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GREEN PIPES

Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2011 with funding from

LYRASIS IVIembers and Sloan Foundation

http://www.archive.org/details/greenpipespoemspOOpage

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MACMlLtAW NEW^YORK^- - - - m^

Copyright, 1929, By the MACMILLAN COMPANY.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part, in any form.

Set up and electrotyped. Published, September, 1929.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY THE STUATFORD I'RESS, NEW YORK

CONTENTS

PAGE

Imaginings '

Tiptoe 3

Flower Shadows 8

Dusk 9

Pipings lO

Smoke Sprite 12,

Alas and Alack i4

The Quaints' Processional I5

Walking Along i?

Snow Fairy i8

Long Tails 20

Pixie Fair 2i

Haunted 23

Leaves 25

Alone 27

The Lost Garden 28

[v]

CONTENTS

Eyes 31

Elfin Children 33

Window Warning 35

Little Boy's Song 38

PiRATEs-O! 40

Wind Blown 42

[vi]

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ILLUSTRATIONS

The Enchanted Flowers Frontispiece

FACING PAGE

Little Bower Dancer °

The Quaints' Processional '5

Long Tails -"-*

The Bloody Pirate 4°

GREEN PIPES

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IMAGININGS

Imagine!

A tiny red door that leads under a hill, Beneath roots and bright stones And pebbly rill.

Imagine!

A quaint little knocker and shoe scraper too,

A curious carved key

Waiting for you.

[i]

Imagine!

Tiptoe on door mat, you're turning the key

The red door would open

And there you'd be.

Imagine !

Shut the red door tightly so no one should see

And no one would know then

Where you would be.

Imagine, if you can!

[2]

TIPTOE

Tiptoe we go In plundered dusts From cupboards deep And old iron chests Burnt with gold rusts,

In trailing smokes Snake-scaled, jewel spattered, Fay-woven, spun Of colored silks. Petal-tattered.

[3]

Along the hall Of the still house On twirling toes We wind about The shadowed house.

We promenade At secret hours Which no one knows, Where no one goes, Like costumed flowers.

* * * *

Tiptoe we go Up creeping stair, From garret grim Then back again To cellared lair.

In garden gloom Under dark eaves The old house sleeps. By battered branch And close-pressed leaves.

We peer into

Blue blackened dell,

For hiding face

Lurking within

The w^eed-grown well.

[4]

In waving lace On brocade gown Of cobweb grace, We rustle past Windows that frown.

Tiptoe we go,

Fantastic we.

By hedgy lane

And boggy pit

Where white ghosts be.

Then back into

The garden's doze,

We skim again,

With small skilled hands

The green gate close.

Like phantom mice To dreaming house We steal again. Up stair on stair. Through yawning house,

[6]

Finger to lip, Then with cockcrow Loot we slip back Close oaken lid, And tiptoe go.

[7]

DUSK

At eventide when petals close

And all is dimly dusk,

After the faint still twilight glow

Shy stealing ghost-mists come and go,

Then vanish as grey dust.

When night's soft scarf twines from the sea

And all is quiet as can be,

Hush! There are sounds from tree to tree.

The trooping fairies come.

The towering dark cypress arms,

That reach into the night.

Brush their black, spire-spiked tips along

Far-off star scattered lights that throng

Deep dipped in moonlit white.

By ebon trunks are cloudy swarms

Of trailing misty spirit forms

That skim across the moss grown lawn.

The trooping fairies come.

[9]

PIPINGS

Pipe thee high and pipe thee low! Faster and faster small feet go, Twinkling, dancing over the hill. Little fat toes never keep still.

Pipe thee high and pipe thee low!

Red baby mouths sing so and so

To tripping tunes of green Pan pipes,

That lilt and fall o'er hay-cocked heights.

Pipe thee high and pipe thee low! Grown-up people must dance just so; But wee folk skip in sunlit lanes As blossoms blow on window panes.

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[lo]

SMOKE SPRITE

Sturdy am I, With elfin eye, Astride the sky.

Puffing and black Thick smoke I pack From chimney stack.

Curled in and out, I blow about In gleeful pout.

Stars cut in twain

I shoot again

Through cloud-bursts' rain.

Hurtling anew,

Sleet piercing through

The wind-torn blue,

I whistle shrill O'er storm-swept sill From silent hill.

[ 12]

^1

ALAS AND ALACK

Alone in its loneliness

Under the trees,

Wild windy black branches

Pin-pricking to tease,

The sulky squat house

Blinks with shiver and sneeze.

Hunched into mudpuddles Up to its nose \A'hile trickling tears drip, A chill rain-storm blows. The cowled old house Is alone with its woes.

[14]

THE QUAINTS' PROCESSIONAL

Where are they going, These fat little quaintsr They are up to some mischief I'm sure, Very sure.

With their amber umbrellas, White candle-tipped ends. And their purple-patched sacks, All queer bulgings and bends. They are up to some mischief, I'm sure.

[15]

What are they planning,

These bad little quaints,

A-muttering, whispering about.

I'm sure

I don't know.

They have stolen my bird cage,

And taken yours too;

And I shan't be surprised

If they even steal you!

They are up to some mischief,

I'm sure.

[i6]

WALKING ALONG

Little Simone walks up the hill.

Curly headed, with hare little knees,

Her golliwog snugly tucked under her arm,

Slowly, so slowly walks little Simone.

Then looking most quaintly at me,

And ruhhing her eyes with a very faint sigh:

"Do carry my golliwog.^ Please."

Little Simone walks up the hill, A-dreaming along with the hees, A-planning and thinking and looking ahout. Two tiny ribbons has little Simone, Stoops and plucks some nice grass blades near me, Holds out baby hands, with a very faint sigh: "Now carry my fairy greens? Please."

Little Simone walks up the hill.

Wee black bows hide and seek as the breeze.

All frolicking, plays with her curly-head charm.

Slowly — so slowly walks little Simone.

Then looking half shyly at me.

And rubbing her eyes with a very faint sigh:

"My golly and green flowers — please."

[ .7]

SNOW FAIRY

On the blue, shadow-trembling snow,

Still and listening,

I crouch in slim whiteness, with little hare knees.

Star-dust clouds my hair from gaunt, silver-leaved trees.

All still and listening.

Softly-encircling, dreamy flakes.

Still and sleeping,

Float, tinkling, in crystal-pure, slow phantom haze

Grey-glistening, glimmering, frozen moon-maze,

All still and sleeping.

I lull the snow with holly branch,

Still and dreaming.

And, in the blood-berries, frost-magic, a-dart.

Is weaving glass spells that have entered my heart.

All still and dreaming.

[.8]

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LONG TAILS

Wee heels atop each other, Odd twisting tail-tip twiddles, Cut strings of goblin fiddles. Pagoda-tree of riddles.

Spry young queers, high up, indeed Have a most delightful time. Squeal the grumpy ones below "It's our turn to have a climb! "

Sprig hats with wriggly feathers, But night caps for the humble, If tired arms should fumble, — Oh! . . . then there'll be a tumble!

[20]

PIXIE FAIR

Three little maids

In fresh white frocks,

With saucy pink ribbons

And shoes and socks,

Fresh-picked primroses in their hair,

Started off to the pixie fair.

One saw a blackbird fly

Out of an oak

That was old and gnarled.

With withered weeds cloaked.

After the blackbird into the wood

The little maid ran fast as she could.

[21]

One saw a cool stream Wind in and out Of the willowy shade; So' she turned about

And down to the water — quick as a flash

She dashed to sail leaves, and otherwise splash.

The third saw some bluebells

Over a stile,

By a hazy sweet meadow,

A quaint nosegay pile.

Over the stile the little maid climbed

To make fairy wreaths, while green crickets chimed.

Three little naughties

Went to the fair,

But — quite as you see-

They never reached there.

When it was tea time home they might stray.

So pixies must plan for another fair day.

[22]

HAUNTED

In the depths of a wood

"Which way, if you pleaser"

A little boy stood,

In the depths of a wood.

And a witch peered out From her half-hidden house; Through the leaves by the door, A witch peered out.

[23]

A black cat slid down. From the tumbled-thatch roof; With a green eye and brown, A black cat slid down.

On the blue cobblestones, Both stared at the boy Neath the whispering trees. Both stared at the boy.

But never a word The little boy heard. On this still summer eve, No — never a word.

In the depths of a wood, "Which way, if you please.?" A little boy stood And wept in the wood.

[24]

LEAVES

The leaves are falling One by one, Soft goblin gold Dust -in the sun. Vermilion-gold, Now mellow bronze, Slipping, falling. One by one.

A crinkled curling leaf

All quivering gold-winged, green,

And perched atop, a cross-legged elf,

Sly-winking, sprightly-lean,

With twirling tendriled toes.

Such sharp and saucy teeth!

He in his puckish mouth, slick-sucks,

Wry rose crab-apple meat.

[25]

Two tiny tipped horns

Tickle his bit of nose.

All impish glee, fantastic thing,

In gossamer faerie clothes.

He spins leaves to and fro,

Wind flashes in and out,

But where's the rogue r He's disappeared

In scattered gold about.

The leaves are falling One by one, Soft goblin gold Dust in the sun. Vermilion-gold, Now mellow bronze, Slipping, falling, One by one.

[26]

ALONE

I never had walked quite so far

Alone,

And as I closed the garden gate

And slipped into the leafy lane

And saw the winding road ahead,

I felt so very quite alone,

Walking along alone.

I had n't gone so very far

Alone,

When all the staring huge oak trees

Came shuffling, crowding round me;

And then I wished I was at home.

I felt so very quite alone.

Walking along alone.

A few more steps to the road's bend Alone,

And then I stole a glance ahead. It's awfully shady, dark beyond, So I just turned and ran and ran. I felt so very quite alone; But better, . . . running home. [27]

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THE LOST GARDEN

The great yew hedges tracings cast Upon the green and uncut grass; Strange shadows twist among the trees.

The drowsy summer air distils Rare fragrances from flowers filled With treasure for the droning bees.

The old fish pond's grey-rippled, deep; A cloud of water lilies sleep Amid the reeds and dragon-flies.

Black butterflies skim vaguely by The honeysuckled garden paths, Like midnight petals on the lawn.

[28]

Dark heliotrope and lilac-bloom, Mid circling wreathed vines, entomb The old bronze statue of a faun.

Against the rambling, brown stone walls, Tall golden broom, a-shower, falls, Upon the sundial in the sun.

All is so still and quiet here; Perhaps the ghosts of children fare Betwixt the shadows and the sun.

A garden lost to all but those Who pause unseen, in tendriled dusk. To listen where the wild rose blows.

[30]

EYES

In the darkness of the hall Tiny eyes are watching me, Shining sparks of silvered green Watching, watching me.

Look! the cupboard has closed.

Wee, small hands, quick finger tipped.

Slipped the key out of the lock.

Nimble legs go scurrying by. Bramble flecked in cobweb green Whisk away before half seen.

[31]

There is hid a peaked ear Dewdrop crimson-berry hung, By the jam pot on the shelf.

Mischief mouthed, with pert curled tongue, What was that that tweaked my cheek: Prankish sprite — sly, elfin, sweet.

Hist! the window curtains sway! Whispered laughter as I turn! Chatter, patter, all is still.

In the darkness of the hall Tiny eyes are watching me. Shining sparks of silvered green Watching, watching me.

[32]

ELFIN CHILDREN

I know where there's a crumbling place; I fly there in the night, But it is rather hard to find Unless you have the guiding moon, With dim face coldly white.

I wake at midnight's secret hour, From bed soft-stealing, seek The window, open shutters wide. Then off away to tree-top paths Like tiny night-light streak.

O'er sleeping fields, away I float With starlings winging fast. The straggling moonbeams hurry on; They know where I am flying to, And who'll be first — who last?

Glimmering green in whispering dell

Against the pitchy sky.

In witch-light strands from rolling clouds

I see the trysting place, soot-roofed,

As sulky bats swarm by.

[33]

Through incense-curtained, whirling gloom, Small slippered figures pass A-tiptoe up the wind-swept hall. To creaking shadowed turret stair Where sighs an undreamed Mass.

Hushed songs sift through cracked panes, All in the waning light, The rushing gale beats round the moat No human ere hath passed beyond That sad wind's sweeping might.

Then from the windowed heights we stream,

By silent starlit mire.

Fast from the dark and hidden house

Deserted in the faint moonlight,

Back to our nursery fire.

[34]

WINDOW WARNING

The Poet to the Child:

Snuggle down deep, Bed clothes over your head!

There's a wee fairy thing, a-beckoning — calling! Stuff the sheets into ^ Your pink little ears!

There's a wee fairy thing, a-beckoning — calling!

Burrow down deep

To the end of the bed.

Coverlet, blankets all over your spread.

There's a wee thing tip-tapping and a-calling!

[35]

The Child:

Yes, I will be a changeling! Won't — shan't be a changeling. Yes, I shall be a changeling, Before morning!

The Chan geling-C Jul d to the Poet: So now I'm tip-tapping On your window tap-tapping! Won't you be a changeling with me, Before morning?

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[36]

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LITTLE BOY'S SONG

Through the thicket have I spied Fairy rings midst daisies pied, And goblin toadstools springing.

In the tree tops have I seen

Birds' nests built the leaves between,

Where boughs are ever swinging.

By the brooklet have I been. Cooled my toes near fishes' fin And heard the waters singing.

On the hillside have I run

With white foam-clouds 'gainst the sun;

The waving wind-grass skimming.

[38]

PIRATES-O!

A-watching by the turnpike road

That rambles to the sea,

'Neath clutching fog a gallows grim

In snapping bracken caught,

I saw a fearsome Pirate-man

Swaggering by.

All whipped about by sharp salt gales Wave-hissing from the sea, Cock-cornered hat, gay smuggled scarf, And bloody sword unsheathed, He prowling strode through tangled gloom, Lest spying eyes there be.

[4c]

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He hurried where dark-mottled crags

Lie crooked above the sea;

His buckled boots stuffed with doubloons

Crushed heather ankle deep!

He had a gleeful, wicked eye,

And plaid coat-patches three.

By thorny thicket coldly clasped In bleak gusts from the sea, He staggered on against the wind. His hairy chest all wet with rain, 'And dapper lace, round satin sleeves, Briar-torn and hanging free.

Stealthy, he trod down treacherous sands

To tossing, threatening sea

Where blinked ship lantern-lights afar

With spiteful cat's-eyed sting.

His mumbling crew had waited long

Ready to flee.

[41]

The Cry:

WIND BLOWN

I have searched far

For fairy folk,

So frail and fine,

In hidden pools

Where moon flowers are.

I have searched far

In haunted depths

Of white-lipped stars

For fairy folk,

So frail and fine;

I have searched far.

Echo:

You never find Frail fairy folk By searching far; You never find. As silvery wind They steal o'er you. And then you find Frail fairy folk. You never fijid Frail fairy folk By searching far. [42]

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