Here where the season turns the land to gold, Among the fields our feet have known of old,-- When we were children who would laugh and run, Glad little playmates of the wind and sun,-- Before came toil and care and years went ill, And one forgot and one remembered still, Heart of my heart, among the old fields here, Give me your hands and let me draw you near.

Heart of my heart.

Stars are not truer than your soul is true-- What need I more of heaven then than you?

Flowers are not sweeter than your face is sweet-- What need I more to make my world complete?

O woman nature, love that still endures, What strength hath ours that is not born of yours?

Heart of my heart, to you, whatever come, To you the lead, whose love hath led me home.

Heart of my heart.

Witnesses

I.

You say I do not love you!--Tell me why, When I have gazed a little on your face, And then gone forth into the world of men, A beauty, neither of the Earth or Sky, A glamour, that transforms each common place, Attends my spirit then?

II.

You say I do not love you!--Yet I know When I have heard you speak and dwelt upon Your words awhile, my heart has gone away Filled with strange music, very soft and low, A dim companion, touching with sweet tone The discords of the day.

III.

You say I do not love you!--Yet it seems, When I have kissed your hand and said farewell, A fragrance, sweeter than did flower yet bloom, Accompanies my soul and fills, with dreams, The sad and sordid streets, where people dwell, Dreams of spring's wild perfume.

Wherefore

I would not see, yet must behold The truth they preach in church and hall; And question so,--Is death then all, And life an idle tale that's told?

The myriad wonders art hath wrought I deemed eternal as G.o.d's love: No more than shadows these shall prove, And insubstantial as a thought.

And love and labor, who have gone, Hand in close hand, and civilized The wilderness, these shall be prized No more than if they had not done.

Then wherefore strive? Why strain and bend Beneath a burden so unjust?

Our works are builded out of dust, And dust their universal end.

Pagan

The G.o.ds, who could loose and bind In the long ago, The G.o.ds, who were stern and kind To men below, Where shall we seek and find, Or, finding, know?

Where Greece, with king on king, Dreamed in her halls; Where Rome kneeled worshiping, The owl now calls, And whispering ivies cling To mouldering walls.

They have served, and have pa.s.sed away From the earth and sky, And their Creed is a record gray, Where the pa.s.ser-by Reads, "Live and be glad to-day, For to-morrow ye die."

And shall it be so, indeed, When we are no more, That nations to be shall read,-- As we have before,-- In the dust of a Christian Creed, But pagan lore?

"The Fathers of our Fathers"

Written February 24, 1898, on reading the latest news concerning the battleship Maine, blown up in Havana harbor, February 15th.

I.

The fathers of our fathers they were men!-- What are we who now stand idle while we see our seamen slain?

Who behold our flag dishonored, and still pause!

Are we blind to her duplicity, the treachery of Spain?

To the rights, she scorns, of nations and their laws?

Let us rise, a mighty people, let us wipe away the stain!

Must we wait till she insult us for a cause?-- The fathers of our fathers they were men!

II.

The fathers of our fathers they were men!-- Had they nursed delay as we do? had they sat thus deaf and dumb, With these cowards compromising year by year?

Never hearing what they should hear, never saying what should come, While the courteous mask of Spain still hid a sneer!

No! such news had roused their natures like a rolling battle-drum-- G.o.d of earth! and G.o.d of heaven! do we fear?-- The fathers of our fathers they were men!

III.

The fathers of our fathers they were men!-- What are we who are so cautious, never venturing too far!

Shall we, at the cost of honor, still keep peace?

While we see the thousands starving and the struggling Cuban star, And the outraged form of Freedom on her knees!

Let our long, steel ocean-bloodhounds, adamantine dogs of war, Sweep the yellow Spanish panther from the seas!-- The fathers of our fathers they were men!

"Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin"

I.