Part 8

I dreamed your face, one night, when Heaven seemed resting, Against the troubled fever of the earth; I dreamed that vivid throated birds were nesting, In trees that shook with elfin-hearted mirth. I dreamed that star-like purple flowers were springing A-throb with perfume all about the place, And that there was a far-off sound of singing-- And then--I dreamed your face!

I dreamed your face, and then I waked from dreaming, (The creeping dawn seemed very cold and bare!) The rising sun seemed pallid in its beaming, Because its coming did not find you there! And I--I rose despondent in the morning, As one whose burning thirst has not been slaked; I dreamed your face, a wonder world adorning, And then--I waked.

And so I went upon a quest to find you, A quest that led through many bitter years; I journeyed far with strands of love to bind you, And found, not you, but bitterness and tears-- So I returned, discouraged, through the gloaming, My shoulders bowed with weariness unguessed; I came back, unsuccessful, from my roaming-- My sorry quest!

I had a bit of garden that I tended, It helped me dream, again, my dream of you-- It was a joyous place of colors blended-- A place where pansies and Sweet William grew. And one bright day I hummed as I was planting A border row of flowers slim and fair, And raised my eyes to see pale sunlight slanting Across your hair!

ANSWER

I am myself--you cannot take my dreams And pull the filmy stuff of them apart! I am myself--and life IS what it seems. I am myself, and love is in my heart! You cannot make me think by fast set rule, You cannot laugh beliefs like mine away, Experience MAY be a bitter school, And yet.... The golden sun shines every day, And stars at night lend magic to the sky, And all the world is vividly a-glow, You cannot make me pause to question why For we who dare to dream have learned to know!

THE WORLD IS RIGHT! There is a friendly One Who smiles when we have tried to do our part-- I will not flinch, my journey's just begun.... I AM MYSELF--YOU CANNOT BREAK MY HEART!

A BABY'S HANDS

God made the rivers, the hills, and the seas, God made the flowers, the grass, and the trees; God made the clouds, and the waves, silver-crested, Then God made the hands of a baby--and rested!

How did He make them? Well, nobody knows-- Some say He dreamed of the bud of a rose, And that He woke as the dawn swept away Night in the dancing pink promise of day.

Maybe He thought of the light of a star, (That's why He made them as soft as they are!) Maybe He watched while a new butterfly, Light as a sunbeam, went fluttering by.

Maybe He walked in a garden, dew-kissed, That's why He made them as frail as the mist-- Then as He leaned from His heaven above, God made them strong as His greatest gift--LOVE!

God made the mountains--we wonder at these-- God made the splendor of sunsets and trees; God made vast mines where a world's wealth is piled, Then God made the hands of a baby--and smiled!

ALL ALONG THE BROAD HIGHWAY

All along the broad highway the little dreams were growing, White as hope, and red as life, and bluer than the sea-- All along the broad highway I felt their petals blowing, Like a storm of fragrant snow across the lips of me! So I danced with joyous heart, and bent above them singing. So I skipped along the road and smiled into the skies; ALL ALONG THE BROAD HIGHWAY THE LITTLE DREAMS WERE SPRINGING, FRAGRANT AS THE DEW OF STARS AND GLAD AS BUTTERFLIES!

All along the broad highway I danced and sang unheeding, Till One came with haughty step and traveled by my side; Traveled first beside my path then, suddenly, was leading-- One who drew me after him and murmured, "I AM PRIDE!" All along the broad highway I hurried, ever faster, Faster through the purple dust that blinded like a mist, Blinded me until I felt that only Pride was master, (And I saw the little dreams through clouds of amethyst!)

All along the broad highway I toiled, no longer glancing Anywhere but straight ahead... I had no heart to sing-- All along the broad highway, my feet no longer dancing; Followed I the steps of Pride, and felt the thick dust sting In the tired eyes of me... the eyes too sad for weeping! Still I struggled--struggled on until quite suddenly-- All the strength that kept me up seemed drowsy, almost sleeping-- And I paused with drooping head and lo, Pride went from me!

All along the broad highway the silent dusk was stealing, Quite alone I stood and stared about me in the gloom; And the voice of me was still, and my heart was kneeling Like a weary pilgrim soul in an attic room. And I stretched my empty hands to where the ghostly lighting, Showed a crumpled mist of blue, a heap of white and red-- There along the broad highway like armies after fighting, All the gallant little dreams were lying gaunt and dead!

MY MOTHER

My mother's kinder chubby--she's fat, th' fellers say-- My mother's kinder chubby, but I like her that a-way! 'Cause she's awful sorter jolly, an' she makes th' bestest pies, An' she laughs when I'm a-jokin' 'till th' tears are in her eyes. An' she pats me on th' shoulder when I'm feelin' sad an' blue, An' whispers, "Little feller, yer mother's proud o' you!"

She don't wear silks 'at rustle, like Tommie's mother does, But I like her gingham better 'cause it's--well, just 'cause it's hers! An' she don't look young an' girl-like, an' her hands are sorter red, But, my, they're awful gentle when she tucks you inter bed.... She hasn't got a di'mond like th' lady crost th' street, But she's got two great big dimples, an' her smile is mighty sweet!

My mother's sorter chubby--but say, her step is light-- She's never cross 'r tired--not even when it's night! An' her shoulders JUST as comfy when yer heart is feelin' sore, When you wish you was a baby--an' not a boy no more-- Oh, her arms are cushion tender at th' twilight time o' day, Yes--my mother's sorter chubby--But I like her that a-way!

HEREDITY

You told me, last night, In a strange and sudden burst of confidence; That a New England ancestor of yours, Had burned witches-- And at last I knew....

Why your eyes are always so grim, And why your mouth is cut, In a straight line, And why you can never see beauty and mirth In the sweep of wind over a wheat field, Or in the sunlight on a baby's hair. At last I knew Why you can never see romance In the long gypsie trail, Or magic, In the still purple woods.

I knew why life, To you, Was something to be struggled with, Not a glorious adventure; And why death was the end of things, And not the beginning. And I knew at last, Why you could never understand, That tears may cover laughter, And that laughter may be a veil For tears.

You told me, last night, That an ancestor of yours, Had burned witches, And, oh, as I sat in the candlelight, Watching you, I couldn't help wishing, That somewhere behind you, in the shadows,

There was another ancestor-- A gay cavalier ancestor-- Who rode hard, And fought with his sword, And wore his hat, rakishly, On the back of his head, And knew--love.