be cast!
Enough of Sorrow! Joyance is our due.
Gather the roses! Spurn th' envenomed rue.
Fling to the waiting winds the pallid past.
Steep thee in mellow moods and dear desires;
Pluck Love's flame-hearted flower ere it dies;
Cull nectared kisses sweet as morning's breath,
Warm Chastity at Passion's purple fires;
Nepenthe quaff--till drained the chalice lies.
After... the shrouded sleep, the dreamless dark of Death.

       *       *       *       *       *




Euthumism


If in the spirit glows no spark divine;
If soulless dust return to dust again;
If, after life, but death and dark remain--
Then it were well to make the moment thine,
Bacchante-steeping soul and sense in wine,
In lotus-lulling languors, fond desires
That heat the heart with fierce, unhallowed fires--
Till Pleasure, Circe-like, transform us into swine.
But if some subtler spirit thrill our clay,
Some God-like flame illume this fleeting dust--
Promethean fire snatched from the Olympian height--
Then must we choose the nobler, higher Way,
Seeking the Beautiful, the Pure, the Just--
The ultimate crowned triumph of the Right!




Under the Leaves


The phalanxes of corn stand grim and serried,
    Dull gold the sodden sheaves,
The violets that smiled with Spring are buried
        Under the leaves.

Along the land the Winter's doom is creeping
    All vainly Autumn grieves;
And she who made my heart's sweet Spring is sleeping
        Under the leaves.




Carmen


Night in Seville, and the twinkle
  Of stars in the far azure set,
The mandolin's torturing tinkle,
  The click of the castanet!
Music and wine and low laughter,
  Love and a torment of tune--
Hate and a poignard thereafter,
  Under the yellow moon.

Here in the night I await her,
  Under the slumberous moon;
Yearns my fierce spirit to mate her--
  All my sick senses aswoon
Beneath the wild sway of her dancing
  Passion and pride are at war;--
Thrall to her amorous glancing,
  Grandee and toreador.

Carmen Gitana, behold her!
  Bright passion-flower of the South;
Soft Southern languors enfold her,
  Scarlet the bloom of her mouth;
Passionate, sensuous, cruel,
  Raying warm laughter and light,
A ruby--a scintillant jewel--
  Set on the brow of the Night!

Ah, the wild rhythm of her dancing!
  Lithe with the jaguar's grace,
Ah, the sweet fire of her glancing,
  The love-litten lure of her face!
And ah, in my fierce arms to hold her
  This strange scarlet flower of the South.
Close to my heart-beat to fold her
  Drinking the wine of her mouth!

Sweet, thou art weary with dancing,
  Sick of the music and light
Praises and overbold glancing--
  Steal with me into the night;
Out of the riot of laughter,
  Out of the torment of tune--
Love and close kisses thereafter
  Under the sensuous moon!

Carmen, my fierce arms enfold thee,
  Bright passion-flower of the South,
Close to my hot heart I hold thee,
  Crushing the flower of thy mouth.
Love--for the loving that swayed me,
  Passion--for passion long past--
Hate--for the hate that betrayed me...
  My dirk in your side at the last!




To R. D.