Part 46 (1/2)

Yours is a garden of old-fas.h.i.+oned flowers; Joyous children delight to play there; Weary men find rest in its bowers, Watching the lingering light of day there.

Old-time tunes and young love-laughter Ripple and run among the roses; Memory's echoes, murmuring after, Fill the dusk when the long day closes.

Simple songs with a cadence olden-- These you learned in the Forest of Arden: Friendly flowers with hearts all golden-- These you borrowed from Eden's garden.

This is the reason why all men love you; Truth to life is the finest art: Other poets may soar above you-- You keep close to the human heart.

December, 1903.

RICHARD WATSON GILDER

IN MEMORIAM

Soul of a soldier in a poet's frame, Heart of a hero in a body frail; Thine was the courage clear that did not quail Before the giant champions of shame Who wrought dishonour to the city's name; And thine the vision of the Holy Grail Of Love, revealed through Music's lucid veil, Filling thy life with heavenly song and flame.

Pure was the light that lit thy glowing eye, And strong the faith that held thy simple creed.

Ah, poet, patriot, friend, to serve our need Thou leavest two great gifts that will not die: Above the city's noise, thy lyric cry,-- Amid the city's strife, thy n.o.ble deed.

November, 1909.

THE VALLEY OF VAIN VERSES

The grief that is but feigning, And weeps melodious tears Of delicate complaining From self-indulgent years; The mirth that is but madness, And has no inward gladness Beneath its laughter straining, To capture thoughtless ears;

The love that is but pa.s.sion Of amber-scented l.u.s.t; The doubt that is but fas.h.i.+on; The faith that has no trust; These Thamyris disperses, In the Valley of Vain Verses Below the Mount Parna.s.sian,-- And they crumble into dust.

MUSIC

MUSIC

I

PRELUDE

1

Daughter of Psyche, pledge of that wild night When, pierced with pain and bitter-sweet delight, She knew her Love and saw her Lord depart, Then breathed her wonder and her woe forlorn Into a single cry, and thou wast born!

Thou flower of rapture and thou fruit of grief; Invisible enchantress of the heart; Mistress of charms that bring relief To sorrow, and to joy impart A heavenly tone that keeps it undefined,-- Thou art the child Of Amor, and by right divine A throne of love is thine, Thou flower-folded, golden-girdled, star-crowned Queen, Whose bridal beauty mortal eyes have never seen!

2

Thou art the Angel of the pool that sleeps, While peace and joy lie hidden in its deeps, Waiting thy touch to make the waters roll In healing murmurs round the weary soul.

Ah, when wilt thou draw near, Thou messenger of mercy robed in song?