Bliss Carman (William)

Shipmate, leave the ghostly shadows, Where thy boon companions throng! We will put to sea together

Cool! cool! cool! Cool and sweet The feel of the moss at my feet!

Give me your last Aloha, When I go out of sight, Over the dark rim of the sea

For love of the roving foot And joy of the roving eye, God send you store of morrows fair

Hills where once my love and I Let the hours go laughing by! All your woods and dales are sad,--

The swarthy bee is a buccaneer, A burly velveted rover, Who loves the booming wind in his ear

Snowdrift of the mountains, Spindrift of the sea, We who down the border

I was born for deep-sea faring; I was bred to put to sea; Stories of my father's daring

"Cras ingens iterabimus aequor." Wind of the dead men's feet, Blow down the empty street

"Lose and love" is love's first art; So it was with thee and me, For I first beheld thy heart

Dame of the night of hair Like blue smoke blown! World yet undreamed-of there

Give a rouse, then, in the Maytime For a life that knows no fear! Turn night-time into daytime

Here's a health to thee, Roberts, And here's a health to me; And here's to all the pretty girls

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood-- Touch of manner, hint of mood; And my heart is like a rhyme,

Do you know what it is to be vagrant born? A waif is only a waif. And so, For another idle hour I sit,

That painter has not with a careless smutch Accomplished his despair?--one touch revealing All he had put of life, thought, vigor, feeling,

Here's to you, Arthur! You and I Have seen a lot of stormy weather, Since first we clinked cups on the sly

Today, through your Easter market In the lazy Southern sun, I strolled with hands in pockets

There's a schooner out from Kingsport, Through the morning's dazzle-gleam, Snoring down the Bay of Fundy

About the time of Michael's feast And all his angels, There comes a word to man and beast

As a brave man faces the foe, Alone against hundreds, and sees Death grin in his teeth, But, shutting his lips, fights on to the end

There is no escape by the river, There is no flight left by the fen; We are compassed about by the shiver

There paused to shut the door A fellow called the Wind. With mystery before,

You hearken, fellows? Turned aside Into the road-house of the past! The prince of vagabonds is gone

Barney McGee, there's no end of good luck in you, Will-o'-the-wisp, with a flicker of Puck in you, Wild as a bull-pup and all of his pluck in you,--

I like the old house tolerably well, Where I must dwell Like a familiar gnome;

Softly, softly, Niccolo Amati! What can put such fancies in your head? There, go dream of your blue-skied Cremona,

Buie Annajohn was the king's black mare, Buie, Buie, Buie Annajohn! Satin was her coat and silk was her hair,

Comrades, pour the wine to-night For the parting is with dawn! Oh, the clink of cups together,

When Kavin comes back from the barber, Although he no longer is young, One cheek is as soft as his heart,

"A barbered woman's man,"--yes, so He seemed to me a twelvemonth since; And so he may be--let it go--

Over the shoulders and slopes of the dune I saw the white daisies go down to the sea, A host in the sunshine, an army in June,

When the bugler morn shall wind his horn, And we wake to the wild to be, Shall we open our eyes on the selfsame skies

They that eat the uncrushed grape Walk with steady heels: Lo, now, how they stare and gape

I. Floating! Floating--and all the stillness waits

April. You hearken, my fellow, Old slumberer down in my heart? There's a whooping of ice in the rivers;

The fervid breath of our flushed Southern May Is sweet upon the city's throat and lips, As a lover's whose tired arm slips

"Hospes comesque corporis, Quae nunc abitis in loca?" Cease, Wind, to blow

"Cornel, cornel, green and white, Spreading on the forest floor, Whither went my lost delight

Hack and Hew were the sons of God In the earlier earth than now; One at his right hand, one at his left,

Hem and Haw were the sons of sin, Created to shally and shirk; Hem lay 'round and Haw looked on

Oh, who would stay indoor, indoor, When the horn is on the hill? (Bugle: Tarantara! With the crisp air stinging, and the huntsmen singing,

Browning, old fellow, Your leaves grow yellow, Beginning to mellow

Thought is a garden wide and old For airy creatures to explore, Where grow the great fantastic flowers

Heart to heart! And the stillness of night and the moonlight, like hushed breathing Silently, stealthily moving across thy hair!

Oh, but life went gayly, gayly, In the house of Idiedaily! There were always throats to sing

Once I met a soncy maid, Soncy maid, soncy maid, Once I met a soncy maid

The play is Life; and this round earth, The narrow stage whereon We act before an audience

Once in the Workshop, ages ago, The clay was wet and the fire was low. And He who was bent on fashioning man

In her body's perfect sweet Suppleness and languor meet,-- Arms that move like lapsing billows,

What is the stir in the street? Hurry of feet! And after,

The scent of honeysuckle, Drugging the twilight With its sweet opiate of lovers' dreams!

Good-morning, Karlene. It's a very Fine beautiful world we are in. Well, you do look as ripe as a berry;

Word of a little one born in the West,-- How like a sea-bird it comes from the sea, Out of the league-weary waters' unrest

It is not anything he says, It's just his presence and his smile, The blarney of his silences

Kilrudden ford, Kilrudden dale, Kilrudden fronting every gale On the lorn coast of Inishfree,

Weary, oh, so weary With it all! Sunny days or dreary--

Who'll have the crumpled pieces of a heart? Let him take mine! Who'll give his whole of passion for a part,

There are legends of Lost Haven, Come, I know not whence, to me, When the wind is in the clover,

Eric of Marka holds the knife: "A nameless death for a nameless life."-- "Mary of Marka, bid him stay,

O Moon, Mr. Moon, When you comin' down? Down on the hilltop,

The ghost of a wind came over the hill, While day for a moment forgot to die, And stirred the sheaves

I dreamed of Sappho on a summer night. Her nightingales were singing in the trees Beside the castled river; and the wind

The blue night, like an angel, came into the room,-- Came through the open window from the silent sky Down trellised stairs of moonlight into the dear room

Noons of poppy, noons of poppy, Scarlet leagues along the sea; Flaxen hair afloat in sunlight,

A lonely sail in the vast sea-room, I have put out for the port of gloom. The voyage is far on the trackless tide,

He said, "Good-night, my heart is light, To-morrow morn at day We two together in the dew

Dear Lilac, how enchanting To hear of you this way! The Man who comes a-mouching

When I am only fit to go to bed, Or hobble out to sit within the sun, Ring down the curtain, say the play is done,

Three secrets that never were said: The stir of the sap in the spring, The desire of a man to a maid,

This is not sadness in the wood; The yellowbird Flits joying through the solitude,

The body is no prison where we lie Shut out from our true heritage of sun; It is the wings wherewith the soul may fly.

The words that pass from lip to lip For souls still out of reach! A friend for that companionship

Make me over, mother April, When the sap begins to stir! When thy flowery hand delivers

I saw him go down to the water to bathe; He stood naked upon the bank. His breast was like a white cloud in the heaven,

Oh, not for us the easy mirth Of men that never roam! The crackling of the narrow hearth,

Love built a crimson house, I know it well, That he might have a home

This laboring vast, Tellurian Galleon, Riding at anchor off the orient sun, Had broken its cable, and stood out to space.

"Dustman, dustman!" Through the deserted square he cries, And babies put their rosy fists

The sunburnt face in the willow shade To the face in the water-mirror said, "O deep mysterious face in the stream,

I O Life, dear Life, in this fair house Long since did I, it seems to me,

I will go out to grass with that old King, For I am weary of clothes and cooks. I long to lie along the banks of brooks,

I love the lazy Southern spring, The way she melts around a chap And lets the great magnolias fling

Once, as I was burying one of my dead selves, the grave-digger came by and said to me, “Of all those who come here to bury, you alone I like.” Said I, “You please me exceedingly, but why do you like me?”

Said the hearse-horse to the coffin, "What the devil have you there? I may trot from court to square,

Now the joys of the road are chiefly these: A crimson touch on the hard-wood trees; A vagrant's morning wide and blue,

Look how he throws them up and up, The beautiful golden balls! They hang aloft in the purple air,

A stone jug and a pewter mug, And a table set for three! A jug and a mug at every place,

I Buried alive in calm Rochelle, Six in a row by a crystal well,

Wild across the Breton country, Fabled centuries ago, Riding from the black sea border,

"Daughter, daughter, marry no man, Though a king's son come to woo, If he be not more than blessing or ban

Comrades, comrades, have me buried Like a warrior of the sea, With a flag across my breast

I cannot quite recall When first he came, So reticent and tall,

Now gird thee well for courage, My knight of twenty year, Against the marching morrows

I The Merrymakers Among the wintry mountains beside the Northern sea

There is rumor in Dark Harbor, And the folk are all astir; For a stranger in the offing

We are as mendicants who wait Along the roadside in the sun. Tatters of yesterday and shreds

Hear! hear! hear! Listen! the word Of the mocking-bird!

Iron and granite and rust, In a crumbling garden old, Where the roses are paler than dust

Two shapes of august bearing, seraph tall, Of indolent imperturbable regard, Stood in the Tavern door to drink. As the first

The typewriter ticketh no more in the twilight; The mother of poets is sitting alone; Only the katydid teases the noonday;

On the long slow heave of a lazy sea, To the flap of an idle sail, The Nancy's Pride went out on the tide;

Out through the hills of midnight, Hurtling and thundering on, The night express from the outer world

Whe-ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh! We are the brothers of ghouls, and who In the name of the Crooked Saints are you?

Oh, let my lord laugh in his halls When he the tale shall tell! But woe to Jarlwell and its walls

With the fall of the leaf comes the wolf, wolf, wolf, The old red wolf at my door. And my hateful yellow dwarf, with his hideous crooked laugh,

I am fevered with the sunset, I am fretful with the bay, For the wander-thirst is on me

Don't you know the sailing orders? It is time to put to sea, And the stranger in the harbor

Smile, you inland hills and rivers! Flush, you mountains in the dawn! But my roving heart is seaward

The tall carnations down the garden walks Bowed on their stalks. Said Jock-a-dreams to John-a-nods,

Bobbie Burns and Bobbie Browning, They're the boys I'd like to see. Though I'm not the boy for Bobbie,

Saint Kavin was a gentleman, He came from Tipperary; And woman was the only thing

Down the world with Marna! That's the life for me! Wandering with the wandering wind,

Bowmen, shout for Gamelbar! Winds, unthrottle the wolves of war! Heave a breath

Brother, lost brother! Thou of mine ancient kin! Thou of the swift will that no ponderings smother!

And Yanna by the yule log Sat in the empty hall, And watched the goblin firelight

Three of us without a care In the red September Tramping down the roads of Maine,

"I shut myself in with my soul, And the shapes come eddying forth."

Off with the fetters That chafe and restrain! Off with the chain!

Avid of life and love, insatiate vagabond, With quest too furious for the graal he would have won, He flung himself at the eternal sky, as one

It was June, and I was twenty. All my wisdom, poor but plenty, Never learned Festina lente.

For every one Beneath the sun, Where Autumn walks with quiet eyes,