Where Fear and Hunger Stalked

He searched in vain for beauty pure from dross,

The soul of beauty God had made when He

Had carved the mountains, boundaried the sea ...

But always in his search there fell across

His path the shadow of the albatross

Of selfishness whose discord drowned the free

Clear flutes of gentler birds; bade beauty flee

From terraced gardens ... Long he mourned his loss.

Then through the squalid streets of Greece he walked--

One drooping flower bloomed to lend its grace

Where bone-lean children carved their dreams in dust.

Startled, he saw--where fear and hunger stalked--

The soul of beauty in the withered face

Of one who gave away his last dry crust.

Love-Wrought Miracle

Ebon faced
Lena envied Mary, fair
As the lilies blooming where
Jesus walked. Then Mary smiled
As she placed
Lena's hand within her own:
"Black and white,"--How sweet her tone!
"Each one is the Master's child."
Beauty graced
Phrases wrought a miracle:
Lena's soul felt beautiful.
Sun and shadow--primrose aisled--
Interlaced.

This I Have Learned

This I have learned--Fire-opaled beauty
Is found along the path of duty.

The Archer

Beauty-Tryst

(To Mildred Nye Dewey)

You opened wide the door of song
And bade me know the throng
Who taught my heart
The art.
My fears
Dissolved in tears
Of pearl and amethyst--
Each day became a beauty-tryst.

Too Brief the Interlude

Through silent air, cool-dewed--
A country dawn is never trite--
A lark sang morning in my heart until
In ecstasy I watched the sunrise spill
Its gold upon a gull in flight--
Too brief the interlude ...

The sun paused with his chin upon the hill;
Departed in a blaze of light.
In gentle quietude--
The soul of beauty nude--
Beneath star-mariners of night,
A killdeer-Angelus chimed, "Still ... Be still...!"

Spirit of Beauty

While artist wind-fingers
Strum lutes in the brake,
The paling moon lingers
To sail on the lake.
Forgotten is duty
In joy of release--
The spirit of beauty
Is whispering peace.

Disciplined by Loveliness

I have companioned with the lovely things
and walked with beauty
in the many springs
that I have known. Then in my heart
when autumn winds have shrieked
their lullabies,
I have felt April zephyrs
and watched new tendrils rise.
In winter's sculptured silence--
the artistry of snow--
I have heard beneath earth's crystal crust
the green things grow
and speak in syllables of spring
each lovely thing.

So when I hear my last shrill
autumn wind,
I shall recall a little hill
purpling with violets, and disciplined
by loveliness-recurrent, I shall rest--
like a blown leaf content
on earth's sweet breast--
and wait the wonderment,
the miracle of bird-song ... whirring wings ...
For always, always, there will be
the lovely things.

The Hunter

I have loved beauty, and I have pursued her
And found her at night wearing moon-silvered jade.
With tremulous lips and a song I have wooed her,
Joyously, rapturously unafraid.

Her feet have been dancing on moon-rippled water
While lighted star-lanterns hung low in the trees.
Her voice has been calling, "Sing to me daughter,"
When killdeer were spilling their dawn symphonies.

Her song still enthralls me when I am toiling
At tasks that enslave me, but song shall unload
The burden within me till I am foiling
Defeat with her stardust illuming my road.

Oh, I shall love beauty and I shall pursue her
When death's lyric bugle at last calls release.
Renewed, I shall find her and tenderly woo her
Forever in valleys of infinite peace.

Primal Beauty

Let me step lightly as the velvet footfalls
Of the young doe returning to her fawn.
Let me stand still to hear wild flowers breathing
And in the solitude of mountain dawn
With killdeer calling, view the Artist-touch
Of primal beauty--Do I ask too much?