SONG OF THE WEARY TRAVELLER I am weary. I would rest On the wide earth's swelling breast, Nurtured by the quiet sod Where the fragrant dew has trod, Soothed by all the winds that pass, Hearing voices in the grass Of the little insect things Happier than the mightiest kings! I am weary. I would sleep In some quiet perfumed deep Where no human touch could bring Tears to me or anything. There I would forget to weep And my silent cloister keep,-- There I would the earth embrace Meeting Beauty face to face. I am weary. I would go Where the fields are white with snow, Where the violets are lain Far from human strife and pain-- Far from longing and delight, Thro' the endless starry night, There I would forget to weep, And my silent cloister keep. BLANCHE SHOEMAKER WAGSTAFF COBWEBS Who would not praise thee, miracle of Frost? Some gesture overnight, some breath benign, And lo! the tree's a fountain all a-shine, The hedge a throne of unimagined cost; In wheel and fan along a wall embossed, The spider's humble handiwork shows fine With jewels girdling every airy line; Though the small mason in the cold be lost. Web after web, a morning snare of bliss Starring with beauty the whole neighbourhood, May well beget an envy clean and good. When man goes too into the earth-abyss, And God in His altered garden walks, I would My secret woof might gleam so fair as this. LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY BLIND The Spring blew trumpets of color; Her Green sang in my brain-- I heard a blind man groping "Tap--tap" with his cane; I pitied him his blindness; But can I boast, "I see?" Perhaps there walks a spirit Close by, who pities me,-- A spirit who hears me tapping The five-sensed cane of mind Amid such unguessed glories-- That I--am worse than blind! HARRY KEMP HERB OF GRACE I do not know what sings in me-- I only know it sings When pale the stars, and every tree Is glad with waking wings. I only know the air is sweet With wondrous flowers unseen-- That unaccountably complete Is June's accustomed green. The wind has magic in its touch; Strange dreams the sunsets give. Life I have questioned overmuch-- To-day, I live. AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR BEFORE MARY OF MAGDALA CAME Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden; and in the garden a new sepulchre.... The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early ... unto the sepulchre.... And ... she turned herself back, and saw Jesus standing.... Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith unto him ... Master. St. John.