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Is God a jester？ Does he laugh and throw
Poor branded wretches here to sweat and strive
For some vague end that never shall arrive？
And is He not yet weary of the show？
Think of it； all ye millions that have planned；
And only planned； the largess of hard youth！
Think of it； all ye builders on the sand；
Whose works are down！ Is love so small； forsooth？
Be brave！ To…morrow you will understand
The doubt； the pain； the triumph； and the Truth！
Zola
Because he puts the compromising chart
Of hell before your eyes； you are afraid；
Because he counts the price that you have paid
For innocence； and counts it from the start；
You loathe him。 But he sees the human heart
Of God meanwhile； and in God's hand has weighed
Your squeamish and emasculate crusade
Against the grim dominion of his art。
Never until we conquer the uncouth
Connivings of our shamed indifference
（We call it Christian faith！） are we to scan
The racked and shrieking hideousness of Truth
To find； in hate's polluted self…defence
Throbbing； the pulse； the divine heart of man。
The Pity of the Leaves
Vengeful across the cold November moors；
Loud with ancestral shame there came the bleak
Sad wind that shrieked； and answered with a shriek；
Reverberant through lonely corridors。
The old man heard it； and he heard； perforce；
Words out of lips that were no more to speak
Words of the past that shook the old man's cheek
Like dead； remembered footsteps on old floors。
And then there were the leaves that plagued him so！
The brown； thin leaves that on the stones outside
Skipped with a freezing whisper。 Now and then
They stopped； and stayed there just to let him know
How dead they were； but if the old man cried；
They fluttered off like withered souls of men。
Aaron Stark
Withal a meagre man was Aaron Stark；
Cursed and unkempt； shrewd； shrivelled； and morose。
A miser was he； with a miser's nose；
And eyes like little dollars in the dark。
His thin； pinched mouth was nothing but a mark；
And when he spoke there came like sullen blows
Through scattered fangs a few snarled words and close；
As if a cur were chary of its bark。
Glad for the murmur of his hard renown；
Year after year he shambled through the town；
A loveless exile moving with a staff；
And oftentimes there crept into his ears
A sound of alien pity； touched with tears；
And then （and only then） did Aaron laugh。
The Garden
There is a fenceless garden overgrown
With buds and blossoms and all sorts of leaves；
And once； among the roses and the sheaves；
The Gardener and I were there alone。
He led me to the plot where I had thrown
The fennel of my days on wasted ground；
And in that riot of sad weeds I found
The fruitage of a life that was my own。
My life！ Ah； yes； there was my life； indeed！
And there were all the lives of humankind；
And they were like a book that I could read；
Whose every leaf； miraculously signed；
Outrolled itself from Thought's eternal seed；
Love…rooted in God's garden of the mind。
Cliff Klingenhagen
Cliff Klingenhagen had me in to dine
With him one day； and after soup and meat；
And all the other things there were to eat；
Cliff took two glasses and filled one with wine
And one with wormwood。 Then； without a sign
For me to choose at all； he took the draught
Of bitterness himself； and lightly quaffed
It off； and said the other one was mine。
And when I asked him what the deuce he meant
By doing that； he only looked at me
And grinned； and said it was a way of his。
And though I know the fellow； I have spent
Long time a…wondering when I shall be
As happy as Cliff Klingenhagen is。
Charles Carville's Eyes
A melancholy face Charles Carville had；
But not so melancholy as it seemed；
When once you knew him； for his mouth redeemed
His insufficient eyes； forever sad：
In them there was no life…glimpse； good or bad；
Nor joy nor passion in them ever gleamed；
His mouth was all of him that ever beamed；
His eyes were sorry； but his mouth was glad。
He never was a fellow that said much；
And half of what he did say was not heard
By many of us： we were out of touch
With all his whims and all his theories
Till he was dead； so those blank eyes of his
Might speak them。 Then we heard them； every word。
The Dead Village
Here there is death。 But even here； they say；
Here where the dull sun shines this afternoon
As desolate as ever the dead moon
Did glimmer on dead Sardis； men were gay；
And there were little children here to play；
With small soft hands that once did keep in tune
The strings that stretch from heaven； till too soon
The change came； and the music passed away。
Now there is nothing but the ghosts of things；
No life； no love； no children； and no men；
And over the forgotten place there clings
The strange and unrememberable light
That is in dreams。 The music failed； and then
God frowned； and shut the village from His sight。
Boston
My northern pines are good enough for me；
But there's a town my memory uprears
A town that always like a friend appears；
And always in the sunrise by the sea。
And over it； somehow； there seems to be
A downward flash of something new and fierce；
That ever strives to clear； but never clears
The dimness of a charmed antiquity。
Two Sonnets
I
Just as I wonder at the twofold screen
Of twisted innocence that you would plait
For eyes that uncourageously await
The coming of a kingdom that has been；
So do I wonder what God's love can mean
To you that all so strangely estimate
The purpose and the consequent estate
Of one short shuddering step to the Unseen。
No； I have not your backward faith to shrink
Lone…faring from the doorway of God's home
To find Him in the names of buried men；
Nor your ingenious recreance to think
We cherish； in the life that is to come；
The scattered features of dead friends again。
II
Never until our souls are strong enough
To plunge into the crater of the Scheme
Triumphant in the flash there to redeem
Love's handsel and forevermore to slough；
Like cerements at a played…out masque； the rough
And reptile skins of us whereon we set
The stigma of scared years are we to get
Where atoms and the ages are one stuff。
Nor ever shall we know the cursed waste
Of life in the beneficence divine
Of starlight and of sunlight and soul…shine
That we have squandered in sin's frail distress；
Till we have drunk； and trembled at the taste；
The mead of Thought's prophetic endlessness。
The Clerks
I did not think that I should find them there
When I came back again； but there they stood；
As in the days