Cry the pennons furled,
Lest under Ragnarok
Lie the shattered world!
ST. JEANNE RIDES OUT
(For Amy Lowell)
ST. JEANNE she sat with Michaël,
With Marguerite and Raphaël,
And all the saints who sent her forth a many years ago,
And high behind her gold-ringed head,
The martyrs dressed in white and red
And seraphim all silver-winged they chanted row on row.
St. Jeanne she spoke to Michaël,
To Marguerite and Raphaël,
"Oh, here's no place for such as I, all white and gold and warm,
For I was but a peasant maid
Strong of arm and unafraid,
Before you sent me garnering along the battle-storm."
St. Jeanne she's laid her garlands by,
Her crown and palm that glittered high
And all the golden trinketry she won at Heaven Gate,
She's out along by Mary's Street
Where little stars lie thick and sweet,
With helm and sword they took from her at Rouen-Town of late.
St. Peter swore, "The gate stands wide,
So many folk have marched inside–
I'll drop my golden keys tonight and snatch a sword again!"
And stalwart saints and martyrs all
And sworded angels silver-tall
In straight and shining companies they've followed in her train.
And down the fields of Paradise
The churchmen all so great and wise
Who won to Heaven so hardly once, they've knelt to her at last,
All they who laughed at Rouen-Town
To see the flames beat up and down
And learned her for a saint that day, they follow glad and fast.
Oh, did you hear the shouting then?
Along the fields of weary men
There's lifted heart and strengthened arm and laughing glad accord:
Oh, who may doubt what end may be?
With all her wingéd chivalry
St. Jeanne rides down her fields tonight to battle for the Lord!
A BALLAD OF THE WISE MEN
THE Christ-Child lay in Bethlehem
And the Wise Men gave Him gold,
And Mary-Mother she hearkened them
As they prayed in the cattle-fold:
"Smile then, smile, little Prince of Earth,
Smile in Thy holy sleep,
Now Thou art come, for want and dearth
There shall be plenty and light and mirth
Through lands where the poor folk weep."
But Mary-Mother was still and pale
And she raised her golden-ringed head,
"Then why have I heard the children wail
All night long on the far-blown gale
While my own Child slept?" she said.
(But far overhead the angels sang:
"There shall be joy!" the clear notes rang!)
The Christ-Child lay in Bethlehem
And the censers burned for him
That the Wise Men swung on its silver stem
And prayed while the smoke rose dim:
"Sleep, then sleep, little Son of God,
Sleep while the whole world prays;
All the world shall fear Thy nod,
Following close Thy staff and rod,
Praising this day of days."
But Mary-Mother turned whispering
There by the manger-bed
"Then why do I hear the mocking ring
Of voices crying and questioning
Through the scented smoke?" she said.
(But high overhead the angels sang–
"There shall be faith!" the pure notes rang.)
The Christ-Child lay in Bethlehem
And the Wise Men gave Him myrrh,
And Mary-Mother she hearkened them
As they prayed by the heart of her:
"Sleep, then sleep, little Prince of Peace,
Sleep, take Thy holy rest,
Now Thou art come all wars shall cease,
Thou who hast brought all strife release
Even from east to west!"
But Mary-Mother she veiled her head
As if her great joys were lost,
And "Here is only a manger-bed,
Then why do I hear clashed swords?" she said.
"And why do I see the tide of red
Over the whole world tossed?"
(But still overhead the angels sang:
"There shall be peace!" the sure notes rang!)
NEXT YEAR
UP and down the street I know,
Now that there are Grief and War,
All day long the people go
As they went before;
But when now the lads go by–
Careless look and careless glance–
My heart wonders–"Which shall lie
Still next year in France?"
When the girls go fluttering–
Flushing cheek and tossing head–
My heart asks–"Next year shall bring
Which a lover dead?"
Lord, let peace be kind and fleet–
Put an end to Grief and War;
Let them walk the little street
Careless as before!
HOMES
THE lamplight's shaded rose
On couch and chair and wall,
The drowsy book let fall,
The children's