20. Going for Water   
   
   
THE WELL was dry beside the door,      
  And so we went with pail and can      
Across the fields behind the house      
  To seek the brook if still it ran;      
   
Not loth to have excuse to go,           5   
  Because the autumn eve was fair      
(Though chill), because the fields were ours,      
  And by the brook our woods were there.      
   
We ran as if to meet the moon      
  That slowly dawned behind the trees,           10   
The barren boughs without the leaves,      
  Without the birds, without the breeze.      
   
But once within the wood, we paused      
  Like gnomes that hid us from the moon,      
Ready to run to hiding new           15   
  With laughter when she found us soon.      
   
Each laid on other a staying hand      
  To listen ere we dared to look,      
And in the hush we joined to make      
  We heard, we knew we heard the brook.           20   
   
A note as from a single place,      
  A slender tinkling fall that made      
Now drops that floated on the pool      
  Like pearls, and now a silver blade.

21. Revelation   
   
   
WE make ourselves a place apart      
  Behind light words that tease and flout,      
But oh, the agitated heart      
  Till someone find us really out.      
   
’Tis pity if the case require           5   
  (Or so we say) that in the end      
We speak the literal to inspire      
  The understanding of a friend.      
   
But so with all, from babes that play      
  At hide-and-seek to God afar,           10   
So all who hide too well away      
  Must speak and tell us where they are.

   
22. The Trial by Existence   
   
   
EVEN the bravest that are slain      
  Shall not dissemble their surprise      
On waking to find valor reign,      
  Even as on earth, in paradise;      
And where they sought without the sword           5   
  Wide fields of asphodel fore’er,      
To find that the utmost reward      
  Of daring should be still to dare.      
   
The light of heaven falls whole and white      
  And is not shattered into dyes,           10   
The light for ever is morning light;      
  The hills are verdured pasture-wise;      
The angel hosts with freshness go,      
  And seek with laughter what to brave;—      
And binding all is the hushed snow           15   
  Of the far-distant breaking wave.      
   
And from a cliff-top is proclaimed      
  The gathering of the souls for birth,      
The trial by existence named,      
  The obscuration upon earth.           20   
And the slant spirits trooping by      
  In streams and cross- and counter-streams      
Can but give ear to that sweet cry      
  For its suggestion of what dreams!      
   
And the more loitering are turned           25   
  To view once more the sacrifice      
Of those who for some good discerned      
  Will gladly give up paradise.      
And a white shimmering concourse rolls      
  Toward the throne to witness there           30   
The speeding of devoted souls      
  Which God makes his especial care.      
   
And none are taken but who will,      
  Having first heard the life read out      
That opens earthward, good and ill,           35   
  Beyond the shadow of a doubt;      
And very beautifully God limns,      
  And tenderly, life’s little dream,      
But naught extenuates or dims,      
  Setting the thing that is supreme.           40   
   
Nor is there wanting in the press      
  Some spirit to stand simply forth,      
Heroic in its nakedness,      
  Against the uttermost of earth.      
The tale of earth’s unhonored things           45   
  Sounds nobler there than ’neath the sun;      
And the mind whirls and the heart sings,      
  And a shout greets the daring one.      
   
But always God speaks at the end:      
  ’One thought in agony of strife           50   
The bravest would have by for friend,      
  The memory that he chose the life;      
But the pure fate to which you go      
  Admits no memory of choice,      
Or the woe were not earthly woe           55   
  To which you give the assenting voice.’      
   
And so the choice must be again,      
  But the last choice is still the same;      
And the awe passes wonder then,      
  And a hush falls for all acclaim.           60   
And God has taken a flower of gold      
  And broken it, and used therefrom      
The mystic link to bind and hold      
  Spirit to matter till death come.      
   
‘Tis of the essence of life here,           65   
  Though we choose greatly, still to lack      
The lasting memory at all clear,      
  That life has for us on the wrack      
Nothing but what we somehow chose;      
  Thus are we wholly stripped of pride           70   
In the pain that has but one close,      
  Bearing it crushed and mystified.      

23. In Equal Sacrifice   
   
   
THUS of old the Douglas did:      
He left his land as he was bid      
With the royal heart of Robert the Bruce      
In a golden case with a golden lid,      
   
To carry the same to the Holy Land;           5   
By which we see and understand      
That that was the place to carry a heart      
At loyalty and love’s command,      
   
And that was the case to carry it in.      
The Douglas had not far to win           10   
Before he came to the land of Spain,      
Where long a holy war had been      
   
Against the too-victorious Moor;      
And there his courage could not endure      
Not to strike a blow for God           15   
Before he made his errand sure.      
   
And ever it was intended so,      
That a man for God should strike a blow,      
No matter the heart he has in charge      
For the Holy Land where hearts should go.           20   
   
But when in battle the foe were met,      
The Douglas found him sore beset,      
With only strength of the fighting arm      
For one more battle passage yet—      
   
And that as vain to save the day           25   
As bring his body safe away—      
Only a signal deed to do      
And a last sounding word to say.      
   
The heart he wore in a golden chain      
He swung and flung forth into the plain,           30   
And followed it crying ‘Heart or death!’      
And fighting over it perished fain.      
   
So may another do of right,      
Give a heart to the hopeless fight,      
The more of right the more he loves;           35   
So may another redouble might      
   
For a few swift gleams of the angry brand,      
Scorning greatly not to demand      
In equal sacrifice with his      
The heart he bore to the Holy Land.           40

24. The Tuft of Flowers   
   
   
I WENT to turn the grass once after one      
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.      
   
The dew was gone that made his blade so keen      
Before I came to view the leveled scene.      
   
I looked for him behind an isle of trees;           5   
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.      
   
But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,      
And I must be, as he had been,—alone,      
   
‘As all must be,’ I said within my heart,      
‘Whether they work together or apart.’           10   
   
But as I said it, swift there passed me by      
On noiseless wing a ’wildered butterfly,      
   
Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night      
Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.      
   
And once I marked his flight go round and round,           15   
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.      
   
And then he flew as far as eye could see,      
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.      
   
I thought of questions that have no reply,      
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;           20   
   
But he turned first, and led my eye to look      
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,      
   
A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared      
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.      
   
I left my place to know them by their name,           25   
Finding them butterfly weed when I came.      
   
The mower in the dew had loved them thus,      
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,      
   
Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.      
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.           30   
   
The butterfly and I had lit upon,      
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,      
   
That made me hear the wakening birds around,      
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,      
   
And feel a spirit kindred to my own;           35   
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;      
   
But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,      
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;      
   
And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech      
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.           40   
   
‘Men work together,’ I told him from the heart,      
‘Whether they work together or apart.’      

25. Spoils of the Dead   
   
   
TWO fairies it was      
  On a still summer day      
Came forth in the woods      
  With the flowers to play.      
   
The flowers they plucked           5   
  They cast on the ground      
For others, and those      
  For still others they found.      
   
Flower-guided it was      
  That they came as they ran           10   
On something that lay      
  In the shape of a man.      
   
The snow must have made      
  The feathery bed      
When this one fell           15   
  On the sleep of the dead.      
   
But the snow was gone      
  A long time ago,      
And the body he wore      
  Nigh gone with the snow.           20   
   
The fairies drew near      
  And keenly espied      
A ring on his hand      
  And a chain at his side.      
   
They knelt in the leaves           25   
  And eerily played      
With the glittering things,      
  And were not afraid.      
   
And when they went home      
  To hide in their burrow,           30   
They took them along      
  To play with to-morrow.      
   
When you came on death,      
  Did you not come flower-guided      
Like the elves in the wood?           35   
  I remember that I did.      
   
But I recognised death      
  With sorrow and dread,      
And I hated and hate      
  The spoils of the dead.           40

26. Pan with Us   
   
   
PAN came out of the woods one day,—      
His skin and his hair and his eyes were gray,      
The gray of the moss of walls were they,—      
  And stood in the sun and looked his fill      
  At wooded valley and wooded hill.           5   
   
He stood in the zephyr, pipes in hand,      
On a height of naked pasture land;      
In all the country he did command      
  He saw no smoke and he saw no roof.      
  That was well! and he stamped a hoof.           10   
   
His heart knew peace, for none came here      
To this lean feeding save once a year      
Someone to salt the half-wild steer,      
  Or homespun children with clicking pails      
  Who see no little they tell no tales.           15   
   
He tossed his pipes, too hard to teach      
A new-world song, far out of reach,      
For a sylvan sign that the blue jay’s screech      
  And the whimper of hawks beside the sun      
  Were music enough for him, for one.           20   
   
Times were changed from what they were:      
Such pipes kept less of power to stir      
The fruited bough of the juniper      
  And the fragile bluets clustered there      
  Than the merest aimless breath of air.           25   
   
They were pipes of pagan mirth,      
And the world had found new terms of worth.      
He laid him down on the sun-burned earth      
  And ravelled a flower and looked away—      
  Play? Play?—What should he play?           30

27. The Demiurge’s Laugh   
   
   
IT was far in the sameness of the wood;      
  I was running with joy on the Demon’s trail,      
Though I knew what I hunted was no true god.      
  It was just as the light was beginning to fail      
That I suddenly heard—all I needed to hear:           5   
It has lasted me many and many a year.      
   
The sound was behind me instead of before,      
  A sleepy sound, but mocking half,      
As of one who utterly couldn’t care.      
  The Demon arose from his wallow to laugh,           10   
Brushing the dirt from his eye as he went;      
And well I knew what the Demon meant.      
   
I shall not forget how his laugh rang out.      
  I felt as a fool to have been so caught,      
And checked my steps to make pretence           15   
  It was something among the leaves I sought      
(Though doubtful whether he stayed to see).      
Thereafter I sat me against a tree.

28. Now Close the Windows   
   
   
NOW close the windows and hush all the fields;      
  If the trees must, let them silently toss;      
No bird is singing now, and if there is,      
  Be it my loss.      
   
It will be long ere the marshes resume,           5   
  It will be long ere the earliest bird:      
So close the windows and not hear the wind,      
  But see all wind-stirred.

   
29. A Line-storm Song   
   
   
THE LINE-STORM clouds fly tattered and swift,      
  The road is forlorn all day,      
Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift,      
  And the hoof-prints vanish away.      
The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee,           5   
  Expend their bloom in vain.      
Come over the hills and far with me,      
  And be my love in the rain.      
   
The birds have less to say for themselves      
  In the wood-world’s torn despair           10   
Than now these numberless years the elves,      
  Although they are no less there:      
All song of the woods is crushed like some      
  Wild, easily shattered rose.      
Come, be my love in the wet woods; come,           15   
  Where the boughs rain when it blows.      
   
There is the gale to urge behind      
  And bruit our singing down,      
And the shallow waters aflutter with wind      
  From which to gather your gown.           20   
What matter if we go clear to the west,      
  And come not through dry-shod?      
For wilding brooch shall wet your breast      
  The rain-fresh goldenrod.      
   
Oh, never this whelming east wind swells           25   
  But it seems like the sea’s return      
To the ancient lands where it left the shells      
  Before the age of the fern;      
And it seems like the time when after doubt      
  Our love came back amain.           30   
Oh, come forth into the storm and rout      
  And be my love in the rain.