class="c5">The love that he made of dawn and shade
Of dominant want and will.

For ever the dream of man
Is more than the dreamer is;
Though he form it whole of his inmost soul,
Yet never 'tis wholly his.

Only is given to him
The right to follow and yearn
The loveliness he may not possess,
The vision that may not turn.

Never to hold or to bind—
Only to know how fleet
The dream that is and yet is not his,—
Virginal—wild—and sweet.

MAGDALEN

My father took me by the hand
And led me home again;
(He brought me in from sorrow
As you'd bring a child from rain).
The child's place at the hearth-stone,
The child's place at the board,
And the picture at the bed's head
Of wee ones wi' the Lord.

It's just a child come home he sees
To nestle at his arm;
(He brought me in from sorrow
As you'd bring a child from harm).
And of the two of us who sit
By hearth and candle-light,
There's just one hears a woman's heart
Break—breaking in the night.

A SALEM MOTHER

I
They whisper at my very gate,
These clacking gossips every one,
"We saw them in the wood of late,
Her and the widow's son;
The horses at the forge may wait,
The wool may go unspun."

I spread the food he loves the best,
I light the lamp when day is done,
Yet still he stays another's guest—
Oh, my one son, my son.
I would it burned in mine own breast
The spell he may not shun.

She hath bewitched him with her eyes.
(No goodly maid hath eyes as bright.)
Pale in the morn I watch him rise,
As one who wanders far by night.
The gossips whisper and surmise—
I hide me from the light.

II
Her hair is yellow as the corn,
Her eyes are bluer than the sky;
Behind the casement yester-morn,
I watched her passing by.
My son not yet had broken bread,
Yet from the table did he rise,
She said no word nor turned her head,
What then the spell that bade him stir,
Nor heeding any word I said,
Put by my hands and follow her.

III
He was so strong and wise and good—
Was there no other she might take,
Nor other mothers' hearts to break?

What though she bade the harvest fail,
What though she willed the cattle die,
So my son's soul was spared thereby.

My cattle fill the pasture-land,
The ripe fruit thickens on the tree,
My son, my son is lost to me.

IV
They burned a witch in our town,
On hangman's hill to-day;
And black the ashes drifted down,
Ashes black and grey,
Not white like those o' martyred folk
Whose souls are clean as they.

They burned a witch in our town,
Upon a windy hill,
For that she made the wells sink down
And wrought a young man ill,
The smoke rose black against the sky,
And hangs before it still.

They burned a witch in our town,
And sure they did but right,
And yet I would the rain could drown
That blackened hill from sight,
And some great wind might drive that cloud
'Twixt God and me this night.

THE DAYS

I call my years back, I, grown old,
Recall them day by day;
And some are dressed in cloth o' gold
And some in humble grey.

And those in gold glance scornfully
Or pass me unawares;
But those in grey come close to me
And take my hands in theirs.

THE CALL

I must be off where the green boughs beckon—
Why should I linger to barter and reckon?
The mart may pay me—the mart may cheat me,
I have had enough of the huckster's din,
The calm of the deep woods waits to greet me,
(Heart of the high hills, take me in.)

I must be off where the brooks are waking,
Where birds are building and green leaves breaking.
Why should the hold of an old task bind me?
I know of an eyrie I fain would win
Where a wind of the West shall seek me and find me,
(Heart of my high hills, take me in.)

I must be off where the stars are nearer,
Where feet go swifter and eyes see clearer,
Little I heed what the toilers name me—
I have heard the call that to miss were sin,
The April voices that clamour and claim me,
(Heart of my high hills, take me in.)

THE PARASITE

They brought to the little Princess, from her earliest hour of birth,
The lovely things, the beautiful things, the soft things of earth.

They covered her floor with crimson, they wrapped her in eiderdown;
They hung the windows with cloth of gold, lest her eyes look down;
(Lest the highway show an unlovely thing
And her eyes look down.)

They brought rare toys to her