Margaret Widdemer

“ LIFE TELLS THE DREAMER
THESE others ask me little, clamoring
For such imperfect gifts as I can bring;
A crown . . . with thorns along it . . . or much gold
To weigh the heart down with its dragging hold . . .
Or men's loud voices calling on their name,
A little day, then hurt and scorn– called Fame–
Or for one fleeting hour a world made new
Called Love . . . But, Child, these gifts are not for you.
Too clear of sight, you ask things past my hold;
A light beyond the sunlight . . . Fairy-gold . . .
Love ageless and unflawed . . . Faith crystal-true . . . ”

“ When the world is hard now, when the city's clanging
Tires my ears and tires my heart and dust lies everywhere,
I can dream the peace still of the soft wind's shining,
I can be a child still and hide my heart from care.
Lord, if still that garden blossoms in the sunlight,
Grant that children laugh there now among its green and gold,
Grant that little hearts still hide its memoried sweetness,
Locking one bright dream away for light when they are old! ”

“ Laps round the changeless towers eternally.
It stands far off above a circling mist. . . .
Have ye not seen our eyes that seek its light,
Felt the quick sigh between our lips late-kissed,
Felt our loosed arms yearn toward it in the night?
Gold Helen found it not, nor white Deirdré:
There is no woman, howso loved, can tell
Of those white changeless dream-towers seen by day,
Of that flame calyxed, perfect citadel:
We shall not ever know its perfect joy,
Yet we shall seek it till our years are gone . . .
Eternal Love whose fires shall not destroy
Eternal Beauty that it beats upon. ”

“ THE people up and down the world that talk and laugh and cry,
They're pleasant when you're young and gay, and life is all to try,
But when your heart is tired and dumb, your soul has need of ease,
There's none like the quiet folk who wait in libraries–
The counselors who never change, the friends who never go,
The old books, the dear books that understand and know! ”

“ All life's real, rugged things, too sharp for joys,
And– for she looked at Him still unafraid–
He laid within her hands instead these toys.
Oh, on the gentle day when she goes hence
I hope that for her gay obedience
He has reward for her: that when she dies
He will not send her straight to Paradise.
She knows enough of Paradisal mirth–
Oh, surely He will give her back the earth,
And all its living that He made her miss,
Locked close to life by its most burning kiss,
Clutching decisions, terror-haunted breath,
Great grief, great raptures, passion, birth and death. ”

“ OURS was a quiet town, a still town, a sober town,
Softly curled the yellow roads that slept in the sun,
Staid came the day up and staid came the night down
And staidly went we sleepwise when the day's work was done!
Oh, they came dancing down, the gay ones, the bonny ones,
We had never seen the like, sweet and wild and glad,
Down the long roads they came, fluting and dancing,
Flowers in each lass's hair and plumes on each lad! ”

“ Where young Today goes to and fro . . .
But all she sees was past a change
A changeless fifty years ago.
THE GRAY MASK
I wish I could not see her heart
That is so passionate, so young,
For all love-words are said for her,
All love-songs sung:
Over light griefs her eyes grow wet,
Over gay silks her eyes grow gay,
She sighs, half-hopeful . . . "I forget
My hair is gray–"
"I dreamed a lover came for me
And courted me," she tells, "last night . . ." ”

“ Lord, let the pain life must bring to them
Make them strong,
Keep their hearts white though grief cling to them
All life long,
Let all the joys Thou dost keep from them
At Thy will
Give to them power to reap from them
Courage still! ”

“ That Youth is hard, and Life is hard,
And quiet is December.
A LOST COMRADE
YOU live as the world would have you do–
Only the sleeping soul of you
Lies unwakened by wind or dew.
Your soul, that thrilled like a harpstring shaken
Dusty hands of the world have taken
And thrust it deeper than life can waken ”

“ All of the flowers were bleeding-hearts
Scarlet with hopes and fears,
All of the vines were hands that clung
Twisting about my heart . . .
Oh, the thorns of the Singing Wood
Sharp they can tear and smart! ”

“ The people close behind you, all their hearts are dumb and young,
The kindest word they try to say it stumbles on the tongue,
Their hearts are only questing hearts, and though they strive and try,
Their softest touch may hurt you sore, their best word make you cry. ”

“ Who drift along with sunset-colored robes outblowing,
Of all need unknowing."
And then . . . the sun shone cloudless, and the wind blew fleet
Down the long swift street
And through the windowed canyon's end the sky's sweet blue
Shone unwearied through,
And I said, "But I must stay, for see, my brother's faces
Here in God's own places!"
PEOPLE
(For Jessie Rittenhouse)
I AM so sorry for them all
Whose ceaseless footsteps rise and fall
Along earth's highways endlessly,
The people in the world with me;
Who have had dreams, and yet must take
The gifts life has for men awake ”

“ Oh, Mars may burn to dusk and Venus may rise from shadow
And even the Moon that hated me forget as she lifts the tide,
Yet what if they gleam or fade, and what if they stay or wander? . . .
Alas, my wandering Gypsy Star that faded and flamed and died!
THE FAUN'S SWEETHEART
WE met by the Wood of Doom,
Day gone and the dusk come after . . . ”

“ He who sent (If He sent) all those hearts aflame?
Would He know the straggling hand, all in print and bent
Up and down on the folds of the one you sent?
* * * * * *
We're too old to buy them now– all the loves and laces,
We can only watch above other little faces.
Glowing at the prettiest, laughing at the plain,
Still the eager faces crowd by the lighted pane.
Once we too saw wonderlights glinting on the snow,
Once we too bought valentines– too long, too long ago!
WHEN I WAS A YOUNG GIRL
(A Song of Old Ballads) ”