And he saved their souls from hell.
Bowed with years and pain he came back again
To his father's
dwelling place.
There was none to see who this tramp might be,
For they knew not his bearded face.
But his father said, "Give him drink and bread
And a couch
underneath the stair."
So Alexis crept to his hole and slept.
But he might not
linger there.
For when night came down on the seven-hilled town,
And the
emperorhurried in,
Saying, "Lo, I hear that a saint is near
Who will
cleanse us of our sin,"
Then they looked in vain where the saint had lain,
For his soul had fled afar,
From his fleshly home he had gone to roam
Where the gold-paved highways are.
We who beg for bread as we daily tread
Country lane and city street,
Let us kneel and pray on the broad highway
To the saint with the
vagrant feet.
Our altar light is a buttercup bright,
And our
shrine is a bank of sod,
But still we share St. Alexis' care,
The Vagabond of God!
Folly
(For A. K. K.)
What distant mountains
thrill and glow
Beneath our Lady Folly's tread?
Why has she left us, wise in woe,
Shrewd, practical, uncomforted?
We cannot love or dream or sing,
We are too
cynical to pray,
There is no joy in anything
Since Lady Folly went away.
Many a
knight and gentle maid,
Whose glory shines from years gone by,
Through
ignorance was unafraid
And as a fool knew how to die.
Saint Folly rode beside Jehanne
And broke the ranks of Hell with her,
And Folly's smile shone
brightly on
Christ's
plaything, Brother Juniper.
Our minds are troubled and defiled
By study in a weary school.
O for the folly of the child!
The ready courage of the fool!
Lord, crush our knowledge utterly
And make us
humble, simple men;
And
cleansed of
wisdom, let us see
Our Lady Folly's face again.
Madness
(For Sara Teasdale)
The
lonely farm, the
crowded street,
The palace and the slum,
Give
welcome to my silent feet
As,
bearing gifts, I come.
Last night a
beggar crouched alone,
A
raggedhelpless thing;
I set him on a moonbeam
throne --
Today he is a king.
Last night a king in orb and crown
Held court with splendid cheer;
Today he tears his
purple gown
And moans and shrieks in fear.
Not iron bars, nor flashing spears,
Not land, nor sky, nor sea,
Nor love's
artillery of tears
Can keep mine own from me.
Serene, unchanging, ever fair,
I smile with secret mirth
And in a net of mine own hair
I swing the
captive earth.
Poets
Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells
That the wind sways above a ruined
shrine.
Vainer his voice in whom no longer dwells
Hunger that craves
immortal Bread and Wine.
Light songs we
breathe that
perish with our
breathOut of our lips that have not kissed the rod.
They shall not live who have not tasted death.
They only sing who are struck dumb by God.
Citizen of the World
No longer of Him be it said
"He hath no place to lay His head."
In every land a
constant lamp
Flames by His small and
mighty camp.
There is no strange and distant place
That is not gladdened by His face.
And every nation kneels to hail
The Splendour shining through Its veil.
Cloistered beside the shouting street,
Silent, He calls me to His feet.
Imprisoned for His love of me
He makes my spirit greatly free.
And through my lips that uttered sin
The King of Glory enters in.
To a Blackbird and His Mate Who Died in the Spring
(For Kenton)
An iron hand has stilled the throats
That throbbed with loud and rhythmic glee
And dammed the flood of silver notes
That drenched the world in melody.
The blosmy apple boughs are yearning
For their wild choristers' returning,
But no swift wings flash through the tree.
Ye that were glad and fleet and strong,
Shall Silence take you in her net?
And shall Death quell that
radiant song
Whose echo
thrills the
meadow yet?
Burst the frail web about you clinging
And charm Death's cruel heart with singing
Till with strange tears his eyes are wet.
The scented morning of the year
Is old and stale now ye are gone.
No friendly songs the children hear
Among the bushes on the lawn.
When babies
wander out a-Maying
Will ye, their bards, afar be straying?
Unhymned by you, what is the dawn?
Nay, since ye loved ye cannot die.
Above the stars is set your nest.
Through Heaven's fields ye sing and fly
And in the trees of Heaven rest.
And little children in their dreaming
Shall see your soft black
plumage gleaming
And smile, by your clear music blest.
The Fourth Shepherd
(For Thomas Walsh)
I
On nights like this the huddled sheep
Are like white clouds upon the grass,
And merry herdsmen guard their sleep
And chat and watch the big stars pass.
It is a pleasant thing to lie
Upon the
meadow on the hill
With kindly
fellowship near by
Of sheep and men of gentle will.
I lean upon my broken crook
And dream of sheep and grass and men --
O
shameful eyes that cannot look
On any honest thing again!
On
bloody feet I clambered down
And fled the wages of my sin,
I am the leavings of the town,
And meanly serve its meanest inn.
I tramp the
courtyard stones in grief,
While sleep takes man and beast to her.
And every cloud is
calling "Thief!"
And every star calls "Murderer!"
II
The hand of God is sure and strong,
Nor shall a man forever flee
The bitter
punishment of wrong.
The wrath of God is over me!
With ashen bread and wine of tears
Shall I be solaced in my pain.
I wear through black and endless years
Upon my brow the mark of Cain.
III
Poor
vagabond, so old and mild,
Will they not keep him for a night?
And She, a woman great with child,
So frail and
pitiful and white.
Good people, since the
tavern door
Is shut to you, come here instead.
See, I have
cleansed my
stable floor
And piled fresh hay to make a bed.
Here is some milk and oaten cake.
Lie down and sleep and rest you fair,
Nor fear, O simple folk, to take
The
bounty of a child of care.
IV
On nights like this the huddled sheep --
I never saw a night so fair.
How huge the sky is, and how deep!
And how the planets flash and glare!
At dawn beside my
drowsy flock
What
winged music I have heard!
But now the clouds with singing rock
As if the sky were turning bird.
O blinding Light, O blinding Light!
Burn through my heart with sweetest pain.
O
flaming Song, most loudly bright,
Consume away my
deadly stain!
V
The
stable glows against the sky,
And who are these that
throng the way?
My three old comrades
hasten by
And shining angels kneel and pray.
The door swings wide -- I cannot go --
I must and yet I dare not see.
Lord, who am I that I should know --
Lord, God, be
merciful to me!
VI
O Whiteness, whiter than the fleece
Of new-washed sheep on April sod!
O Breath of Life, O Prince of Peace,
O Lamb of God, O Lamb of God!
Easter
The air is like a
butterfly