And through the darkness saw--was it the sweep Of some white sea-bird's wing above the foam, That fain would cross those waters, wild and deep, And find its mate and home?

Or was it--oh, dear feet, why should you leave The halls of Heaven, with all their warmth and light, To come where winds wail and where waters grieve, Seeking my door last night?

Surely you came not; 'twas some bird's white breast Flashed through the night, and not your waving hand, Some sea-gull, weary of the waves' unrest, That sought the steadfast land.

And yet, amid the sobbing of the rain, Outside my window in the dark and chill, I heard your voice, that ever and again Called, and would not be still--

Until the morning came, sullen and red, With waves that beat still foaming on the sh.o.r.e, The wind and rain had ceased, and lo! my dead Had gone from me once more.

KITTY'S FEET

Sure, I'm sitting here this evening, while the firelight flickers low, And I'm looking through the shadows into eyes I used to know, Through the years that lie between us, into tender eyes and sweet, And I'm listening in the darkness for the sound of Kitty's feet-- Kitty's feet, whose tripping faltered into silence long ago.

Ah, 'tis well I mind those evenings, gathering shades about my chair, And the sound of Kitty's footsteps dancing gaily down the stair Through the hall and past the doorway, till I'd turn, her eyes to meet, Well my heart it knew the measure that was danced by Kitty's feet-- Kitty's feet that dance no longer, lying in the silence there.

Yet to-night as I sit dreaming, while the shadows longer grow, I can almost think I hear them, the dear steps I long for so; Through the years that lie between us comes again the vision sweet, And my heart once more is beating to the tune of Kitty's feet-- Kitty's feet, that tripped so lightly past Death's portals long ago.

THE PORT O' MISSING s.h.i.+PS

She lies across the western main, Beyond the sunset's rim; Her quays are packed with reeling mists-- A city strange and dim: And silent o'er her harbour bar The ghostly waters brim.

No sound of life is in her streets, No creak of rope or spar Comes ever from the water's edge Where the great vessels are; Yet s.h.i.+p by s.h.i.+p steals through the mists Across her harbour bar.

There many a good galleon Has made her anchor fast, And many a tall caravel Her journeyings ends at last; But no living eye may look upon That harbour dim and vast.

For one went down in tropic seas, And one put fearless forth To find her death in loneliness 'Mid icebergs of the north; Thus s.h.i.+p by s.h.i.+p and crew by crew The ocean tried their worth.

She lies across the western main Beyond the sunset's rim, Her quays are packed with reeling mists-- A city strange and dim; And silent o'er her harbour bar The ghostly waters brim.

THE RIDE OF THE SHADOWS

Behind the pines, when sunset gleams, The white gates of the Land of Dreams Stand open wide, And all adown the golden road That leads from that most blest abode The shadows ride, Who in the light of common day May now no more abide.

They leave their meads of asphodel, The starry s.p.a.ces where they dwell, Where quiet lies: They leave their windless, gla.s.sy sea, The angel songs and melody Of Paradise, To walk again the old-time way Once dear to mortal eyes.

With beating heart I watch them ride Across the gathering shades that hide That country bright; The faces that I loved of yore, Eyes that shall smile on me no more With mortal light; Shadows of all good things and fair Come from the past to-night.

So, when the dying sunset gleams Behind the hills, the Gate of Dreams Stands open wide; And all along the golden road From those fair mansions of their G.o.d Where they abide-- Dear memories of the days that were-- I see the shadows ride.

GHOSTS

The sky is overcast, The wind wails loud; Grey ghosts go driving past In driving cloud; And, in the beating rain Against the window-pane Dead fingers beat again, Dead faces crowd.

O, grey ghosts, waiting still, My fire burns bright; Without is cold and chill, Here, warm and light.

And would you have me creep Outside to you, and sweep With you along the steep Of the grey night?

Nay, once I held you dear, Before you fled Adown the shadowy, drear Paths of the dead; But now the churchyard mould Has left you all too cold, Your hands I cannot hold, Your touch I dread.

Yet linger patiently, Ghosts of the past, Soon there shall come to me That morn's chill blast That calls me too to tread Those ways of doubt and dread, And numbered with the dead To lie at last.

OUR LADY OF DARKNESS

When the toils of the day are over and the sun has sunk in the west, And my lips are tired of laughter, and my heart is heavy for rest, I will sit awhile in the shadows, till Our Lady of Darkness shall shed The healing balms of her silence and her dreams upon my head.

Ye seek in vain in your temples--she dwells not in aisles of stone; Apart, and at peace, and silent, she waits in the night alone.

Her eyes are as moonlit waters, her brows with the stars are bound, And her footsteps move to music, but no man has heard the sound.

No incense burns at her altar--at her shrine no lamplight gleams, But she guards the Fountains of Quiet, and she keeps the key of Dreams, And I will sit in the shadows and pray her, of her grace, To open her guarded visions and grant me to dream of your face.

I ask not to break the silence, but only that you shall stand, As oft you stood in the old-time, with your hand upon my hand; So I will sit very quiet, that Our Lady of Darkness may shed Her balms of healing and silence and of dreams upon my head.

DALUAN

Daluan, the Shepherd, When winter winds blow chill, Goes piping o'er the upland, Goes piping by the rill; And whoso hears his music Must follow where he will.

Daluan, the Shepherd, (So the old story saith) He pipes the tunes of laughter, The songs of sighing breath; He pipes the souls of mortals Through the dark gates of Death.

Daluan, the Shepherd, Who listens to his strain Shall look no more on laughter, Shall taste no more of pain, Shall know no more the longing That eats at heart and brain.

Daluan, the Shepherd-- Beside the sobbing rill, And through the dripping woodlands, And up the gusty hill, I hear the pipes of Daluan Crying and calling still.

DEAD--AND LIVING

_The Question_

If we should tap on your pane to-night, dear, Standing here in the dark outside, As in the far-off days and bright, dear, Say, would you fling the window wide?

Nay, you would turn to the firelight's gold, dear, Saying, "'Tis but a dream that fled;"