No More Learning

The world of shadows, ghosts that will not die, Guarded Love's Gate and would not let me pass,
And we are patient as the dead can be!
SHELLEY By Samuel Roth
Our poet, says a simple tale of him,
Held with a stubborn reverence the faith
That babes are born in heaven, and, so saith
This tale, perhaps spurred by a sudden whim,
With one new born held converse lengthy. "Oh, Pray, sir, "the lady " spake all laughter riven,
"What means this? "I but ask for news of heaven. " "Surely," —the lady smiling —"he can't know. "
And then, so runs this tale, our singer prince,
His soft eyes darkling brightly, and his lips
Widening like the child's: "O say it not.
It is but thirty dawns and twilights since
He left his playmates back of the eclipse,
It cannot be he has so soon forgot. "
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MORIENS PROFECTUS By John Orth Cook
The silver bugle blows across the meer,
Rising and falling in the evening air;
And we, who all our lives have walked in fear,
Go through the thickening darkness, following where The music leads us, —be it far or near !
And no man pauses. For we are of those Whom Time has worsted in his mimic close: —But we have no despair, no grief, no woes.
The silver bugle blows across the meer,
And some will hear it early, others late;
But each will lay himself upon his bier
And hold thereon a moment's solemn state:
And there will be the brief funereal rites Whence all shall pass into the utter drear Where sunless, moonless, days succeed to nights, And no wind stirs the surface of the meer.
IF I COULD TAKE THIS LOVE FROM OUT MY HEART
By Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff
If I could take this love from out my heart And go my way in silence and alone, Unweeping, and to fear and joy unknown
Forgetful of the world's bright-colored mart — Passing amidst the human throng apart
Like one who walks with beauty in the night
Remembering all the tears and vain delight,— The rapture and the pain that were my part— Then I could watch again the swallows dart
Into the sky's blue dome unenvyingly,
Knowing I am at last as they are, free. . .
And I would say, 'Though all sweet dreams depart, I shall be ever glad remembering
As one in winter hears the voice of Spring.
"
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A CHANGE SONG By Marguerite Wilkinson
0 life, what would you make of me That, turning, I may find no more
A welcome at each friendly door
That once stood open wide to me?
Dear hands still reach to meet with mine, And yet my heart is turned away;
Dear ringing voices answer mine
And yet my spirit may not stay.
And, gazing deep into old days,
On faces whose dear lines I knew
Whose many-colored thoughts I guessed, I find I know not the old ways;
Dear eyes are shadowed that I knew, And lips are silent that confessed With burden of bright words to me Out of their woe, their ecstasy;
Or speaking, they are quick and gay, With kindly will to warn or bless. Why can I never tear away
The veils from the old friendliness ?
Mists rise on any sunny shore — Hiding the river from the sea And all the flowing of their souls Is hidden, by a mist, from me.
The channel, that I know no more, Whence, to unfathomed oceans, rolls The current of my being, now 1
Into the dark is turning me. 7 Wraiths of old joy shift through jlht air, Wraiths of old pain that shudder and sigh, Wraiths of each outworn love and care Pluck at me as I pass them by.
The old ways wind not where I go !
The old friends share no dreams I know.
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O life, what would you make of them That I, who love, can understand
No glory of that holy land
Whither their dreams are bearing them? 0 life, what would you make of me That they, who love, must weave a veil
Of troubled wonder, thick and pale
Before the heaven that shines for me?
1 know not. But I seek no more
To clutch the old ways to my heart
And warm them, till they find a part
Of the old shining light they wore.
I shall not turn again and look,
But tenderly, like an old book,
That childhood loved with hot young heart, Now kindly closed and put away,
I shall set the old days apart,
1 may not rest where they must stay. And from old loves that I have known O life, I look to you, alone!
WORLD BUILDERS By Abigail Fithian Halsev
These are the things that make the world, The sun and air, the earth and sky,
The golden sunlight everywhere,
The wings of angels drifting by.