Part 5 (1/2)

When I Go Home

When I go home, green, green will glow the gra.s.s, Whereon the flight of sun and cloud will pa.s.s; Long lines of wood-ducks through the deepening gloam Will hold above the west, as wrought on bra.s.s, And fragrant furrows will have delved the loam, When I go home.

When I go home, the dogwood stars will dash The solemn woods above the bearded ash, The yellow-jasmine, whence its vine hath clomb, Will blaze the valleys with its golden flash, And every orchard flaunt its polychrome, When I go home.

When I go home and stroll about the farm, The thicket and the barnyard will be warm.

Jess will be there, and n.i.g.g.e.r Bill, and Tom-- On whom time's chisel works no hint of harm-- And, oh, 'twill be a day to rest and roam, When I go home!

Odessa

A horror of great darkness over them, No cloud of fire to guide and cover them, Beasts for the shambles, tremulous with dread, They crouch on alien soil among their dead.

”Thy s.h.i.+eld and thy exceeding great reward,”

This was thine ancient covenant, O Lord, Which, sealed with mirth, these many thousand years Is black with blood and blotted out with tears.

Have these not toiled through Egypt's burning sun, And wept beside the streams of Babylon, Led from thy wilderness of hill and glen Into a wider wilderness of men?

Life bore them ever less of gain than loss, Before and since Golgotha's piteous Cross, And surely, now, their sorrow hath sufficed For all the hate that grew from love of Christ!

Thou great G.o.d-heart, heed thou thy people's cry, Bare-browed and empty-handed where they die, Sea-sundered from wall-girt Jerusalem, There being no sword that wills to succor them,--

And Miriam's song, long hushed, will rise to thee, And all thy people lift their eyes to thee, When, for the darkness' horror over them, Thou comest, a cloud of light to cover them.

Trifles

What shall I bring you, sweet?

A posy prankt with every April hue: The cloud-white daisy, violet sky-blue, Shot with the primrose suns.h.i.+ne through and through?

Or shall I bring you, sweet, Some ancient rhyme of lovers sore beset, Whose joy is dead, whose sadness lingers yet, That you may read, and sigh, and soon forget?

What shall I bring you, sweet?

Was ever trifle yet so held amiss As not to fill love's waiting heart with bliss, And merit dalliance at a long, long kiss?

Sunburnt Boys