I SING FOR THE DISAPPOINTED

 

THE DISAPPOINTED.

THERE are songs enough for the hero
Who dwells on the heights of fame;
I sing for the disappointed—
For those who missed their aim.

I sing with a tearful cadence
For one who stands in the dark,
And knows that his last, best arrow
Has bounded back from the mark.

I sing for the breathless runner,
The eager, anxious soul,
Who falls with his strength exhausted,
Almost in sight of the goal;

For the hearts that break in silence,
With a sorrow all unknown,
For those who need companions,
Yet walk their ways alone.{144}

There are songs enough for the lovers
Who share love’s tender pain,
I sing for the one whose passion
Is given all in vain.

For those whose spirit comrades
Have missed them on the way,
I sing, with a heart o’erflowing,
This minor strain to-day.

And I know the Solar System
Must somewhere keep in space
A prize for that spent runner
Who barely lost the race.

For the plan would be imperfect
Unless it held some sphere
That paid for the toil and talent
And love that are wasted here.
-------------------------------
"THE BLUE DANUBE" WALTZ

Would the lists of the slain who slumber
On the Danube's battle-plains
The unknown hosts outnumber
Who die 'neath the "Danube's" strains?
Those fall where cannons rattle,
'Mid the rain of shot and shell;
But these, in a fiercer battle,
Find death in the music's swell.

With the river's roar of passion
Is blended the dying groan;
But here, in the halls of fashion,
Hearts break, and make no moan.
And the music, swelling and sweeping,
Like the river, knows it all;
But none are counting or keeping
The lists of these who fall.

IF NATIONS HAD GODS OF THEIR OWN...

Said the Kaiser’s god to the god of the Czar:
   ‘Hark, hark, how my people pray.
Their faith, methinks, is greater by far
Than all the faiths of the others are;
   They know I will help them slay.’

Said the god of the Czar: ‘My people call
   In a medley of tongues; they know
I will lend my strength to them one and all.
Wherever they fight their foes shall fall
   Like grass where the mowers go.’

Then the god of the Gauls spoke out of a cloud
   To the god of the King nearby:
‘Our people pray, tho’ they pray not loud;
They ask for courage to slaughter a crowd,
   And to laugh, tho’ themselves may die.’

AND THE CONSEQUENCE OF ALL THESE NATIONAL GODS WAS...

Little lads and grandsires,
Women old with care;
But all the men are dying men
Or dead men over there.

No one stops to dig graves;
Who has time to spare?
The dead men, the dead men
How the dead men stare.

Kings are out a-hunting—
Oh, the sport is rare;
With dying men and dead men
Falling everywhere.

Life for lads and grandsires;
Spoils for kings to share;
And dead men, dead men,
Dead men everywhere.

IMPATIENCE.

How can I wait until you come to me?
The once fleet mornings linger by the way,
Their sunny smiles touched with malicious glee
At my unrest; they seem to pause, and play
Like truant children, while I sigh and say,
How can I wait?

How can I wait? Of old, the rapid hours
Refused to pause or loiter with me long;
But now they idly fill their hands with flowers,
And make no haste, but slowly stroll among
The summer blooms, not heeding my one song,
How can I wait?

How can I wait? The nights alone are kind;
They reach forth to a future day, and bring
Sweet dreams of you to people all my mind;
And time speeds by on light and airy wing.
I feast upon your face, I no more sing,
How can I wait?

How can I wait? The morning breaks the spell
A pitying night has flung upon my soul.
You are not near me, and I know full well
My heart has need of patience and control;
Before we meet, hours, days, and weeks must roll.
How can I wait?

How can I wait? Oh, love, how can I wait
Until the sunlight of your eyes shall shine
Upon my world that seems so desolate?
Until your hand-clasp warms my blood like wine;
Until you come again, oh, love of mine,
How can I wait?

When Mother Reads Aloud by Author Unknown

When Mother reads aloud, the past    Seems real as every day; I hear the tramp of armies vast, I see the spears and lances cast,    I join the thrilling fray; Brave knights and ladies fair and proud I meet when Mother reads aloud. When Mother reads aloud, far lands    Seem very near and true; I cross the desert’s gleaming sands, Or hunt the jungle’s prowling bands,    Or sail the ocean blue. Far heights, whose peaks the cold mists shroud, I scale, when Mother reads aloud. Lisant un conte, Jacques-Joseph Tissot When Mother reads aloud, I long    For noble deeds to do— To help the right, redress the wrong; It seems so easy to be strong,    So simple to be true. Oh, thick and fast the visions crowd My eyes, when Mother reads aloud.

LOVE'S COMING.

She had looked for his coming as warriors come,
With the clash of arms and the bugle's call:
But he came instead with a stealthy tread,
Which she did not hear at all.

She had thought how his armor would blaze in the sun,
As he rode like a prince to claim his bride:
In the sweet dim light of the falling night
She found him at her side.

She had dreamed how the gaze of his strange, bold eye
Would wake her heart to a sudden glow:
She found in his face the familiar grace
Of a friend she used to know.

She had dreamed how his coming would stir her soul,
As the ocean is stirred by the wild storm's strife:
He brought her the balm of a heavenly calm,
And a peace which crowned her life.