Read Ebook: Later Poems by Carman Bliss

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Ebook has 917 lines and 36459 words, and 19 pages

Gold are the great trees overhead, And gold the leaf-strewn grass, As though a cloth of gold were spread To let a seraph pass. And where the pageant should go by, Meadow and wood and stream, The world is all of lacquered gold, Expectant as a dream.

Against the sunset's burning gold, Etched in dark monotone Behind its alley of grey trees And gateposts of grey stone, Stands the Old Manse, about whose eaves An air of mystery clings, Abandoned to the lonely peace Of bygone ghostly things.

In molten gold the river winds With languid sweep and turn, Beside the red-gold wooded hill Yellowed with ash and fern. The streets are tiled with gold-green shade And arched with fretted gold, Ecstatic aisles that richly thread This minster grim and old.

The air is flecked with filtered gold,-- The shimmer of romance Whose ageless glamour still must hold The world as in a trance, Pouring o'er every time and place Light of an amber sea, The spell of all the gladsome things That have been or shall be.

Aprilian

When April came with sunshine And showers and lilac bloom, My heart with sudden gladness Was like a fragrant room.

Her eyes were heaven's own azure, As deep as God's own truth. Her soul was made of rapture And mystery and youth.

She knew the sorry burden Of all the ancient years, Yet could not dwell with sadness And memory and tears.

With her there was no shadow Of failure nor despair, But only loving joyance. O Heart, how glad we were!

Garden Shadows

When the dawn winds whisper To the standing corn, And the rose of morning From the dark is born, All my shadowy garden Seems to grow aware Of a fragrant presence, Half expected there.

In the golden shimmer Of the burning noon, When the birds are silent And the poppies swoon, Once more I behold her Smile and turn her face, With its infinite regard, Its immortal grace.

When the twilight silvers Every nodding flower, And the new moon hallows The first evening hour, Is it not her footfall Down the garden walks, Where the drowsy blossoms Slumber on their stalks?

In the starry quiet, When the soul is free, And a vernal message Stirs the lilac tree, Surely I have felt her Pass and brush my cheek, With the eloquence of love That does not need to speak!

In The Day of Battle

In the day of battle, In the night of dread, Let one hymn be lifted, Let one prayer be said.

Not for pride of conquest, Not for vengeance wrought, Nor for peace and safety With dishonour bought!

Praise for faith in freedom, Our fighting fathers' stay, Born of dreams and daring, Bred above dismay.

Prayer for cloudless vision, And the valiant hand, That the right may triumph To the last demand.

Trees

In the Garden of Eden, planted by God, There were goodly trees in the springing sod,--

Trees of beauty and height and grace, To stand in splendor before His face.

Apple and hickory, ash and pear, Oak and beech and the tulip rare,

The trembling aspen, the noble pine, The sweeping elm by the river line;

Trees for the birds to build and sing, And the lilac tree for a joy in spring;

Trees to turn at the frosty call And carpet the ground for their Lord's footfall;

Trees for fruitage and fire and shade, Trees for the cunning builder's trade;

Wood for the bow, the spear, and the flail, The keel and the mast of the daring sail;

He made them of every grain and girth For the use of man in the Garden of Earth.

Then lest the soul should not lift her eyes From the gift to the Giver of Paradise,

On the crown of a hill, for all to see, God planted a scarlet maple tree.

The Givers of Life

Who called us forth out of darkness and gave us the gift of life, Who set our hands to the toiling, our feet in the field of strife?

Darkly they mused, predestined to knowledge of viewless things, Sowing the seed of wisdom, guarding the living springs.

Little they reckoned privation, hunger or hardship or cold, If only the life might prosper, and the joy that grows not old.

With sorceries subtler than music, with knowledge older than speech, Gentle as wind in the wheat-field, strong as the tide on the beach,

Out of their beauty and longing, out of their raptures and tears, In patience and pride they bore us, to war with the warring years.

Who looked on the world before them, and summoned and chose our sires, Subduing the wayward impulse to the will of their deep desires?

Sovereigns of ultimate issues under the greater laws, Theirs was the mystic mission of the eternal cause;

Confident, tender, courageous, leaving the low for the higher, Lifting the feet of the nations out of the dust and the mire; Luring civilization on to the fair and new, Given God's bidding to follow, having God's business to do.

Who strengthened our souls with courage, and taught us the ways of Earth? Who gave us our patterns of beauty, our standards of flawless worth?

Mothers, unmilitant, lovely, moulding our manhood then, Walked in their woman's glory, swaying the might of men.

They schooled us to service and honor, modest and clean and fair,-- The code of their worth of living, taught with the sanction of prayer. They were our sharers of sorrow, they were our makers of joy, Lighting the lamp of manhood in the heart of the lonely boy.

Haloed with love and with wonder, in sheltered ways they trod, Seers of sublime divination, keeping the truce of God.

Who called us from youth and dreaming, and set ambition alight, And made us fit for the contest,--men, by their tender rite?

Sweethearts above our merit, charming our strength and skill To be the pride of their loving, to be the means of their will.

If we be the builders of beauty, if we be the masters of art, Theirs were the gleaming ideals, theirs the uplift of the heart.

Truly they measure the lightness of trappings and ease and fame, For the teeming desire of their yearning is ever and ever the same:

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