I More marches through brown mesa, wood. More marches through too much blood, And then at last sweet inland seas. A city there, white-walled, and brown With age, in nest of orange trees; And this we won and many a town And rancho reaching up and down, Then rested long, sweet, sultry days Beneath the blossom'd orange trees, Made drowsy with the hum of bees, And drank in peace the south-sea breeze, Made sweet with sweeping bough of bays. II Aye, she was shy, so shy at first, And then, ere long, not over shy, Yet pure of soul and proudly chare. No love on earth has such an eye! No land there is, is bless'd or curs'd With such a limb or grace of face, Or gracious form or genial air! In all the bleak North-land not one Hath been so warm of soul to me As coldest soul by that warm sea, Beneath the bright, hot-centered sun. III No lands where northern ices are Approach, or even dare compare With warm loves born beneath the sun -- The one so near, the one so far! The one the cold, white, steady star, The yellow, shifting sun the one. IV I grant you fond, I grant you fair, I grant you honor, trust and truth, And years as beautiful as youth, And many years beneath the sun, And faith as fixed as any star; But all the North-land hath not one So warm of soul as sun-maids are. V I was but in my boyhood then -- Nor knew the coarse, hard ways of men. I count my fingers over so, And find it years and years ago; But I was tall and lithe and fair, With rippled tide of yellow hair, And prone to mellowness of heart, While she was tawny-red like wine, With black hair boundless as the night. As for the rest, I learned my part, At least was apt, and willing quite To learn, to listen, and incline To teacher warm and wise as mine. VI O bright, bronzed maidens of the Sun! So fairer far to look upon Than curtains of King Solomon, Or Kedar's tents, or any one, Or any thing beneath the Sun! What followed then? What has been done, And said, and writ, and read, and sung? What will be writ and read again, While love is life and life remain, While maids will heed and men have tongue? VII What followed then? But let that pass. I hold one picture in my heart, Hung curtain'd, and not any part Of all its blood tint ever has Been looked upon by any one Beneath the broad, all-seeing sun. VIII Love well who will, love wise who can, But love, be loved, for God is love; Love pure, as cherubim above; Love maid, and hate not any man. Sit as sat we by orange tree, Beneath the broad bough and grapevine Top-tangled in the tropic shine, Close face to face, close to the sea, And full of the red-centered sun, With sweet sea-songs upon the soul, Rolled melody on melody, As echoes of deep organ's roll, And love, nor question any one. IX If God is love, is love not God? As high priests say, let prophets sing, Without reproach or reckoning; This much I say, knees knit to sod, And low voice lifted, questioning. X Let hearts be pure, let love be true. Let lips be luscious, love be red, Let earth in gold be garmented And tented in her tent of blue; Let goodly rivers glide between Their leaning willow walls of green, Let all things be filled of the sun, And full of warm winds of the sea, And I beneath my vine and tree Take rest, nor war with any one; Then I will thank God with full cause, Say this is well, is as it was. XI Let lips be red, for God has said Love is as one gold-garmented, And made them so for such a time, Therefore let lips be red, therefore Let love be ripe in ruddy prime, Let hope beat high, let hearts be true, And you be wise thereat, and you Drink deep and ask not any more. XII Let red lips lift, proud curl'd to kiss, And round limbs lean and lift and reach In love too passionate for speech, Too full of blessedness and bliss For anything but this and this; Let pure lips lean warm, kind to kiss; Swoon in sweet love, while all the air Is redolent with balm of trees, And mellow with the song of bees, While birds sit singing everywhere -- And you will have not any more Than I in boyhood, by that shore Of olives, had in years of yore. XIII Let men unclean think things unclean; I swear tip-toed, with lifted hand, That we were pure as sea-wash'd sand, That not one coarse thought came between; Believe or disbelieve who will, Unto the pure all things are pure, As for the rest, love can endure Alike your good will or your ill. XIV Aye, she was rich in blood and gold -- More rich in love, grown over-bold From its own consciousness of strength. How warm! Oh, not for any cause Could I declare how warm she was, In her brown beauty and hair's length. XV We loved in the sufficient sun, We lived in elements of fire, For love is fire, not fierce desire; Yet lived as pure as priest and nun. XVI We lay slow rocking by the bay In slim canoe beneath the crags Thick-topp'd with palms, like sweeping flags Between us and the burning day. The alligator's head lay low Or lifted from his rich rank fern, And watch'd us and the tide by turn, As we slow cradled to and fro. XVII And slow we cradled on till night, And told the old tale, overtold, As misers in recounting gold Each time to take a new delight. XVIII With her pure passion-given grace She drew her warm self close to me; And her two brown hands on my knee, And her two black eyes in my face, She then grew sad and guessed at ill, And in the future seemed to see With woman's ken and prophecy, Yet proffer'd her devotion still. XIX And plaintive so she gave a sign, A token cut of virgin gold, That all her tribe should ever hold Its wearer as some one divine, Nor touch him with unkindly hand. And I in turn gave her a blade, A dagger, worn as well by maid As man, in that hot-temper'd land. XX It had a massive silver hilt, It had a keen and cunning blade, A gift of chief and comrades made For blood at Rivas reckless spilt. XXI "Show this," said I, "too well 'tis known, And worth a hundred lifted spears, Should ill beset your sunny years; There is not one in Walker's band, But at the sight of this alone, Will reach a brave and ready hand And make your right, or wrong, his own." XXII Love while 'tis day; night cometh soon, Wherein no man or maiden may; Love in the strong young prime of day; Drink drunk with love in ripe red noon, Red noon of love and life and sun; Walk in love's light as in sunshine, Drink in that sun as drinking wine, Drink swift, nor question any one; For fortunes change, like man, or moon, And wane like warm full day of June. XXIII Oh Love, so fair of promises, Bend here thy bow, blow here thy kiss, Bend here thy bow above the storm But once, if only this once more! Comes there no patient Christ to save, Touch and reanimate thy form Long three days dead and in the grave? Yea, spread ye now thy silken net; Since fortunes change, turn and forget, Since man must fall for some sharp sin, Be thou the pit that I fall in; I seek no safer fall than this. XXIV You lift your face to ask of her, This wine-hued woman, warm sunmaid, This wine-hued woman warm as wine, So purely and so surely mine, Who loved, who dared, was not afraid -- Or Princess? Priestess? Prisoner? I never knew or sought to know; I cared not what she might have been; I only knew she was such queen As only death could overthrow. XXV Aye, lover, would you love with zest, Win, hold, and hold her fast and well? Believe, believe the best the best Though she have singed her skirts in hell! Hold not one doubt, house just this thought -- That she is all in all you sought. I loved, loved purely, loved profound, I raised love's temple, round by round. I built my temple heavens high, Then shut the door, and she and I Forgot all things, all things save one, Beneath the hot path of the sun. XXVI I would I could forget, and yet I would not to my death forget. I reared my temple to the sky, That glad full moon, and laughed that I Could toy with lightning, till I found, Like some poor fool who toys with fire, And counts him stronger than desire, My temple burning to the ground. XXVII Aye, I had knelt, as priest might kneel Before his saint's shrine, all that day; Had dared to count me strong as steel To stand for aye, clean, tall and white. Yet I broke in that very night, And stole shewbread and wine away. XXVIII I would forget that scene, that place, I would forget that pleading face, Yet hide it deepest in my heart, As coffin in the heart of earth -- Alas! a heart so little worth -- Locked iron doors and somber lid! Yea, I would have my shrine so hid, So sacred and so set apart, That only I might enter in, Each sleepless, penitential night, And, kneeling, burn my lorn love light To burn away my bitter sin. XXIX Love lifts on white wings to the gates Of Paradise and enters in: Lust has for wings two leaden weights That sink into the lake of sin. Lust squats, toad-like, his loathsome cell, Love seeks the light, on, on, above; Love is as God, as God is love, But lust is Lucifer in hell. XXX Ills come not singly, birds of prey Flock not more closely on than they; Ill comes disguised in many forms; Fair winds are but a prophecy Of foulest winds full soon to be -- The brighter these, the blacker they; The brightest night has darkest day And brightest days bring blackest storms. XXXI A land-lost sea with sable bredes, Save where some bastions still are seen, A river stealing through the reeds, Dark, silent, sinuous, serpentine, In sullen haste toward the sun -- Such lonesome land, such lonesome sea, Such wine-hued women at the oar, In silent pairs along the shore! But not one man in sight, not one To draw machete or bear a gun. XXXII A shaft of flame, a lifted torch, Leaps sudden from this midland sea, As if to light the very porch Of God's high house eternally. It drops its ashen embers slow And slantwise, like belated snow, On granite columns, gods of stone Hewn ere the gods of Baal were known. XXXIII Some sweet brown hills, like Galilee, Group here or there this dark, still sea, Some costly woods, mahogany, Red cedar, like to Lebanon, Broad olives, like Gethsemane; But silence sits all things upon, As in some dark, hushed house of death. You look behind, you would turn back, You question if you yet take breath. The blackness of this silent sea Is oiled and burnished ebony -- The very silence turns to black. XXXIV The silence is as when your dead Lies waiting, candles foot and head, When mourners turn them slowly back With all their sad, sweet prayers said. The sea is black, the shore is black Below Granada's storied steep, Save where red trumpet blossoms blow And trumpet, trumpet night and day, For brave brown soldiers far away In battle for this dreamful deep Where silent women come and go. XXXV Such wine-hued women! such soft eyes! What need one single word be said? A fool might talk and talk all day, Talk, talk and talk until he dies, And yet, for all his hard, loud lies, Will never make one inch advance, Will never say, year and a day, So much as she in one warm glance. XXXVI I see sad mothers here and there Sit by and braid their heavy hair, The while they watch their babes at play. I note no fear, I hear no sigh, Not even hear a baby cry; But Oh! Madonna, mother, bride, Dark mourning with your ebon tide, My heart is with you here today, As yours is with him far away. XXXVII Yet is this sea not always so: I've seen him laughing in the sun, Seen soft brown wavelets leap and flow, Seen opal dimples come and go, Seen argent billows rise and run, Seen fleets of gay boats lifting, borne Along his leaping, laughing tide In all their semi-savage pride. But list! the sea, the shore, is black For those who passed and came not back -- He mourns because his daughters mourn. XXXVIII Yon solitary cone of flame That lifts mid-sea to light the skies? I nothing know, scarce know the name, Of yon lost, buried town that lies Beneath its ashes, yet I know The story is, a pretty town, With people passing up and down, Lies just beyond, and deep, so deep That never plummet breaks its sleep. XXXIX And, too, the tale is we are dead And cast forth unto burning hell, While they, down there, live, laugh instead; That with them, down there, all is well, The while they dance all night, all day -- While we are dead and cast in hell. XL Aye, idle talk, and yet the town Is there, and perfect, to this day. Row out, far out, and peer you down, A half mile down, some sultry noon, And see shapes passing up and down, As dancers dancing to a tune On some fair, happy day in May. XLI Aye, idle talk, and maybe these, The dancers, be but kelp adrift With undertow of under-seas -- Strange under-seas that fall or lift And voiceless ever ebb and flow Beneath the burning crater's plain Through unknown channels to the main; I only note the things I know And loved and lived long years ago. XLII Then came reverses to our arms; I saw the signal light's alarms All night red-crescenting the bay. The foe poured down a flood next day As strong as tides when tides are high, And drove us to the open sea, In such wild haste of flight that we Had hardly time to arm and fly. XLIII Far tossed upon the broadest sea, I lifted my two hands on high, With wild soul plashing to the sky, And cried, "O more than crowns to me, Farewell at last to love and thee!" I walked the deck, I kissed my hand Back to the far and fading shore, And bent a knee as to implore, Until the last dark head of land Slid down behind the dimpled sea. At last I sank in troubled sleep, A very child, rocked by the deep, Sad questioning the fate of her Before the cruel conqueror. XLIV The loss of comrades, power, place, A city walled, cool, shaded ways, Cost me no care at all, somehow, I only saw her sad, sweet face, And -- I was younger then than now. XLV Red flashed the sun across the deck, Slow flapped the idle sail, and slow The black ship cradled to and fro. Afar my city lay, a speck Of white against a line of blue; Hard by, half-lounging on the deck, Some comrades chatted, two by two. I held a new-filled glass of wine, And with the mate talked as in play Of fierce events of yesterday, To coax his light life into mine. XLVI He jerked the wheel, as slow he said, Low laughing with averted head, And so half sad: "You bet, they'll fight; They followed in canim, canoe, A perfect fleet, that on the blue Lay dancing till the mid of night. Would you believe! one little cuss -- (He turned his hard head slow sidewise And 'neath his hat-rim took the skies) -- "In petticoats did follow us The livelong night, and at the dawn Her boat lay rocking in the lee, Scarce one short pistol-shot from me." This said the mate, half mournfully, Then pecked at us; for he had drawn, By bright light heart and homely wit, A knot of men around the wheel, Which he stood whirling like a reel, For the still ship reck'd not of it. XLVII "And where's she now?" one careless said, With eyes slow lifting to the brine, Swift swept the instant far by mine, The bronze mate listed, shook his head, Spirted a stream of ambier wide Across and over the ship side, Jerked at the wheel and slow replied: "She had a dagger in her hand, She rose, she raised it, tried to stand, But fell, and so upset herself; Yet still the poor brown, pretty elf, Each time the long, light wave would toss And lift her form from out the sea, Would shake a sharp, bright blade at me, With rich hilt chased a cunning cross. At last she sank, but still the same She shook her dagger in the air, As if to still defy or dare, And sinking seemed to call your name." XLVIII I let the wine glass crashing fall, I rushed across the deck, and all The sea I swept and swept again, With lifted hand, with eye and glass, But all was idle and in vain. I saw a red-billed sea bird pass, A petrel sweeping 'round and 'round, I heard the far, white sea-surf sound, But no sign could I hear or see Of one so more than all to me. XLIX I cursed the ship, the shore, the sea, The brave brown mate, the bearded men; I had a fever then, and then Ship, shore and sea were one to me: And weeks we on the dead waves lay, And I more truly dead than they. L At last some rested on an isle; The few strong-breasted, with a smile, Returning to the hostile shore, Scarce counting of the pain or cost, Scarce recking if they won or lost; They sought but action, asked no more; They counted life but as a game, With full per cent against them, and Staked all upon a single hand, And lost or won, content the same. LI I never saw my chief again, I never sought again the shore, Or saw the wood-walled city more. I could not bear the more than pain At sight of blossom'd orange trees, Or blended song of birds and bees, The sweeping shadows of the palm Or spicy breath of bay and balm. LII And, striving to forget the while, I wandered through a dreary isle, Here black with juniper, and there Made white with goats in shaggy coats, The only things that anywhere We found with life in all the land, Save birds that ran, long-bill'd and brown, Long-legg'd and still as shadows are, Like dancing shadows, up and down The sea-rim on the swelt'ring sand. LIII The warm sea laid his dimpled face, With all his white locks smoothed in place, As if asleep against the land; Great turtles slept upon his breast, As thick as eggs in any nest; I could have touched them with my hand. LIV I would some things were dead and hid, Well dead and buried deep as hell, With recollection dead as well, And resurrection God-forbid. They irk me with their weary spell Of fascination, eye to eye, And hot, mesmeric, serpent-hiss, Through all the dull, eternal days. Let them turn by, go on their ways, Let them depart or let me die; For life is but a beggar's lie, And as for death, I grin at it; I do not care one whiff or whit Whether it be or that or this. LV I give my hand; the world is wide; Then farewell, memories of yore! Between us let strife be no more; Turn as you choose to either side; Say Fare-you-well, shake hands and say -- Speak fair, and say with stately grace, Hand clutching hand, face bent to face -- Farewell, forever and a day! LVI O passion-toss'd and piteous past, Part now, part well, part wide apart, As ever ships on ocean slid Down, down the sea, hull, sail and mast; And in the album of your heart Let hide the pictures of your face, With other pictures in their place, Slid over, like a coffin's lid. LVII The days and grass grow long together; They now fell short and crisp again, And all the fair face of the main Grew dark and wrinkled as the weather. Through all the summer sun's decline Fell news of triumphs and defeats, Of hard advances, hot retreats -- Then days and days and not a line. LVIII At last one night they came. I knew, Ere yet the boat had touched the land, That all was lost; they were so few I near could count them on one hand; But he, the leader, led no more. The proud chief still disdained to fly, But like one wrecked, clung to the shore, And struggled on, and struggling fell From power to a prison cell, And only left that cell to die. LIX My recollection, like a ghost, Goes from this sea to that sea-side, Goes and returns, as turns the tide, Then turns again unto the coast. I know not which I mourn the most, My chief or my unwedded wife. The one was as the lordly sun, To joy in, bask in and admire; The twilight star was as the one To love, to look to and desire, And both a part of my young life. LX Years after, sheltered from the sun Beneath a Sacramento bay, A black Muchacho by me lay Along the long grass crisp and dun, His brown mule browsing by his side, And told with all a peon's pride How he once fought; how long and well, Brave breast to breast, red hand to hand, Against a foe for his fair land, And how the fierce invader fell; And, artless, told me how he died; How walked he from the prison-wall, Serene, prince-like, as for parade, And made no note of man or maid, But gazed out calmly over all -- How looked he far, half paused, and then Above the mottled sea of men Slow kissed his thin hand to the sun; Then smiled so proudly none had known But he was stepping to a throne. LXI A nude brown beggar Peon child, Encouraged as the captive smiled, Looked up, half scared, half pitying; He stopped, he caught it from the sand, Put bright coins in its two brown hands, Then strode on like another king. LXII Two deep, a musket's length they stood Afront, in sandals, grim and dun As death and darkness wove in one, Their thick lips thirsting for his blood. He took each black hand, one by one, And, bowing with a patient grace, Forgave them all and took his place. LXIII He bared his broad brow pleasantly, Gave one long, last look to the sky, The white-winged clouds that hurried by, The olive hills in orange hue; A last list to the cockatoo That hung by beak from mangobough Hard by and hung and cried as though He never was to call again, Hung all red-crowned and robed in green, With belts of gold and blue between. -- A bow, a touch of heart, a pall Of purple smoke, a crash, a thud, A warrior's raiment rolled in blood, A face in dust and -- that was all. Success had made him more than king; Defeat made him the vilest thing In name, contempt or hate can bring; So much the leaden dice of war Do make or mar of character. LXIV Speak ill who will of him, he died In all disgrace, say of the dead His heart was black, his hands were red -- Say this much and be satisfied; Gloat over it all undenied. I simply say he was my friend When strong of hand and fair of fame: Dead and disgraced, I stand the same To him, and so shall to the end. LXV I lay this crude wreath on his dust, Inwove with sad, sweet memories Recall'd here by these colder seas. I leave the wild bird with his trust, To sing and say him nothing wrong; I wake no rivalry of song. LXVI He lies low in the level'd sand, Unshelter'd from the tropic sun, And now, of all he knew, not one Will speak him fair in that far land. Perhaps 'twas this that made me seek, Disguised, his grave one winter-tide, A weakness for the weaker side, A siding with the helpless weak. LXVII His warm Hondurian seas are warm, Warm to the heart, warm all the time; Huge sea-beasts wallow in their slime And slide, claw foot and serpent form, Slow down the bank, and bellow deep And pitiful, as if it were A very pain to even stir, So close akin to death they keep. LXVIII The low sea bank is worn and torn, All things seem old, so very old; All things are gray with moss and mould, The very seas seem old and worn. Life scarce bides here in any form, The very winds wake not nor say, But sleep all night and sleep all day Nor even dream of stress or storm. LXIX The Carib sea comes in so slow! It stays and stays, as loath to go, A sense of death is in the air, A sense of listless, dull despair, As if Truxillo, land and tide, And all things, died when Walker died. LXX A palm not far held out a hand, Hard by a long green bamboo swung, And bent like some great bow unstrung, And quiver'd like a willow wand; Perched on its fruit that crooked hang, Beneath a broad banana's leaf, A bird in rainbow splendor sang A low, sad song of temper'd grief. LXXI No sod, no sign, no cross nor stone, But at his side a cactus green Upheld its lances long and keen; It stood in sacred sands alone, Flat-palmed and fierce with lifted spears; One bloom of crimson crowned its head, A drop of blood, so bright, so red, Yet redolent as roses' tears. LXXII In my left hand I held a shell, All rosy-lipp'd and pearly red; I laid it by his lowly bed, For he did love so passing well The grand songs of his solemn sea. O shell! sing well, wild, with a will, When storms blow loud and birds be still, The wildest sea-song known to thee! LXXIII I said some things with folded hands, Soft whisper'd in the dim sea-sound, And eyes held humbly to the ground, And frail knees sunken in the sands. He had done more than this for me, And yet I could not well do more; I turned me down the olive shore, And set a sad face to the sea. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TRAFALGAR SQUARE by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES SLEEPING BEAUTY by LOUISE VICTORINE ACKERMANN AS FROM THE PAST -- by WILLIAM ROSE BENET MOONSTRUCK by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ROSE PERENNIAL by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN KARSHISH, THE ARAB PHYSICIAN by ROBERT BROWNING THE DESERTED PASTURE by BLISS CARMAN |