Margaret E. Sangster

“ You who are dream of my dreams, and a part of me— Sleep with your head lying warm on my breast. Dear, there's a land that is filled with red flowers, Poppies, they call them, that sway in the breeze; Sometimes their petals, in soft scarlet showers, Fall in warm drifts that are high as your knees.... Dear, in your dreams you will laugh as you roll through them, Waving your arms in an effort to creep; Gently they nod as the wind sings its soul through them, Sleep, little tired eyes, sleep.... Dear, in this land there's a sky like a feather, Blue in some places, or white as a star ”

“ L'ENVOI Only we two, dear... and the candlelight, Seems to be softer than it was before, Country and city, vivid dream lands, war— Dear, they are very far from us to-night! Woven of promise from life's golden loom, Pale threads of light have bound us heart to heart; Laughter and sorrow—they are things apart— ALL OF OUR WORLD IS IN THIS LITTLE ROOM. Outside the branches sway, and winter weather Sweeps, with a cry of triumph, through the land Dear, it is springtime, when you touch my hand— Only we two, and magic, here together! ”

“ SUMMER SONG If I might go with my True Love, To some far, dream-swept land, I'd be content to sit all day Upon the silver sand, And watch the sea come creeping in, The sighing, singing sea— If I might go to some far land, And take True Love with me! If I could go with my True Love, To some far, lonely place; The world might well be lost, and I Could look upon Love's face. And wealth would seem a little thing, While happiness might be— If I could go to some far land, And take True Love with me. Ah, Love would smile, and ruffle up, The hair above my brow ”

“ Afraid because a weary stretch of days, Each one a million years, between us lies. My heart—my heart is ever yours to hold, And yet, while I have waited here for you, You have seen faith betrayed, and brave youth sold, You have seen meadows drenched in bloody dew— It may have changed you, and your eyes may be A little harder when they look at me! IV. DREAM Sometimes I dream that you are back with me, And that with hands together clasped we go Like little children, young and glad and free, A-down a magic road we used to know. ”

“ The foreign women pass him by, their tarnished coins held tight, They toss their heads and will not hear his music's wistful hum— But through each alley way and street, like moths that seek the light, With eager eyes and laughing lips the little chil- dren come. He plays his ancient, shaky song, his mouth moves to its sway, He does not know the tune of it is old and out of key; For, through his eyes, a soul stares out that wanders far away, In some fair land of youth and love—some land that used to be. ”

“ And a growling gun when the fight was won, and the twilight flickered gray, I have seen men die with their chins raised high, and a curse that was half a prayer— I have fought alone when a comrade's groan was tense on the blinding air. I have tramped a road when a burning load was strapped to my aching back, Through miles of mud that was streaked with blood, when my closing eyes turned back— I have cried aloud to a heedless crowd of a God that they could not know, And have knelt at night when the way was bright with a rocket's sullen glow. ”

“ For somewhere, dear, there's a magic land On the shores of a silver sea; And there is a boat with turquoise sails— With sails that are wide and free; A boat that is whirling through the spray, That is coming for you and me! Somewhere, dear, there's a singing breeze That creeps through the laughing air To the wide-flung boughs of a blue-black tree— It touches your joyous hair; And the touch of it is as soft and light As a baby's lisping prayer. Somewhere, dear, there's a bit of beach Where the sand is warm and white; Where the sky seems close and the drifting clouds Are tenderly, warmly bright. ”

“ Roads stretch like arms across the world outside, Roads reach to strife, to happiness, to fame— Here, in the candlelight, I speak your name, Here we are at life's cross way, side by side! OH, THERE ARE BROOKS THERE, AND FIELDS THERE AND NOOKS THERE— NOOKS WHERE A SEEKER MAY FIND FOREST FLOWERS; BLUE IS THE SKY THERE, AND SOFT WINDS CREEP BY THERE, SINGING A SONG THROUGH THE LONG SUMMER HOURS.
WOOD MAGIC The woods lay dreaming in a topaz dream, And we, who silently roamed hand in hand, Were pilgrims in a strange, enchanted land, Where life was love, and love was all a-gleam. ”

“ A love like mine is surely strong to go The little way from earth to where you wait me, Although it be beyond the stars' faint glow. I want you dear; my tired heart is calling; My eyes are searching, though they may not see; I wonder if you're lonely, there in heaven, For all the golden dreams that used to be.
THE SACRIFICE I started out in a cloak of pride, With talent, too, that I did not hide; I started out on Life's stony road, Ambition's weight was my only load, And the way seemed fair in the dawn's first glow, And I hurried—ran—FOR I DID NOT KNOW! ”

“ For we heard a song in the driving rain, And the sky seemed warmly gray; And the tempest rang with a mad refrain, And the world seemed years away. . . . . . . . . . We have wandered far from the road of dreams, We have crept from the house of love; And the scorching sun of the noonday gleams From the pitiless sky above. But once, ah, once—in that dusky place, When the lightning flashed through the air, I saw its flame on your upturned face, And its glow on your vivid hair. We have strayed away—we have strayed away— For the world is all too wide.... ”

“ And, dreaming there, I saw it when sunset's golden rays Had touched it with the glory of other, sweeter days. They say the house is haunted, and—well, it is, I guess, For every empty window just aches with loneliness; With loneliness that tortures and memory that flays; Ah, yes, the house is haunted with ghosts of other days. The ghost of childish laughter rings on the narrow stair, And, from a silent corner, the murmur of a prayer Steals out, and then a love song, and then a bugle call, And steps that do not falter along the quiet hall. ”

“ A PRAYER ON EASTER FOR OUR BOYS KILLED IN ACTION Dear God, they will not come again, those lads of ours, Who went to fight with honor's foe across the sea— Who died with eyes set straight ahead, amid the showers Of shrapnel, as they cleared a path to victory, They will not come again... And it is Easter weather, And all the world is waking to the call of life, But they lie sleeping, Over There, our lads, together, Who died before their hearts could know the end of strife. ”

“ Think of all the little joys that a hard world misses- What though bitter loneliness always follows after? Gangster with the shifty eyes, listen to the sighing Of the hymn tune that you heard at your mother's knee; Listen to the restless ghost of the used-to-be, Listen to a wistful ghost's empty-hearted crying. (Tenements on either side—menacing they stand— Light-flecked in the softness of the late spring weather.... But young love and broken life are standing close together, And all a city slum is out to listen to the band.) ”

“ I know that Love will wait beside the way And smile at me. The tender skies above Will be alight with all the joy of spring, And flowers will life their heads above the earth, And some far bird will stay its flight and sing, And fill the land with silver throated mirth. I know that Love, at last, with smiling eyes, Will pause beside my half-swung cottage door, And I will lift my gaze, without surprise, To see his shadow dance across the floor. I know that Love will come to me, some day, When springtime blossoms, shyly, into May! ”

“ TWO LULLABYS I. To A DREAM BABY Oh, little child whose face I cannot see, I feel your presence very near tonight, I feel the warmth of you creep close to me... The grey moths drift across the candlelight, And tiny shadows sway across the floor, Like wistful elves who do a fairy dance; The wind is tapping softly at the door, And rain is beating, like a silver lance, Against the tightly curtained window pane. Oh, little child whose face I cannot see, The loneliness, the twilight, and the rain, Have brought your dearness very close to me. ”

“ A blind man stumbles, groping past; He cannot see their scarlet shine; And yet some memory seems to twine About his soul. For, oh, he turns As trusting as a child who yearns For some vague dream, and smilingly He lifts the eyes that cannot see.... A blind man stumbles, groping past. The window box across the street Is filled with scarlet flowers; They tell a secret, tender, sweet, Through all the dreary hours. And folk who hurry on their way Dream of some other brighter day.... ”

“ It's lots of fun to live my life, Beneath the sky; To have no one who owns the right To question "Why"? It's lots of fun to come and go, Through storm and strife, With no one by my side who hopes To mould my life. (But sometimes at the twilight time, When night birds cry; I dream, perhaps, that something fair Has passed me by!) ”

“ THE WRITING Sometimes a mist of sunlight across a stranger's hair, Sometimes the vague expression upon a stranger's face, Can make me feel your presence—can fill a lonely place With dreams of life half realized. Faint music through the air Can make me hear your foot-fall, again, upon the stair— Sometimes a dancer moving with quite unconscious grace, Can make my pulse beat faster; and for a breathless space Can make me turn, expecting to find you standing there! You have not gone! The passing of every empty day Has only brought you nearer. ”

“ And, oh, I wonder if you knew when I had paused beside you To pat you, porcelain puppy dog, that I could understand?
COLORS I love color. I love flaming reds, And vivid greens, And royal flaunting purples. I love the startled rose of the sun at dawning, And the blazing orange of it at twilight. I love color. I love the drowsy blue of the fringed gentian, And the yellow of the goldenrod, And the rich russet of the leaves That turn at autumn-time.... I love rainbows, And prisms, And the tinsel glitter Of every shop-window. I love color. ”

“ Often, when I cry At some vague beauty that has caught my eye, You laugh! You cannot dream the dreams I find, In forest places where dim pathways wind Up to the Heaven-land so far and high. I know that I should never learn to care, And yet, sometimes the blueness of your eyes Can make me half forget the smiling skies.... And, when I see the sunlight on your hair, I do not stop to reason, dear, for oh— My heart throbs faster, and I know—I know! ”

“ FROM PARIS TO CHATEAU THIERRY The road winds out its weary way, Where fields are torn with sorrow; It is a road of yesterday, That dreams no fair tomorrow. It is silent, saddened road, A lonely road to follow; For in its dust red rivers flowed, And now, from every hollow, The crows rise up in sullen flight The crows that, blackly flying Against the skyline, speak of night, And bitterness, and dying. It is a road that creeps around Farmhouses that lie broken ”

“ Hours pass Like beads of amber that are strung Upon a rainbow, frail and young. Through mellow glass, on hallowed walls, The twilight, like faint music, falls; And in each corner, cool and dim, The music is a splendid hymn. And, arch on arch, the ceilings high Seem like a hand stretched toward the sky To touch a Hand that clasped a Cross— FOR FRANCE, NEW-RISEN FROM THE LOSS, AND PAIN AND FEAR OF BATTLE-HELL, KNOWS PEACE, AT LEAST, AND ALL IS WELL! ”

“ A little wiser, maybe, but unchanged In all the vital things—let them today Take up the lives that war has disarranged. Let them renew the youth they laid aside To fight their battles in the world of men, God, bring to life their little dreams that died, And build their altars new again, and then— Give them the vivid youth that they have sought for Through bloody mists on bloody fields of strife ”

“ Bringing its wistful gladness to an earth That has been stabbed with sorrow's bitter lance; Bringing again the hint of old romance, Bringing again the magic of re-birth; Paying again the price that youth was worth— OVER DIM WAYSIDE MOUNDS THE GRASSES DANCE! Where there were shell holes summer sends, un- heeding, Blossoms to deck the broken country side; Where, in another season, heroes, bleeding, Fell for the cause of righteousness, and died, Green creeper twines its vivid arms, half-pleading, But there are scars that summer cannot hide! ”

“ And light as the wind that sways in the wheat, or the dust on the broad highway, They march to their rendezvous with the ones who died in the yesterday.
SHADOWS You come to me at twilight, when the others, Are laughing in the fullness of their joy; When glad-eyed women folk, when wives and mothers, Are welcoming some other bronze-cheeked boy. You come to me, all silent, in the gloaming, A shadow form, with curly shadow hair— And, dear, I somehow feel that you are roaming Between two shadow worlds—the Here and There. ”

“ RETURN Now that the tumult of the war is over, The fairy folk are coming back to France; They push their way through tangled grass and clover, To find the ring where once they used to dance. They come half-wistfully, the little people, Through broken town, and battered market place, They come past shell-torn church with shattered steeple, They come as smiles come to a tear-stained face. They come with packs of dreams, with love and laughter, They come with songs rolled snugly up in sacks ”

“ Or will the city's misery Mould the song in a tragic key— Making its sweetest, faintest breath Thrill with sorrow, and throb with death? Maker of music—who can know Where the work of his hand shall go? Maybe its slightest phrase will bring, Comfort to ease the suffering— Maybe his dreams will have their part Buried deep in the music's heart.... Out of a chain of dreary days, Joy may come as some master plays! ”

“ II. I WONDER I wonder if you dream, across the night, When watchfires cut the vivid dark in twain, Of long dim rooms, and yellow candlelight, And gardens drenched in vaguely perfumed rain? I wonder if you think, when shot and shell And molten fire are singing songs of hate, Of that last throbbing moment of farewell When, in your arms, I promised you to wait! I wonder, should grim death reach out his hand, And speak, above the strife, of peace and rest ”