Leigh Gordon Giltner

“ Upon the meads where we were wont to stray,
'Guiling with springtime hopes the winter hours,
The Spring has smiled; yon slope that late gloomed gray
And sternly sad, 'neath April's tender showers
Grows green and glad again. The rippled grass,
A soundless sea o'er which white cloud-sails pass,
Breaks at my feet in billows foamed with flowers;
And blue-eyed myrtle blooms with lashes wet
Smile to me thro' their tears. The skies are blue,
And life is sweet to-day and hope seems true;
My heart is barren of its long regret—
And yet ... ”

“ The first steel gleam of morn
Stabs deep the heart I thought had shrunk to dust,
The love I prayed might die to loveless scorn
Awakes and cries ... Ah, God, how is it just
A fault so slight such meed of pain should pay,
That one mad word in pride and anger spoken
Should leave two lives forever crushed and broken,
Should plait a scourge to lash my soul for aye? ”

“ A woman stands, proud, insolent and fair;
[Pg 55] A single gem meshed in the dusk-dyed hair
Burns like the evening star descending low
Adown the dark'ning sky. Upon the snow
Of her full-blossomed breast deep rubies lie.
Her fragrant presence breathes sweet sorcery;
The shimmering saffron satin's flexile flow
Outlines each sinuous curve; a sensuous smile,
A touch that fires to flame each pulsant vein—
One draught of eyes more deep than depths of wine
The senses steal, the soul and brain beguile
Till all seem merged in feeling ... and again
A Circe's spells transform men into swine. ”

“ To have known of all raptures, the rapture supernal, divine,
To have felt the throb of your heart on my heart and the bloom of your lips pressed to mine;
[Pg 14] To have ranked with the gods on Olympus—myths tell us immortal Jove
Cleft with his swan-wings the blue of the sky for boon of a mortal's love....
I have lived, I have loved, I have triumphed! Let Death come, or early or late!
I hurl my challenging gauntlet full in the face of Fate! ”

“ What tho' you loved me then? You went away
And left my life an arid waste of pain;
And now—your best years spent, your idols clay—
You stretch imploring arms to me again.
What tho' you love me still? What tho' you say
The current of your life toward mine is set,
As vagrant stars obey the planets' sway,
Or perfume clingeth to the violet?
What tho' I once loved you? See in yon West
Day's fires have burned to ashes cold and gray;
[Pg 91] So in my quiet heart love's wild unrest
By its own flame consumed, is dead for aye. ”

“ My soul with death?
* * * * *
"Love, my love"—these the words I read—
"The vision and dream of a life have died.
Hurt to the heart by the words you said,
[Pg 38] Angered, stung by a wounded pride,
Mad with the thought that your love was dead—
I have wedded a loveless, unloved bride—
Would I had died instead!"
My heart refuses to understand
The words that burn my brain;
Palsied, stunned by a felling blow
Struck by a cherished hand,
I am all too numb for pain;
Dead to a deathless woe,
Helpless to understand,
Shall I ever feel again?
X.
Awake, alive to pain! ”

“ A little space lies low;
The victor in life's sometime strife has yielded
To man's last Foe.
Late—all too late—our loyal tribute giving
A loyal, fearless soul!
He whom we honored late—so late—while living,
Lies dead beside the goal.
[Pg 51]
Yet this the solace of these long sad hours
While we who loved him weep,
We breathe an answering message in our flowers
To him who lies asleep.
To him whom soon the deep, cold earth must cover,
To him whose dying breath
Left to our hearts a message bridging over
The dark abyss of Death.
Hagar
To have known Heaven and then to walk in Hell! ”

“ And I drank the soul-chalice Fate's mandate upbore
To my lips, as the fire of your glance leapt to flame;
What need were of words? heart speaks heart evermore—
(And I knew that were mine but the rapture to prove you,
How deeply, how dearly one woman might love you!) ”

“ I thrill at the touch of your painted lips—for—"I am your Rosalind!"
Could you know that my art in seeming was a dearer thing than art,
That the love-words spoken nightly spring straight from a loving heart;
Could you know that my soul speaks to you—aye soul and spirit and mind! ”

“ She is narrow, selfish, cold,
Stabbing and wounding his soul each day,
Growing further and further away
From the heart it was hers to hold.
Yet not all blameless he,
A woman is quick to feel
What man would fain conceal ”

“ Thou 'front'st the Unseen Shadow, nor dost fear
To meet the Scarlet Hunter on the trail;
Pagan as Pan; to all things sylvan dear,
[Pg 19] Nature's own vagrant, buoyant, driftless, free—
All winds and woods and waters cry thee hail!
When Love Passed By
I dreamt of love in the golden glory
Of youth unshadowed by cloud or care;
Steeped in the love-lore of song and story,
I said, "My Love shall be wondrous fair."
I said, "Her hands shall be filled with flowers,
(My heart shall tell me when Love draws nigh!) ”

“ Thro' the night's long dark of despair till the dawning of ultimate day,
Till the glow of that ultimate dawn transfigure the tortured face
And the sacred fire within crumble the coarse clay clod.
[Pg 63] Till the Soul, breathed on by an unseen, unknown Grace,
Stripped of its bonds of flesh, stand face to face with its God!
To a Singer
Beneath thy Midas touch life's sullen grays
Are thrilled to sudden gold; as some far gleam
From wings of Helios athwart thy dream
Irradiates for thee earth's darksome ways.
Wild woodland voices ripple thro' thy lays ”

“ Prone in the dust lies the demon Despair, still shouting his shibboleth
To the treacherous Amazon dark-browed Fate, and her grisly comrade, Death.
To have lived! To have felt in my veins the surge of the rich, red tide of life,
The quickening stir of the strong man's heart that thrills to the sound of strife ”

“ Thro' ermined pomp and pageantry of kings,
Thro' regal mien and beauty's witcheries
The poor, weak, shrivelled soul that crouches hid
Within the body's hold! Thrice-cursed is he
Whose soul sees souls of others face to face,
Who strips the outer man like vestments off
And views the naked heart in all its shame
And poverty ”

“ What can it profit a man tho' he have the soul of a god
Sunk in the form of a beast, with a senseless simian face—
What can the world perceive of the subtler inward grace
Breathing upon the dust of the coarse clay clod? ”

“ Across the springtime meadow-lands
Goes whistling schoolward, blithe and glad;
And where the pathway breasts the hill,
I stay my steps and turn to hear
Her loving voice, as lingering still,
She calls, "Good-bye! God bless you, dear."
Dear patient face and furrowed brow,
Dear lips that smile thro' all life's pain,
Brave toil-worn hands, so weary now,
Sweet soul unmarred by earthly stain.
Within the doorway Mother stands,
The while a man oppressed with care,
[Pg 70] Across the waning Autumn lands,
Goes toil-ward, fain to strive and bear ”

“ Little you care for the woman you woo, save as a foil designed.
To prove your skill as a lover—yet—"I am your Rosalind!"
I merge in the player, the woman! The actress good at her art
Must needs look well to each glance and tone, must needs play still her part—
Tho' the woman's soul that must else be mute ”

“ Ah, silver and gold of the glad June morning—
Gold of the sunshine and silver of dew,
[Pg 33] Dew drop gems all the meads adorning—
Are love and the rose-time a theme for scorning?
Roses, roses,—dream not of rue!
Am I not loved by you? ”

“ On Youth's fair-flowered fields with blighting blast—
Then to the gods our doubts and fears be cast!
Enough of Sorrow! Joyance is our due.
Gather the roses! Spurn th' envenomed rue.
Fling to the waiting winds the pallid past.
Steep thee in mellow moods and dear desires;
Pluck Love's flame-hearted flower ere it dies;
Cull nectared kisses sweet as morning's breath,
Warm Chastity at Passion's purple fires;
Nepenthe quaff—till drained the chalice lies.
After ... the shrouded sleep, the dreamless dark of Death.
[Pg 22]
Euthumism
If in the spirit glows no spark divine ”

“ That breaks upon the farthest unknown shore—
They who have quaffed dark Asrael's mystic draught
Walk with still feet the viewless Path of Dreams
That winds thro' long, low-lying fields of Sleep
To fields Elysian or Tartarian glooms ”

“ His face in the dusk showed stern and set,
Old and haggard and worn with pain;
"Dear, I may never see you again—
Mine but the meed regret!
How can I ask you to share my shame,
How can I give you my blemished name,
Yet how shall the heart forget?
Naught in my life save a dream have I,
A dream—a vision, too fair to be,
[Pg 46] A rose that blooms 'mid the rue for me—
Naught but a dream ... Good-bye."
And then, ere he lifted his bridle rein
To ride away down the dark'ning land,
He bent and touched with his lips the hand
I had laid on the chestnut's mane.
XVII.
Something ... ”