THE STANDARD-BEARER I "How can I tell," Sir Edward said, "Who has the right or the wrong o' this thing? Cromwell stands for the people's cause, Charles is crowned by the ancient laws; English meadows are sopping red, Englishmen striking each other dead, Times are black as a raven's wing. The King has trusted his banner to me, II Into the thick of the Edgehill fight Sir Edward rode with a shout; and the ring Of grim-faced, hard-hitting Parliament men Swallowed him up,-it was one against ten! He fought for the standard with all his might, Never again did he come to sight Victor, hid by the raven's wing! After the battle had passed we found Only one thing,— The hand of Sir Edward gripped around The banner-staff of his King. 1 22 Henry van Dyke. THE FORGOTTEN SOUL "TWAS I that cried against the pane on All Souls' Night (O pulse of my heart's life, how could you never hear?) You filled the room I knew with yellow candle-light And cheered the lass beside you when she cried in fear, 'Twas I that went beside you in the gray woodmist (O core of my heart's heart, how could you never know?) You only frowned and shuddered as you bent and kissed The lass hard by you, handfast, as I used to go. 'Twas I that stood to greet you on the church yard pave (O fire of my heart's grief, how could you never see?) You smiled in careless dreaming as you crossed my grave And hummed a little love-song where they buried me! 8 12 Margaret Widdemer. THE UNKNOWN BELOVED* I DREAMED I passed a doorway What drew me so I know not, Said he, "Your most beloved Astonished I made answer, This house I do not know." Quoth he, "Who from the world's end Was destined unto thee Here lies, thy true beloved Whom thou shalt never see." "From the author's "Dust and Light," Scribner, 1919. 8 12 16 20 I dreamed I passed a doorway Where, for a sign of death, About a flowery wreath. John Hall Wheelock. 24 BALLAD OF THREE UPON the river's brink she stands And tastes the dawn's white breath. She wrings her slender, silver hands, "God's curse on love," she saith. "Love binds me with his cruel bands That break not save with death." "Now Geoffrey is a huntsman bold In friendship would these twain grow old Did I not dwell anear. "Hugh brings me grapes with sunlight sweet, Like globes of amethyst, While Geoffrey's fawn with snowflake feet Is corded to my wrist. They mutter curses when they meet, Their sight dims with red mist. "And it is love hath done this thing; Yea, Geoffrey loves my hair, 12 18 And Hugh lifts up his voice to sing And love strews poison in the spring "But not for my poor loveliness Shall blood of brothers flow. What is one woman, more or less? Lads, sheathe your knives, no use to fight, The lady you would wed Shall sleep alone in state to-night With candles at her head. Lift, friends, this figure still and white And bear her to her bed. 24 30 36 Joyce Kilmer. THE RIDE TO THE LADY* "Now since mine even is come at last,- of fingering leech I have no need!" "From "A Chant of Love for England and Other Poems," published by E. P. Dutton, New York City. |