Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, FRANCISCA DOLOROSA, by AMELIA WOODWARD TRUESDELL


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

FRANCISCA DOLOROSA, by                    
First Line: Fore-doomed the horror of the age to bear
Last Line: A resurrexit in a requiem chant.
Subject(s): Death; Disasters; San Francisco Earthquake And Fire (1906); Smoke; Dead, The


Fore-doomed the horror of the age to bear,
By Fate hand-gripped, we went forth from our homes.
From mornings to the ending days we fared,
And from three midnights to their dawns again
From place to place; the while, a demon crazed,
Destruction followed in a pact with Death.
And yet a song was on our lips. We smiled
Into each other's eyes in comradeship.
The great heart of humanity awoke
With throbs which stilled the consciousness of self.

And we went forth to night that was as day,
To day that was as night, for time was not.
The parrot clinging to his master's sleeve
Forgot his chattering. The songless birds
Shivered upon the perch. Dumb creatures' eyes
Were pleading unto us. Go forth? Whither?
To pavements choked with people dazed by shock,
Smoke-strangled, bent beneath their burdened backs,
Half dumb and goblin-like in flame-lit smoke;
Streets harsh with scrapings of a hasty flight,
Ashriek with dragging things that blocked our feet.
The mountains called and from the docks the cry,
"This way for life! To save your life, this way."
For hours, the sea, far out, had roared its pain.

But, now, the bay, unmindful of the wounds
Of Mother Earth, said, "Come, I know a shore
Of rest:" and thousands followed it to peace,
On waves resplendent in a world of fire,—
The light from an Immortal's flaming nest.
We smelled the smoke of things revered. Our mouths
Were bitter with the char of household gods.
We trod the cinders from the city's heart,
Our city, loved as hearthstones are. Whither?
The parks! A woman's cry. There stood strong men
Shoulder to shoulder, their broad backs a wall
Around one stricken ere her time, her bed
The street. Aye, aye, men's backs a hasty wall
To guard that moment holy, from the crowd.
Instinct of manhood unto motherhood,—
O God! The glory and the pain of it!
The gentleness of those rough hands which bore
To sheltering that prostrate form! O face
Newborn, adust with ashes of its home!

Whither? Unto the hills still green with spring?
The slender fingers of a jewelled dame
Spread out her fluffy down in silken sheath,
Beneath the forehead of a negro child.
Her store of dainties hasty seized, she brake
As bread unto God's homeless multitude;
And seemed it to increase, as did the loaves
Of Him who fed the crowds in Galilee.

While tongues of dogs unknown licked up the crumbs
From off our hands in brotherhood of woe.

The millioniare's swift motor-car became
A thing of life, the while the man's own hands
Were black with gathering waifs and strays. This car
Was God's fleet messenger unto the maimed.
It flew filled with sweet faces of the nuns
To minister beside the narrow cot;
With the red crosses of the brotherhood
Aglow, it flew unto the service field
Of skill and love; then black with priestly robes
Which held within the sacred vest the sealed
Viaticum to cheer the way to death.
Piled with the fallen and the halt it flew;
Then comfort-nigh for hungry, shivering forms.
This pleasure-thing, built for the rich man's toy!

And thus unto the sand dunes and the tides
We fled, alone or in some brother's care;
And that red glare beat on us yet for days,
Till hearts grew strong with giving others cheer.

No strangers then! All races were akin
By God's one fatherhood to all. A man
Was but a man unto a man. Enough!
One brand of pain was on us all. I knew
My sister by the grime upon her hands.
My mother! Was not she that babbling one
Who tottered from the doorway of her shack
With smoking garments, prone upon my feet?
Not mine? Those children dragging at my skirts?
My brother from the hill of palaces,
His softened features gray with cinder dust
Of mansions, now forgetting his own loss,
Tender as to the firstborn of his house,—
He wraps within his coat of sable warmth
The sleeping child he found upon the street.
The holy joy of such a fellowship!
The angels must have wept and worshipped God.

Thou city of our hearts! With that first rage
Of passion primitive we loved, we loved,
Yet helpless saw thee struggle, gasp and fall.
What meant the song upon our lips? The uplift
Of shock? The nervous power of pain supreme?
Nay, nay! The angel hands were blinding us,
Lest knowing we go mad before the chrism
Of hope, their fingers touched upon our eyes.
The solemn joy of newborn faith in life,
And faith born of catastrophe is strength.
Extremity like thine revealed to us
That thou wert of God's plan unto the world
To civilize. We saw that thou must rise
In evolution of His purposes
From thy baptism of fire to higher life.
Thus meant the song unconscious on our lips;
A Resurrexit in a Requiem Chant.





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