Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/303

Rh Then came I near

And questioned of that Ghost, who answer made

Like a deep, murmuring wind that slowly draws

Through dim memorial aisles of ancient time:—

"I am the mother of men, and from my womb

Came all the dead and living. I am curst

With memory, with knowledge of what is,

And what shall be; yet, verily, am I blest

With these three knowledges,—my children I

Have seen these myriad years grow, age by age,

More wise, more just, more joyous, yet have I

Seen mutual slaughter sow the earth with tears.

In this New World here had I hoped my children

Would learn to unlearn the path mankind had climbed

Over its slain to happiness and power;

For soon or late I know that boon shall come,

And in the wars of peace the race shall wax

Manlier, purer, gentler, and more wise.

"But now again the sacred truce is broken,

And bleeds this breast at every wound and sigh,

And aches my mother-heart with the new pain

Of mortal mothers comfortless forever."

Then past the Spirit from my dream at dawn;

I woke into another day of war

With news of splendid deeds, and victory—

Yet still I heard that brooding shade lament.

1898.

THE WORD OF THE WHITE CZAR

day, a strange and beautiful word was spoken,—

Not with the voice of a child, nor the voice of a woman,

Nor yet with the voice of a poet, the melody sounded,—