escritas.org since 1996
Today marks 174 years since the birth of Henry Van Dyke
Henry Van Dyke

Henry Van Dyke

1852–1933 · lived 80 years US US

Henry Van Dyke was an American author, educator, and clergyman. He is remembered for his contributions to literature, particularly his short stories and poems. Van Dyke's work often explored themes of nature, faith, and the pursuit of happiness, reflecting his own diverse interests and experiences. He was a prolific writer and also held significant positions in academia and public service.

n. 1852-11-10, Germantown · m. 1933-04-10, Princeton

20,493 Views

America for Me

'Tis fine to see the Old World and travel up and down
Among the famous palaces and cities of renown,
To admire the crumblyh castles and the statues and kings
But now I think I've had enough of antiquated things.


So it's home again, and home again, America for me!
My heart is turning home again and there I long to be,
In the land of youth and freedom, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.


Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;
And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;
And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;
But when it comes to living there is no place like home.


I like the German fir-woods in green battalions drilled;
I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing foutains filled;
But, oh, to take your had, my dear, and ramble for a day
In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her sway!


I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack!
The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.
But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free--
We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.


Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!
I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea,
To the blessed Land of Room Enough, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
Read full poem
Bio

Identification and basic context

Full name: Henry Van Dyke Jr. Pseudonyms or heteronyms: Not widely known for using pseudonyms or heteronyms. Date and place of birth (and death, if applicable): Born November 10, 1852, in Germantown, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA. Died April 14, 1933, in Princeton, New Jersey, USA. Family background, social class, and cultural context of origin: Son of a clergyman, Henry J. Van Dyke, and Henrietta Ashmead. He came from a family with a strong religious and intellectual tradition. His upbringing was within a comfortable middle-class environment that valued education and religious service. Nationality and language(s) of writing: American; English. Historical context in which they lived: Van Dyke lived through a period of significant change in the United States, including the Reconstruction era after the Civil War, the Gilded Age, the Progressive Era, and the beginnings of World War I. This was a time of industrial growth, social reform movements, and evolving American identity.

Childhood and education

Family background and social environment: His father was a prominent Presbyterian minister, which deeply influenced his early life and worldview, instilling in him a strong moral and religious foundation. His family environment was conducive to intellectual pursuits. Formal education and self-education: He attended the Franklin School in Philadelphia and then the Princeton Preparatory School. He graduated from Princeton University in 1873 and from Princeton Theological Seminary in 1877. He also pursued studies at Johns Hopkins University. Early influences (readings, culture, religion, politics): His religious upbringing was a primary influence. He was exposed to classical literature and the Bible from a young age. His education at Princeton, a hub of intellectual and religious thought, further shaped his perspectives. His engagement with nature also played a significant role in his creative output. Literary, philosophical, or artistic movements absorbed: While not strictly aligned with a single movement, his work shows an appreciation for nature and a moralistic tone reminiscent of 19th-century literary traditions. He was also influenced by the Transcendentalist movement's emphasis on nature and spirituality, and by Victorian literature. Significant events in youth: His decision to pursue a career in the ministry, following in his father's footsteps, was a significant early commitment. His academic achievements at Princeton laid the groundwork for his future career.

Literary trajectory

Beginning of writing (when and how it started): Van Dyke began writing poetry and essays from his early years, often inspired by his observations of nature and his religious faith. His early publications appeared in student journals and religious publications. Development over time (phases, changes in style): His writing evolved from early devotional poetry and sermons to include more narrative short stories and essays. Later in his career, his work often reflected his travels and his experiences in public service. Chronological evolution of the work: His career spanned several decades, with notable publications throughout the late 19th and early 20th centuries. His poems and stories often focused on themes of virtue, courage, and the restorative power of nature. Contributions to magazines, newspapers, and anthologies: He was a frequent contributor to prominent magazines of his time, such as Scribner's Magazine, Harper's Monthly, and The Atlantic Monthly. His works were widely anthologized. Activity as a critic, translator, or editor: He served as the editor of the religious magazine The Presbyterian and The Princeton Review. He also wrote literary criticism and essays on various subjects.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Major works with dates and context of production: "The Story of the Other Wise Man" (1896), a Christmas story that became immensely popular; "Little Rivers" (1889), a collection of essays on fishing and nature; "Fisherman's Luck" (1899), another collection of essays. Dominant themes — love, death, time, nature, identity, homeland, spirituality, etc.: Nature (especially its restorative and spiritual aspects), faith and spirituality, the pursuit of happiness and virtue, the importance of courage and integrity, outdoor life (fishing, camping), patriotism. Form and structure — use of the sonnet, free verse, fixed forms, metrical experimentation: He wrote poetry in various forms, including lyrical poems and ballads, often with regular meter and rhyme schemes. His prose style was clear, eloquent, and often descriptive. Poetic devices (metaphor, rhythm, musicality): He employed vivid imagery, particularly in his descriptions of nature. His prose often had a lyrical quality, with attention to rhythm and musicality. Tone and poetic voice — lyrical, satirical, elegiac, epic, ironic, confessional: His poetic voice was generally earnest, contemplative, and inspirational. It could be lyrical when describing nature or spiritual reflections, and narrative in his stories. Poetic voice (personal, universal, fragmented, etc.): Often personal in its reflection of his own experiences and beliefs, but also aimed for universal appeal through themes of human virtue and spiritual quest. Language and style — vocabulary, imagery density, preferred rhetorical devices: His language was refined and eloquent, employing a rich vocabulary. His imagery was often drawn from nature and biblical allusions. He used metaphors, similes, and personification effectively. Formal or thematic innovations introduced into literature: While not a radical innovator, he excelled at popularizing certain themes and styles, particularly the blend of nature writing with moral and spiritual reflection, and in crafting memorable short allegorical tales. Relationship with tradition and modernity: He bridged the gap between 19th-century literary traditions (Victorianism, Romanticism) and the changing sensibilities of the early 20th century, often presenting traditional values in accessible ways. Associated literary movements (e.g., symbolism, modernism): He is generally associated with the late Romantic and Victorian literary traditions, with echoes of Transcendentalism. He was a contemporary of many early Modernist writers but did not fully embrace the movement's experimentalism. Lesser-known or unpublished works: He published numerous sermons, essays, and poems throughout his life. His academic writings and speeches also form a significant part of his oeuvre.

Cultural and historical context

Relationship with historical events (wars, revolutions, regimes): As a public figure, he served as a patriotic speaker during World War I, delivering speeches that aimed to boost morale and explain American involvement. His "Song-Cycle of the War" reflects this engagement. Relationship with other writers or literary circles: He was part of the intellectual and literary circles of his time, particularly associated with Princeton University. He corresponded with and knew many prominent writers and thinkers. Generation or movement to which they belong (e.g., Romanticism, Modernism, Surrealism): He is often seen as a writer of the late Victorian and early Edwardian eras, a successor to the American Romantic tradition, though he was active well into the Modernist period. Political or philosophical stance: He held generally conservative views on social matters but was a proponent of conservation and national parks. His philosophy was deeply rooted in Christian ethics and a belief in the goodness of humanity and the beauty of God's creation. Influence of society and culture on the work: The rapidly industrializing and changing American society of his time influenced his themes of finding solace and enduring values in nature and faith. His role as a clergyman and educator also shaped his moralistic tone. Dialogues and tensions with contemporaries: He engaged with the evolving intellectual landscape, offering a more traditional, faith-based perspective compared to some of the more secular or experimental writers emerging at the time. Critical reception during life vs. posthumous recognition: During his life, he was a highly popular and respected author, speaker, and public figure. His works were widely read and admired. Posthumously, while still recognized for his contributions, his popularity waned compared to more avant-garde writers, though his nature essays and "The Other Wise Man" remain enduring.

Personal life

Significant emotional and family relationships and how they shaped the work: His marriage to Laura Hibbard in 1879 and their children likely provided personal grounding. His father's influence as a minister was fundamental to his values and literary themes. Friendships and literary rivalries: He maintained friendships with many literary and academic figures of his time. No significant literary rivalries are widely documented. Personal experiences and crises, illnesses, or conflicts: He suffered from periods of illness, which may have influenced his contemplative writings on nature and recovery. Parallel professions (if they did not live solely from poetry): He had a multifaceted career as a Presbyterian minister, professor, diplomat, and public servant, in addition to being a writer. He was appointed Minister to the Netherlands and Luxembourg (1913-1916). Religious, spiritual, or philosophical beliefs: Deeply religious, a devout Presbyterian, he integrated his Christian faith into his writings, often exploring themes of redemption, divine providence, and the spiritual significance of the natural world. Political positions and civic engagement: He was an active citizen, serving as a U.S. diplomat and delivering patriotic addresses. He was also involved in conservation efforts and advocated for the establishment of national parks. He was a chaplain for the U.S. Senate.

Recognition and reception

Place in national and international literature: He was a significant figure in American literature during his lifetime, particularly for his short fiction and nature essays. His international recognition came through translations and his diplomatic service. Awards, distinctions, and institutional recognition: He received honorary degrees from several universities. His appointment as Minister to the Netherlands and Luxembourg was a high diplomatic honor. He was also awarded the French Legion of Honor. Critical reception at the time and over time: During his lifetime, he was widely celebrated for his accessible style, moral uplift, and evocative descriptions of nature. Critics often praised his eloquence and his ability to blend literary artistry with ethical messages. Posthumously, while appreciated for these qualities, his work is sometimes seen as belonging to an earlier literary era. Popularity vs. academic recognition: He enjoyed immense popularity among the general reading public. Academically, he is studied as an important figure in American nature writing and in the context of late 19th/early 20th-century American literature, though perhaps less so than more experimental writers.

Influences and legacy

Authors who influenced them: Ralph Waldo Emerson (especially his essays on nature), Henry David Thoreau, and biblical texts were significant influences. He also admired poets like Wordsworth. Poets and movements they influenced: His clear prose and nature-focused themes may have influenced later nature writers and essayists. His moralistic storytelling left a mark on popular literature. Impact on national and world literature and on later generations of poets: He contributed to the tradition of American nature writing and popularized a blend of sermon, essay, and narrative. His "The Other Wise Man" became a Christmas classic, influencing generations of readers. Inclusion in the literary canon: He is generally included in the broader canon of American literature, particularly within the genre of nature writing and early 20th-century prose. He is a staple in collections of American short fiction. Translations and international dissemination: His works, especially "The Other Wise Man," were translated into many languages, achieving international popularity. Adaptations (music, theater, film): "The Other Wise Man" has been adapted into films and stage plays. Academic studies dedicated to the work: While perhaps not as extensively studied as some contemporaries, his work is the subject of academic inquiry concerning American literature, nature writing, and the Gilded Age/Progressive Era literary scene.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Possible readings of the work: His work can be read as an affirmation of traditional Christian values, a celebration of the restorative power of nature, and an exploration of the individual's moral journey. His stories often offer allegorical meanings. Philosophical and existential themes: Themes of purpose, meaning, the search for the divine in nature, and the importance of living a virtuous life are central. He offers a comforting, faith-based perspective on existence. Controversies or critical debates: While generally well-regarded, some later critics might view his overt moralizing or traditionalism as dated or overly sentimental. However, he is widely appreciated for his craftsmanship and sincere message.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Lesser-known aspects of personality: Despite his public roles, he was known to be a passionate angler, finding deep personal solace and inspiration in fishing. This pursuit was not just a hobby but a way of life that informed his writing. Contradictions between life and work: There are few perceived contradictions; his life and work were remarkably consistent in their articulation of his faith, love for nature, and belief in virtuous living. Significant or anecdotal episodes that illuminate the author’s profile: His eloquent speeches during WWI, which rallied national spirit, showcase his role as a public intellectual and patriot. His deep connection to the outdoors, often recounted in his essays, reveals a more personal, introspective side. Objects, places, or rituals associated with poetic creation: He was strongly associated with the natural world, particularly rivers, forests, and fishing spots, which served as his muse and writing retreats. He often wrote in a simple, reflective manner, inspired by his surroundings. Writing habits: He was a disciplined writer, balancing his public duties with his creative output. His essays often stemmed from personal reflections during his time spent in nature. Curious episodes: His story "The First Christmas Tree" (1897) is also a beloved Christmas classic, rivaling "The Other Wise Man" in its enduring appeal. Manuscripts, diaries, or correspondence: His extensive correspondence and manuscripts are preserved in various university archives, offering insights into his literary process and personal life.

Death and memory

Circumstances of death: Died of a heart attack at his home in Princeton, New Jersey. Posthumous publications: His collected works have been published in various editions. Selections of his writings continue to be published in anthologies and collections of American literature.

Poems

58

Dulcis Memoria

Long, long ago I heard a little song,
(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
So lowly, slowly wound the tune along,
That far into my heart it found the way:
A melody consoling and endearing;
And still, in silent hours, I'm often hearing
The small, sweet song that does not die away.


Long, long ago I saw a little flower,-(
Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
So fair of face and fragrant for an hour,
That something dear to me it seemed to say:
A thought of joy that blossomed into being
Without a word; and now I'm often seeing
The friendly flower that does not fade away.


Long, long ago we had a little child,-(
Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
Into his mother's eyes and mine he smiled
Unconscious love; warm in our arms he lay.
An angel called! Dear heart, we could not hold him;
Yet secretly your arms and mine infold him--
Our little child who does not go away.


Long, long ago? Ah, memory, make it clear-(
It was not long ago, but yesterday,)
So little and so helpless and so dear
Let not the song be lost, the flower decay!
His voice, his waking eyes, his gentle sleeping:
The smallest things are safest in thy keeping.
Sweet memory, keep our child with us always.
365

New Year's Eve

I

The other night I had a dream, most clear
And comforting, complete
In every line, a crystal sphere,
And full of intimate and secret cheer.
Therefore I will repeat
That vision, dearest heart, to you,
As of a thing not feigned, but very true,
Yes, true as ever in my life befell;
And you, perhaps, can tell
Whether my dream was really sad or sweet.


II


The shadows flecked the elm-embowered street
I knew so well, long, long ago;
And on the pillared porch where Marguerite
Had sat with me, the moonlight lay like snow.
But she, my comrade and my friend of youth,
Most gaily wise,
Most innocently loved, --
She of the blue-grey eyes
That ever smiled and ever spoke the truth, --
From that familiar dwelling, where she moved
Like mirth incarnate in the years before,
Had gone into the hidden house of Death.
I thought the garden wore
White mourning for her blessed innocence,
And the syringa's breath
Came from the corner by the fence,
Where she had made her rustic seat,
With fragrance passionate, intense,
As if it breathed a sigh for Marguerite.
My heart was heavy with a sense
Of something good forever gone. I sought
Vainly for some consoling thought,
Some comfortable word that I could say
To the sad father, whom I visited again
For the first time since she had gone away.
The bell rang shrill and lonely, -- then
The door was opened, and I sent my name
To him, -- but ah! 't was Marguerite who came!


There in the dear old dusky room she stood
Beneath the lamp, just as she used to stand,
In tender mocking mood.
"You did not ask for me," she said,
"And so I will not let you take my hand;
"But I must hear what secret talk you planned
"With father. Come, my friend, be good,



"And tell me your affairs of state:
"Why you have stayed away and made me wait
"So long. Sit down beside me here, -"
And, do you know, it seemed a year
"Since we have talked together, -- why so late?"


Amazed, incredulous, confused with joy
I hardly dared to show,
And stammering like a boy,
I took the place she showed me at her side;
And then the talk flowed on with brimming tide
Through the still night,
While she with influence light
Controlled it, as the moon the flood.
She knew where I had been, what I had done,
What work was planned, and what begun;
My troubles, failures, fears she understood,
And touched them with a heart so kind,
That every care was melted from my mind,
And every hope grew bright,
And life seemed moving on to happy ends.
(Ah, what self-beggared fool was he
That said a woman cannot be
The very best of friends?)
Then there were memories of old times,
Recalled with many a gentle jest;
And at the last she brought the book of rhymes
We made together, trying to translate
The Songs of Heine (hers were always best).
"Now come," she said,
"To-night we will collaborate
"Again; I'll put you to the test.
"Here's one I never found the way to do, -"
The simplest are the hardest ones, you know, -"
I give this song to you."
And then she read:
Mein kind, wir waren Kinder,
Zei Kinder, jung und froh.


* * * * * * * * * *


But all the while a silent question stirred
Within me, though I dared not speak the word:
"Is it herself, and is she truly here,
"And was I dreaming when I heard
"That she was dead last year?
"Or was it true, and is she but a shade
"Who brings a fleeting joy to eye and ear,
"Cold though so kind, and will she gently fade
"When her sweet ghostly part is played
"And the light-curtain falls at dawn of day?"



But while my heart was troubled by this fear
So deeply that I could not speak it out,
Lest all my happiness should disappear,
I thought me of a cunning way
To hide the question and dissolve the doubt.
"Will you not give me now your hand,
"Dear Marguerite," I asked, "to touch and hold,
"That by this token I may understand
"You are the same true friend you were of old?"
She answered with a smile so bright and calm
It seemed as if I saw new stars arise
In the deep heaven of her eyes;
And smiling so, she laid her palm
In mine. Dear God, it was not cold
But warm with vital heat!
"You live!" I cried, "you live, dear Marguerite!"
Then I awoke; but strangely comforted,
Although I knew again that she was dead.


III


Yes, there's the dream! And was it sweet or sad?
Dear mistress of my waking and my sleep,
Present reward of all my heart's desire,
Watching with me beside the winter fire,
Interpret now this vision that I had.
But while you read the meaning, let me keep
The touch of you: for the Old Year with storm
Is passing through the midnight, and doth shake
The corners of the house, -- man oh! my heart would break
Unless both dreaming and awake
My hand could feel your hand was warm, warm, warm!
360

Milton

I

Lover of beauty, walking on the height
Of pure philosophy and tranquil song;
Born to behold the visions that belong
To those who dwell in melody and light;
Milton, thou spirit delicate and bright!
What drew thee down to join the Roundhead throng
Of iron-sided warriors, rude and strong,
Fighting for freedom in a world half night?


Lover of Liberty at heart wast thou,
Above all beauty bright, all music clear:
To thee she bared her bosom and her brow,
Breathing her virgin promise in thine ear,
And bound thee to her with a double vow, --
Exquisite Puritan, grave Cavalier!


II


The cause, the cause for which thy soul resigned
Her singing robes to battle on the plain,
Was won, O poet, and was lost again;
And lost the labour of thy lonely mind
On weary tasks of prose. What wilt thou find
To comfort thee for all the toil and pain?
What solace, now thy sacrifice is vain
And thou art left forsaken, poor, and blind?


Like organ-music comes the deep reply:
"The cause of truth looks lost, but shall be won.
For God hath given to mine inward eye
Vision of England soaring to the sun.
And granted me great peace before I die,
In thoughts of lowly duty bravely done."


III


O bend again above thine organ-board,
Thou blind old poet longing for repose!
Thy Master claims thy service not with those
Who only stand and wait for his reward.
He pours the heavenly gift of song restored
Into thy breast, and bids thee nobly close
A noble life, with poetry that flows
In mighty music of the major chord.


Where hast thou learned this deep, majestic strain,
Surpassing all thy youthful lyric grace,
To sing of Paradise? Ah, not in vain



The griefs that won at Dante's side thy place,
And made thee, Milton, by thy years of pain,
The loftiest poet of the Saxon race!
356

Without Disguise

If I have erred in showing all my heart,
And lost your favour by a lack of pride;
If standing like a beggar at your side
With naked feet, I have forgot the art
Of those who bargain well in passion's mart,
And win the thing they want by what they hide;
Be mine the fault as mine the hope denied,
Be mine the lover's and the loser's part.


The sin, if sin it was, I do repent,
And take the penance on myself alone;
Yet after I have borne the punishment,
I shall not fear to stand before the throne
Of Love with open heart, and make this plea:
"At least I have not lied to her nor Thee!"
354

Love in a Look

Let me but feel thy look's embrace,
Transparent, pure, and warm,
And I'll not ask to touch thy face,
Or fold thee with mine arm.
For in thine eyes a girl doth rise,
Arrayed in candid bliss,
And draws me to her with a charm
More close than any kiss.


A loving-cup of golden wine,
Songs of a silver brook,
And fragrant breaths of eglantine,
Are mingled in thy look.
More fair they are than any star,
Thy topaz eyes divine --
And deep within their trysting-nook
Thy spirit blends with mine.
353

Love's Reason

For that thy face is fair I love thee not;
Nor yet because the light of thy brown eyes
Hath gleams of wonder and of glad surprise,
Like woodland streams that cross a sunlit spot:
Nor for thy beauty, born without a blot,
Most perfect when it shines through no disguise
Pure as the star of Eve in Paradise, ---
For all these outward things I love thee not:


But for a something in thy form and face,
Thy looks and ways, of primal harmony;
A certain soothing charm, a vital grace
That breathes of the eternal womanly,
And makes me feel the warmth of Nature's breast,
When in her arms, and thine, I sink to rest.
353

Undine

'T was far away and long ago,
When I was but a dreaming boy,
This fairy tale of love and woe
Entranced my heart with tearful joy;
And while with white Undine I wept,
Your spirit, -- ah, how strange it seems, --
Was cradled in some star, and slept,
Unconscious of her coming dreams.
352

Pan Learns Music

Limber-limbed, lazy god, stretched on the rock,
Where is sweet Echo, and where is your flock?
What are you making here? "Listen," said Pan, -"
Out of a river-reed music for man!"
349

The White Bees

I

LEGEND

Long ago Apollo called to Aristæus,
youngest of the shepherds,
Saying, "I will make you keeper of my bees."
Golden were the hives, and golden was the honey;
golden, too, the music,
Where the honey-makers hummed among the trees.


Happy Aristæus loitered in the garden, wandered
in the orchard,
Careless and contented, indolent and free;
Lightly took his labour, lightly took his pleasure,
till the fated moment
When across his pathway came Eurydice.


Then her eyes enkindled burning love within him;
drove him wild with longing,
For the perfect sweetness of her flower-like face;
Eagerly he followed, while she fled before him,
over mead and mountain,
On through field and forest, in a breathless race.


But the nymph, in flying, trod upon a serpent;
like a dream she vanished;
Pluto's chariot bore her down among the dead;
Lonely Aristæus, sadly home returning, found his
garden empty,
All the hives deserted, all the music fled.


Mournfully bewailing, -- "ah, my honey-makers,
where have you departed?" --
Far and wide he sought them, over sea and shore;
Foolish is the tale that says he ever found them,
brought them home in triumph,
Joys that once escape us fly for evermore.


Yet I dream that somewhere, clad in downy
whiteness, dwell the honey-makers,
In aerial gardens that no mortal sees:
And at times returning, lo, they flutter round us,
gathering mystic harvest,
So I weave the legend of the long-lost bees.


II


THE SWARMING OF THE BEES


I



WHO can tell the hiding of the white bees' nest?
Who can trace the guiding of their swift home flight?
Far would be his riding on a life-long quest:
Surely ere it ended would his beard grow white.


Never in the coming of the rose-red Spring,
Never in the passing of the wine-red Fall,
May you hear the humming of the white bee's wing
Murmur o'er the meadow, ere the night bells call.


Wait till winter hardens in the cold grey sky,
Wait till leaves are fallen and the brooks all freeze,
Then above the gardens where the dead flowers lie,
Swarm the merry millions of the wild white bees.


II


Out of the high-built airy hive,
Deep in the clouds that veil the sun,
Look how the first of the swarm arrive;
Timidly venturing, one by one,
Down through the tranquil air,
Wavering here and there,
Large, and lazy in flight, --
Caught by a lift of the breeze,
Tangled among the naked trees, --
Dropping then, without a sound,
Feather-white, feather-light,
To their rest on the ground.


III


Thus the swarming is begun.
Count the leaders, every one
Perfect as a perfect star
Till the slow descent is done.
Look beyond them, see how far
Down the vistas dim and grey,
Multitudes are on the way.
Now a sudden brightness
Dawns within the sombre day,
Over fields of whiteness;
And the sky is swiftly alive
With the flutter and the flight
Of the shimmering bees, that pour
From the hidden door of the hive
Till you can count no more.



IV


Now on the branches of hemlock and pine
Thickly they settle and cluster and swing,
Bending them low; and the trellised vine
And the dark elm-boughs are traced with a line
Of beauty wherever the white bees cling.
Now they are hiding the wrecks of the flowers,
Softly, softly, covering all,
Over the grave of the summer hours
Spreading a silver pall.
Now they are building the broad roof ledge,
Into a cornice smooth and fair,
Moulding the terrace, from edge to edge,
Into the sweep of a marble stair.
Wonderful workers, swift and dumb,
Numberless myriads, still they come,
Thronging ever faster, faster, faster!
Where is their queen? Who is their master?
The gardens are faded, the fields are frore,
How will they fare in a world so bleak?
Where is the hidden honey they seek?
What is the sweetness they toil to store
In the desolate day, where no blossoms gleam?
Forgetfulness and a dream!


V


But now the fretful wind awakes;
I hear him girding at the trees;
He strikes the bending boughs, and shakes
The quiet clusters of the bees
To powdery drift;
He tosses them away,
He drives them like spray;
He makes them veer and shift
Around his blustering path.
In clouds blindly whirling,
In rings madly swirling,
Full of crazy wrath,
So furious and fast they fly
They blur the earth and blot the sky
In wild, white mirk.
They fill the air with frozen wings
And tiny, angry, icy stings;
They blind the eyes, and choke the breath,
They dance a maddening dance of death
Around their work,
Sweeping the cover from the hill,
Heaping the hollows deeper still,
Effacing every line and mark,



And swarming, storming in the dark
Through the long night;
Until, at dawn, the wind lies down,
Weary of fight.
The last torn cloud, with trailing gown,
Passes the open gates of light;
And the white bees are lost in flight.


VI


Look how the landscape glitters wide and still,
Bright with a pure surprise!
The day begins with joy, and all past ill,
Buried in white oblivion, lies
Beneath the snowdrifts under crystal skies.
New hope, new love, new life, new cheer,
Flow in the sunrise beam,--
The gladness of Apollo when he sees,
Upon the bosom of the wintry year,
The honey-harvest of his wild white bees,
Forgetfulness and a dream!


III


LEGEND


LISTEN, my beloved, while the silver morning,
like a tranquil vision,
Fills the world around us and our hearts with peace;
Quiet is the close of Aristæus' legend, happy is
the ending --
Listen while I tell you how he found release.


Many months he wandered far away in sadness,
desolately thinking
Only of the vanished joys he could not find;
Till the great Apollo, pitying his shepherd, loosed
him from the burden
Of a dark, reluctant, backward-looking mind.


Then he saw around him all the changeful beauty
of the changing seasons,
In the world-wide regions where his journey lay;
Birds that sang to cheer him, flowers that bloomed
beside him, stars that shone to guide him, -Traveller's
joy was plenty all along the way!


Everywhere he journeyed strangers made him
welcome, listened while he taught them



Secret lore of field and forest he had learned:
How to train the vines and make the olives fruitful;
how to guard the sheepfolds;
How to stay the fever when the dog-star burned.


Friendliness and blessing followed in his footsteps;
richer were the harvests,
Happier the dwellings, wheresoe'er he came;
Little children loved him, and he left behind him,
in the hour of parting,
Memories of kindness and a god-like name.


So he travelled onward, desolate no longer,
patient in his seeking,
Reaping all the wayside comfort of his quest;
Till at last in Thracia, high upon Mount Hæmus,
far from human dwelling,
Weary Aristæus laid him down to rest.


Then the honey-makers, clad in downy whiteness,
fluttered soft around him,
Wrapt him in a dreamful slumber pure and deep.
This is life, beloved: first a sheltered garden,
then a troubled journey,
Joy and pain of seeking, -- and at last we sleep!
347

Jeanne d'Arc Returns

1914-1916

What hast thou done, O womanhood of France,
Mother and daughter, sister, sweetheart, wife,
What hast thou done, amid this fateful strife,
To prove the pride of thine inheritance
In this fair land of freedom and romance?
I hear thy voice with tears and courage rife,--
Smiling against the swords that seek thy life,--
Make answer in a noble utterance:
"I give France all I have, and all she asks.
Would it were more! Ah, let her ask and take:
My hands to nurse her wounded, do her tasks,--
My feet to run her errands through the dark,--
My heart to bleed in triumph for her sake,--
And all my soul to follow thee, Jeanne d'Arc!"
346

Quotes

14

Videos

50

Comments (0)

Share
Log in to post a comment.

No comments yet. Be the first to comment.