THE KINGDOM OF
LOVE
and other poems

by ELLA WHEELER WILCOX

GAY AND HANCOCK, LTD.
12 & 13, HENRIETTA STREET, STRAND
LONDON
1909

[All rights reserved]

Contents:

The Kingdom Of Love
Meg’s Curse
Solitude
The Gossips
Platonic
Grandpa’s Christmas
After The Engagement
A Holiday
False
Two Sinners
The Phantom Ball
Words And Thoughts
Wanted—A Little Girl
The Suicide
“Now I Lay Me”
The Messenger
A Servian Legend
Peek-A-Boo
The Falling Of Thrones
Her Last Letter
The Princess’s Finger-Nail
A Baby In The House
The Foolish Elm
Robin’s Mistake
New Year Resolve
What We Want
Breaking The Day In Two
The Rape Of The Mist
The Two Glasses
The Maniac
What Is Flirtation?
Husband And Wife
How Does Love Speak?
Reincarnation
As You Go Through Life
How Salvator Won
The Watcher
How Will It Be?
Memory’s River
Love’s Way
A Man’s Last Love
The Lady And The Dame
Confession
A Married Coquette
Forbidden Speech
The Summer Girl
The Ghost
The Signboard
A Man’s Repentance
Aristarchus
Dell And I
About May
Vanity Fair
The Giddy Girl
A Girl’s Autumn Reverie
His Youth
Under The Sheet
A Pin
The Coming Man

In the early morning when the sea and the land
Reflected the sunrise above,
I set out with a heart full of courage and joy
To search for the Kingdom of Love.
I asked a Poet I met along the way
Which path would lead me right;
And he said, “Follow me, and soon you will see
Its shining towers of light.”

And soon in the distance, a city shone brightly.
“Look over there,” he said; “How it sparkles!”
But unfortunately, for the hopes that were destined to fail,
It was just the “Kingdom of Dreams.”
Then the next person I asked was a cheerful Cavalier,
And he said: “Follow me, follow me”;
And with laughter and song, we went racing along
By the shores of Life’s beautiful sea.

Then we arrived at a valley that was much more tropical
Than the beautiful vale of Kashmir,
And I caught sight of a face like a flower
Smiling at the cheerful Cavalier;
And he said: “We have reached humanity’s goal:
Here love and joy are overwhelming.”
But oh, how disappointing for the hopes of my soul—
It was just the “Kingdom of Sense.”

As I traveled more slowly, I encountered a carriage with attendants behind it;
And they said, "Follow us; our Lady's home
is in that area, you'll see."
She was a stylish woman, a newlywed,
and I followed, feeling brave and encouraged;
But my hopes faded away like the last light of day,
because we arrived at the "Kingdom of Gold."

At the door of a cottage, I asked a beautiful young woman.
“I’ve heard of that place,” she answered;
“But I never leave the ‘Kingdom of Home,’
So I don’t know the way,” and she sighed.
I looked at the cottage; it looked so peaceful!
And the young woman was as lovely as a dove.
A great light filled my soul as I exclaimed:
“Why, Home is the ‘Kingdom of Love’!”

The sun was high in a clear blue sky
On a perfect summer morning.
She stood and looked out into the street,
And wondered why she even existed.
On the highest branch of a nearby maple tree
That grew close to the window,
A robin sang to his captivated mate:
“I love only you, only you, only you.”

A gentle expression came over her tough face—
She hadn’t cried in years;
But the robin’s song, like some sounds do,
Broke open the floodgates of tears.
She thought about the old home far away;
She heard the hum of the mill;
She heard the turtle’s wild, sweet call,
And the mournful sound of the whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will.

She saw that dusty road again
   Where he came riding down;
She smelled once more the flower she wore
   In the front of her simple dress.
Out on the freshly cut meadow she heard
   Two blue jays arguing and fussing,
And the warning call of a Phoebe bird
   “More wet, more wet, more wet.”

With a cheerful “Hello” to the men below
Who were spreading the freshly cut hay,
The rider stopped at her window—
How it all came back today!
How young she was, and how beautiful she was;
What innocence graced her!
The future looked bright, for Love was there—
And now—and now—and now.

In a grimy mirror on the wall nearby
She stared at her worn-out face.
“Well, Meg, I have to say, what a beauty you are!
She scoffed, “What an angel of grace!
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
What a thing of beauty and grace!”
She stretched out her arms with a sorrowful sob:
“Oh, if only I could go back!”
Then, suddenly and strangely, a change came over her;
Her expression grew hard and dark.

“A curse on this day and a curse on that man,
And on everyone who is with him,” she shouted;
“May he go hungry and feel the cold, may he live long enough
To see all who loved him have passed away.”
Her harsh voice scared the robin off
From the branch by the window-sill;
And little he knew as he flew away,
Of the memories brought up by his song.

He called to his friend on the grass below,
   “Follow me,” as he soared high;
And just like friends have done since the beginning of time
   She followed, without asking why.
The dark room felt heavy with gloom;
   Meg shivered with an unknown fear.
The ghost of her youth and her lost truth
   Seemed to rise up from the dead.

She rushed out into the noisy street,
Because the silence scared her;
All she wanted was to escape her thoughts,
She didn’t care where she wandered.
Still, she pushed on in her restless state
Up avenues beside the park,
Where the fashionable crowd moved happily
In Vanity Fair—when suddenly!

A clatter of hooves on the rocky street,
The snort of a scared horse
That was running loose, and a laughing kid
Playing right in its path.
With one quick look, Meg took it all in.
“His child—oh my God! his child!”
She shouted loudly, as she pushed through the crowd
Like someone who had gone suddenly mad.

There, almost under the iron wheels,
Trapped by a passing cart,
Stood the baby boy—the pride and joy
Of the man who had broken her heart.
Past swooning women and shouting men
She ran like a flash of light;
With her slim arm she pulled from danger
The body of the laughing child.

The death-drenched hooves of the crazy horse stomped
Her down on the gray pavement;
But the baby laughed out with a joyful shout,
And thought it was great fun.
He tugged at her dress and called out to her: “Hey,
Get up and do that some more,
That's just how my dad plays
With me on the playroom floor.”

When the scared father got to the scene,
His son looked up and smiled
From the stiffening fold of Meg's arm, cold as death,
Who had died for her child.
Oh! pointless words are a woman's curse
Who loves like a woman can;
For when tested, she'll expose her heart
And sacrifice herself for the man.

Laugh, and the world laughs with you:
Cry, and you cry alone;
Because the sad old earth
Has to borrow its joy,
It has enough troubles of its own.

Sing, and the hills will respond;
Sigh, and it disappears into the air;
   The echoes bounce
   To a happy sound,
But shy away from expressing sorrow.

Rejoice, and people will come to you;
Feel sad, and they'll walk away;
They want all of your happiness,
But they don’t want your sadness.

Be happy, and you’ll have lots of friends;
Be sad, and they’ll all go away;
No one is there to refuse
Your sweet wine,
But you’ll have to face life’s bitterness alone.

Feast, and your halls are full;
Fast, and life passes you by;
   Succeed and share,
   And it helps you thrive,
But it can't help you when you die.

There’s space in the halls of pleasure
For a long and grand procession;
   But one by one
   We all have to pass
Through the tight aisles of pain.

A rose in my garden, the sweetest and most beautiful,
Was drooping her head through the long golden hours;
And early one morning I saw her tears falling,
And heard a soft gossiping talk in the bushes.
The yellow Nasturtium, a faded old maid,
Was telling a Lily what was wrong with the poor Rose:
“That wandering Bee who was buzzing around her,
Has totally rejected her, as everyone knows.

“I knew when he showed up, with his singing and sighing,
   His charm and his speeches so polished and sweet,
Just how it would turn out; but no one would believe me,
   Since everyone was ready to worship at his feet.”
“Actually, you’re mistaken,” said the Lily-belle proudly,
   “I didn’t care for him at all; he visited me once,
And probably would have come by more often if I’d asked him,
   But even though he was attractive, I thought he was a fool.”

“Come on, that’s not true,” shouted the tall Oleander.
“He’s traveled and seen every flower out there;
And someone who has dined in the gardens of royalty,
We all could have guessed wouldn’t settle for the Rose.”
“But wasn’t she totally full of herself when he paid attention to her?
And she let him touch her,” said the crafty Mignonette;
“And I used to watch that and feel embarrassed for her stupidness.
The foolish girl thinks he’ll come back to her someday.”

“I thought he was amazing,” said the pretty and sassy Larkspur,
   “So dark, and so impressive in that flashy cloak of gold;
But he tried to kiss me once, the cheeky guy!
   And I was offended; I thought he was too forward.”
“Oh, come on!” laughed the Almond, “that’s quite the story.
   Even though I hang my head, I’m aware of everything that’s happening;
And I saw you reach out, really trying to stop him,
   But he just tapped your cheek and zipped past to the Rose.

“He didn’t care about her at all; he was just flirting
To pass the time, which I really understood;
So I ignored all his attempts,
Because I was sure his feelings were false.”
“The Rose got what she deserved for trusting
A smooth-talking stranger,” said proud Columbine.
“I knew who he was and considered warning her,
But of course, it wasn’t my place to get involved.”

“Oh, well,” exclaimed the Peony, shrugging her shoulders,
“I always knew that the Bee was a flirt;
But the Rose has always been so admired and so spoiled,
I thought a little lesson wouldn’t hurt her.”
Just then, the sound of a love song was sung sweetly,
I saw my proud Rose lifting her head;
And the chatter of the gossipers fell silent in an instant,
And all the flowers listened to hear what was said.

And the dark, handsome Bee, with his cloak over his shoulder,
Came quickly through the sunlight and kissed the sad Rose,
And whispered: “My darling, I’ve traveled the world,
And you are the most beautiful flower that exists.”

I knew it from the start of summer,
I knew it just the same at the end,
That you and your love were committed,
But couldn’t you be my friend?
Couldn’t we sit in the evening light,
Couldn’t we walk by the shore
With just a nice friendship
To connect us, and nothing more?

There wasn’t a word of nonsense
Spoken between us two,
Though we often hung out in the garden
Until the roses were covered in dew.
We talked about a thousand things—
The moon and the worlds above,—
And our conversation had a bit of science,
And everything else, except love.

A completely Platonic friendship
   You said I had shown you
Could connect a man and a woman
   The whole long season long,
Without a thought of flirting,
   Even though both were young.
What would you have said, my lady,
   If you had known the truth!

What do you think you would have done,
If I had knelt before you
And shared my intense feelings,
Right there in the evening and the moisture?
My heavy, aching story,
Concealed and silent for so long—
My tale of unrequited love—
Tell me, would you have seen it as wrong?

But I struggled with my feelings and won,
I kept my hurt to myself;
You were leaving in the morning,
And I said a steady good-night.
But now, when I sit in the evening light,
Or when I stroll by the ocean,
That friendship, totally platonic,
Hits me hard.

And a deep yearning fills me
For the roses, the evening, the dew;
For the lovely summer that's gone,
For the moonlit walks—and you.

In his comfy armchair by the fireplace
An old man sits dreaming tonight,
His aged hands, warmed by the gentle
Glow of the red anthracite,
Are resting in front of him, all relaxed;
His faded eyes are focused on the fire,
While the unstoppable
Wave of memories washes over him.

He doesn't hear the laughter in the hallway,
He doesn't hear the sounds of joy,
That always echo through the old home
During the happy Christmas season.
He pays no attention to the sweet voices
As the final gifts are placed on the tree.
He finds joy in a long-lost day—
In what he used to have.

He has traveled back through long-gone Decembers
To the joyful land of his childhood;
And he remembers his mother’s sweet smile,
As he puts up his stocking at night.
He recalls the restless sleep filled with dreams
All disrupted and uneasy due to
The endless visions
Of dear Santa Claus.

Again, at the start of his adulthood,
He finds himself cast into the world,
And into the whirlwind of wrongdoing
By Pleasure's powerful grip he is launched.
He hears the lovely Christmas bells ringing,
“Repent, repent, and pray”;
But he joins his friends in singing
A party song.

Again he stands under the holly
With a flushed face lifted to his
For love has been stronger than foolishness,
And has turned him from wrongdoing to happiness;
And the whole world is bright with new glory
As the sweet vows are spoken again,
While the Christmas bells tell the old tale
Of peace to all.

Again, with his little kids around him,
He sits by his lovely wife;
He knows that the angels have blessed him
With the greatest treasures of life;
And the children’s hearts, carefree,
Are filled with the joyful holiday spirit;
And the gifts for sweet Maudie are doubled,
It’s her birthday too.

Again,—ah, dear Jesus, have mercy—
He finds in the cold, fading day,
That someone has returned from the city—
Frail Maudie, whom love misled.
She lies with her baby on her chest—
Half-concealed by the snow’s soft cover;
A bud and a sadly crushed flower—
And both are completely gone.

So beautiful and so delicate! Just twenty—
How mocking the bells sound tonight!
She struggled in this land of abundance,
When she tried to find her way back to the light.
Christ, are Your disciples cruel,
Or did You only die for men?
No mercy is given to a woman
Who once strays from the path.

Again he leans over the covered
Still form of his mother and wife;
The path ahead seems very lonely and unclear,
As he looks down the road of life.
With the sweet Christmas bells, there's a mix
Of the toll for a life that's over,
And he knows that all his joys have ended
And his waiting has begun.

So many years have passed, so lonely,
As he counts them by Christmases that have come and gone.
“I miss home,” he whispers; “if only
The Angel would show me the way on.
I’m feeling cold in this bitter winter weather;
Why, Maudie, dear, where have you been?
And you, too, my sweet wife—and together—
O Christ, let me in.”

The kids rushed in from the hallway,
"Were you calling us, Grandpa?" they asked.
Then they shrank back, feeling that fear that always comes
When young eyes first see death.
The freedom they've longed for is finally here.
The kids whisper and come closer:
"Dear Grandpa is celebrating Christmas in Heaven
With Grandma this year."

Well, Mabel, it's all over now—
   The ball I wrote about;
And oh! it was absolutely amazing—
   If only you could have been here to see it.
I have a hundred things to tell you
   That I know you want to hear,
And one thing I know will make you happy—
   I'm wearing Joe’s diamond, my dear!

Yes, Mom is really excited
   That I’m engaged to Joe;
She thinks I’m a bit unpredictable,
   And worried I might say “No.”
But, Mabel, I’m twenty-seven
   (Even though no one believes it, dear),
And a fortune like Joe’s doesn’t just come
   To be offered at your feet every year.

You know how I used to have a crush on Harry—
Or, at least, I'm sure you figured it out
That it took everything I had not to marry
And move with that guy out west.
But that was my very first season—
And Harry was as broke as could be,
And my mom’s practical reasons
Took all the romance out of me.

She took me away across the ocean,
And had me introduced at court,
And completely changed my mind
That ranch life out west was my thing.
Of course, I’ve never regretted it—
I’m not that foolish; I’m not naive;
But after I said yes
To Joe—and he gave me the ring—

I felt such a strange feeling.
I seemed to fall into a trance,
Away from the music’s beat,
Away from the lights and the dance.
And the wind over the wild prairie
Felt strong and free,
And it seemed like not Joe, but Harry
Who was standing right next to me.

And the funniest, feverish feeling
   Rose from my feet to my head,
With little chills sneaking in—
   And my hands went numb like the dead.
Just a moment, and then it was gone:
   The diamond sparkled in my eyes,
And I saw a questioning, strange surprise
   On my lover's face.

Maybe it was the scent of the flowers,
That were heavy with fragrance and bloomed nearby,
But I didn’t feel quite myself for hours;
It was strange, wasn’t it, dear?
Write soon to your lucky Clara,
Who has taken the prize away,
And tell her you’ll come when I get married,—
I think it will be in May.

The Wife

The house is like a garden,
The children are the flowers,
The gardener should come, it seems to me,
And stroll among his bowers,
Oh! lock the door on worry
And put your cares aside,
Not the time of year, but love and joy,
Will create a holiday.

The Husband

Impossible! You women don't understand
The hard work it takes to make a business grow.
I can't join you until very late,
So hurry home, and don't let dinner wait.

The Spouse

The feast will be like Hamlet
   Without a Hamlet part:
A home is just a house, dear,
   Until you bring the heart.
The Christmas gift I really want
   You don’t need to work to buy;
Oh! just give me back one thing I miss—
   The love-light in your eye.

The Husband

Of course I love you, and the kids too.
Be reasonable, my dear, it’s for you.
I work really hard to make my business succeed.
There, now, go home and enjoy your vacation.

The Wife (turning)

He doesn’t mean to hurt me,
I know he has a good heart.
Oh! that a man can love us
And be so blind, so blind.
A little time for fun,
A little time for play;
A word to show the life of love
And chase worry away!
Even though my situation is humble in a little house
That would be a vacation.

The Husband (thinking)

She didn't mean to hurt me or annoy me—
Wow! But it's tough to make women happy.
I’ve pampered her like a queen
Yet there she is, looking unhappy.
I gave her diamonds just yesterday:
Some women are like that, no matter what you do.

False! Good God, I must be dreaming!
No, no, it can't be—
You, who seem so genuine,
You, untrue to your promises and to me?
My wife and the mother of my beautiful boy,
The star of my life—my queen—
To give herself to another
Like some carefree Magdalene!

Proofs! What are proofs—I challenge them!
They can never shake my faith;
If you look in my face and deny them
I will crush them into the ground.
For whenever I read about the glory
Of the realms of Paradise,
I searched for the truth of the story
And found it in your sweet eyes.

Why, you’re the shy young thing
I pursued in her youthful charm;
There was innocence in every trait,
And I found my paradise in your face.
And, “not just married but united,”
I would say with pride and happiness;
And all our dreams were fulfilled
When the angels blessed us with our boy.

Now you couldn't erase that beginning
So beautiful, pure, and true,
With a history of wicked sinning
Like a regular woman might have.
Look up in your honest way,
With your smile so genuine;
And say that no guilty feelings
Have ever entered your heart.

How pale you are, and you're shaking!
You're hiding your face from sight!
“Even though you're a sinner, you can't pretend”—
My God! So the story is true?
True, and the sun above us
Shines in the summer sky?
And people say the angels love us,
And that God is good and wise.

Yet you let a reckless person like you
Destroy my home and reputation!
Get out of my sight or I'll hit you
Dead in your shameless disgrace!
No, no, I was wild, I was ruthless;
I wouldn't take your life,
Because trying to kill you would be pointless
To erase the sin of a wife.
Wife—how that word used to feel sacred
I said it almost like a prayer;
And now to think it’s stained—
Oh God! how much we can endure!

“Kill you!” my boy’s stained mother—
No, that wouldn’t punish or save;
A soul that has hurt another
Doesn’t find peace in the grave.
I will leave you here to remember
The paradise that was yours,
While I walk toward the end of my life
Alone in the dark.

There was a man, it is said once,
Who went off track in his young days.
Can the mind stay calm and the heart stay still
When the blood runs wild like a raging river?
And boys will be boys, the older folks say,
And a man is better for having lived his days.

The sinner changed his ways, and the preacher shared
The story of the prodigal son returning home.
And Christian folks opened their doors wide,
Welcoming him more warmly than ever before.
He had wealth and status at his fingertips,
And a pure-hearted woman offered him her hand.
The world scattered flowers along their path,
Shouting, “God bless the bride and groom!”

There was a young woman who lost her way,
In the bright dawn of her life’s early days.
She had more passion and emotion than sense,
And she followed blindly where true Love took her.
And Love, unchecked, is a risky guide
To wander freely by a pretty girl’s side.

The woman felt sorry and turned away from her wrongdoings,
But no door opened to welcome her inside.
The preacher prayed for her to find forgiveness,
But told her to seek mercy—in heaven.
For this is the way things are on earth, we understand:
That the woman gets punished, while the man gets away.

A brave man married her after all,
But the world frowned and said, “We won’t call.”

You remember the hall on the corner?
Tonight as I walked down the street
I heard the sound of music,
And the rhythmic beat and beat,
In sync with the pulsing measure
Of lightly dancing feet.

And I turned and walked through the doorway—
   It had been years since I was there—
Years, and life felt different:
   Joy had turned into worry.
But once more I was listening to the music
   And watching the beautiful dancers.

And then, as I stood there and listened,
The music lost its joy;
And instead of the cheerful dancers
There were shadows of the Past—
Shadows of the thrill-seekers
Who once danced with me.

Oh, what a horrifying sight!
   Oh, what a terrible crowd!
Each carrying a skull on his shoulder,
   Each dragging a long white shroud,
As they spun in the dance together,
   And the music screamed loudly.

As they danced, their dry bones rattled
Like shutters in a storm;
And they stared from empty eye sockets
At me as they circled by;
And the music that kept them spinning
Was a fast-paced funeral song.

Some of them wore face masks,
   Others were falling apart.
Some had mold on their clothes,
   And some looked like they had just died a day ago.
Corpses all, but I recognized them
   As friends, once cheerful and happy.

Beauty and strength and manhood—
And this was the end of it all:
Nothing but shadows spinning
In a creepy skeleton dance.
But the music stopped—and they disappeared,
And I left the hall.

He said as he sat in her theater box
Between the acts, “What awful weather!
The lover talks just like a parrot—
And the lady is so docile, and the villain lurks—
I hope they end up dead together.”

He thought—“You are as beautiful as the first light of dawn;
I know the angels are watching over you.
So I talk about the weather, and games,
While all the time I’m dying to say,
I love you, love you, love you.”

He said—“The season is almost over;
How glad we are when the chaos ends!
Because the effort for enjoyment is more than the fun,
And what does it all mean when it's all said and done,
But the stick of a rocket that has come down?”

He thought—“Oh God! to be away somewhere
Far away with you, away from this scene of fashion;
To know you were mine, and to have you care,
And to lose myself in the crimson snare
Of your lips, in a kiss of passion.”

He said—“You’re going abroad, no doubt,
This land of Liberty chillingly scorned.
I’ll also travel around a bit,
From Wall Street up by the L. Road out
To Harlem, and down every morning.”

He thought—“It has to happen on land or sea,
This intense, passionate, unspoken devotion,
Until the shout of a joy that might not exist
Will reach your heart from mine
And move you with unusual feelings.”

Where have the little girls gone to
With their sweet manners and pretty curls;
Who love their dolls and enjoy their toys,
And chat about things other than boys?

I come across many little old women,
Sophisticated in behavior and wise beyond their years;
Little old flirts who chat about their “boyfriends,”
And compete with one another in fashionable outfits.

Little old girls who, at nine and ten,
Are fed up with fun and tired of boys;
Sick of traveling, parties, and games,
And see nothing new under the sun.

Once, in a beautiful time long past,
There were some sweet little kids I used to know;
Girls who were as cheerful as lambs at play,
And laughed and had fun all day long.

They didn't think at all about the "style" of their clothes,
They never imagined that boys were "handsome"—
"Other girls’ brothers" and "friends" were they,
Great guys to help them play.

Where have they gone? If you see
One of them anywhere, send her my way.
I would give a medal of pure gold
To one of those sweet little girls from back then,
With an innocent heart and a bright smile,
Who doesn't understand the meaning of “flirt” or “style.”

I carried so much wealth in life’s journey—
Youth, health, ambition, hope, and trust; but Time
And Fate, those thieves skilled in every crime,
Took it all, leaving me with just an empty bag.
Before me stretched a long and lonely path
Of dark hills and steep climbs ahead;
Behind me were the shadows of amazing
Lost places filled with Love’s joy. Oh no! Oh no!

Unwavered and with joyful steps,
I had carried my wealth down the road.
The empty sack felt like a heavier burden now:
I was weighed down by its useless weight.
I trudged on and knocked at Death’s dark door.
There was no response.  Driven by sorrow’s
I pushed my way into that bleak place,
And laughed, tossing Life’s empty sack to Fate.

Unknown and uninvited, I entered
That strange land that exists between two goals,
Around which a dark and serious river flows—
Its silence more frightening than the loud noise of the earth.
And now, where was the peace I thought I would find?
Ships with black masts moved by me in large groups,
Their bloody decks crowded with confused souls.
(God sometimes punishes mistakes as if they were sins.)

Not rest and not oblivion did I find.
My suffering self remained with me just the same;
But here there was no sleep, and no sweet dreams came
To offer me a break. Tyrant Death, uncrowned
By my own hand, still King of Terrors, glared
Upon my trembling soul, that shrank in shame
Before those eyes where sorrow mixed with blame,
And those accusing lips that made no sound.

What horrific forms appeared before my shocked eyes
What terrible groans reached my ears!
The pain of the earth, multiplied here
A thousand times, created a never-ending night.
The burden I threw off in angry defiance
Still clung to me, heavy, I saw in dread.
With tears that fell from the earth’s nearby
And turned to stones as they fell from that height.

And around me gathered a sad crowd,
Each with a heavy burden that made them bow,
Hiding their faces. One of them lamented:
“Understand
Whoever comes here will find the path longer
To those beautiful places where the angels sing.
There’s no way out of sorrow created by man;
You can’t just break down the locked door and leave
To claim your true happiness through the wrong ways.”

He stepped into the dim, gray shadows,
And left me to walk my path alone.
With fear greater than I had ever felt.
The terrible truth weighed heavily on my soul,
Death hadn’t finished life, nor discovered God’s path;
But, still carrying my own sad sorrows,
Where side roads led to more side roads, full of thistles,
I had just wandered off and gone off track.

With the earth still close enough to hear its sighs,
With heaven far away and hell just below,
My lonely soul must keep moving on and on
Until I earn the right to Paradise.
We can’t push our way into God's skies,
Or rush into the peace we yearn to find;
But patiently, with aching steps and slow
We work towards where selfhood in Godhood ends.

When I leave this world,
Weak and gray though I may be,
I hope my spirit stays young
So that my fading, trembling tongue
Can express that prayer so precious to me,
Taught to me by my mother:
“Now I lay me down to sleep,”
(Transitioning to eternal rest
On my loving parent’s chest)
“I pray the Lord my soul to keep;”
(Kept safe and calm from danger
In the safety of His hands;)
“If I should die before I wake,”
(Gently drifting with a shallow breath
From slumber into death,)
“I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
(Set free from the body’s hold
And sheltered in the Great unknown.)
A simple prayer of trust and truth.
Taught to me in my early years—
May my soul keep its beauty
When I lay down to sleep.

She got up at daybreak,
And quietly and softly she walked
Around the house. Four men had gone
To fight for the land they loved,
And she, the mother and the wife,
Waited for news from the battle.
How quiet the house felt! And her steps
Were like the footprints of the dead.

The long day went by, and the dark night arrived;
She hadn’t seen another person.
A voice suddenly called her name.
How loudly it echoed in that spot
Where, day after day, no sound was made
Except for her own footsteps! “Do you have news,”
She called out to the unseen presence,
“News from the battlefield for me?”

A soldier walked in through the door,
And stood in the soft glow of the fire:
“I bring news of the four,”
He said, “who left you for battle.”
“God bless you, friend,” she exclaimed; “go on!
I can handle it. One is gone?”
“Yes, one is gone!” he replied. “Which one?”
“Dear lady, it’s your oldest son.”

A ghostly pale look crossed
her gaunt face; she didn’t cry.
She said, “It’s a terrible loss,
but God grants His loved ones rest.
What about the living—those three?
And when can they return to me?”
The soldier turned his head away:
“Ma'am, your husband is also dead.”

She put her hand on her forehead;
A sharp, intense pain shot through her eyes.
“My husband! Oh, God, help me now!”
The soldier heard her trembling sighs.
The task was harder than he expected.
“Your youngest son, dear ma'am, fought
Right beside his father; both fell
Dead, struck by the explosion of a shell.”

She moved her lips and seemed to moan.
Her face had turned a pale gray:
“Then there’s only one left for me—just one,”
She said, “out of the four who went away.
Oh, all-knowing, supreme God,
How can I bear to face Your judgment?”
The soldier walked across the room,
Paused by the window, then at the door,

Wiped the cold dew from his cheek
And went back to the mourner's side.
"Once more, dear lady, I have to speak:
Your last son has been killed
Right at the end of the battle;
It was he who sent me here tonight."
"God knows," the man said later,
"The battle itself wasn't that tough."

Long, long ago, before our species even started,
When the earth was bare, still waiting for humans,
Before life was breathed into him,
The angels got into a conflict in heaven.

At last, one raging demon grabbed the sun
And ran off as quickly as he could go,
And with a mocking laugh of wicked joy,
He jumped over the walls and dropped to the ground.

It was dark in heaven, but light down below;
For there the demon roamed around,
Balancing high on a thin pole
The orb of day—the thieving old soul.

The angels cried and lamented; but through the darkness
The Great Creator’s voice called out firmly: “Listen!
Who will bring back to me the orb of Light,
Him will I honor in the sight of all heaven.”

Then over the battlements, another one dropped down.
(A wiser angel could not exist.)
He said: “Look at my love for you, my brother,
For I’ve left all of heaven to be with you.

“Your loneliness and wanderings I'll share,
Your heavy burden I'll help you bear.”
“Well said,” the demon replied, “and well done,
But I won’t burden you with this heavy sun.

“Your company will make me happy, that's true,
And I could never imagine being a burden to you.”
They strolled along, side by side,
Until they gradually approached a shimmering tide.

“Let’s take a bath,” the angel suddenly suggested.
“Sounds good,” the demon replied. “I’ll go last,
Because I have to leave this annoying sun alone,
Which I will now secure.”

He planted the pole firmly in the sandy ground,
And called a jackdaw over to keep an eye on things.
Meanwhile, the angel splashed in the waves,
And playfully challenged his brother to a race.

They swam around together for a while,
The demon always staying close to his prize,
Until the angel, with a smile,
Suggested a fun diving exercise.

The demon paused. “But,” he thought,
“The jackdaw will let me know with a shout
If this good brother tries to trick me;
I won’t be outsmarted by him—not a chance!”

Down, down they went. The angel quickly
Rose up again and rushed to the shore.
The jackdaw screamed, but look! a mile of ice
The demon found had frozen over his head.

He took an oath and gathered his entire force,
And broke the ice to see the sun, of course,
Held tightly in the glowing angel’s hand,
Who flew away toward the heavenly land.

He chased after him. Anger made him faster;
All of heaven leaned in to watch the thrilling race.
On, on they went, and still the Evil One
Caught up to the angel carrying the sun.

With held breath and faces pale as ghosts,
Over the walls leaned heaven's terrified hosts.
Up, up, still up, the angel nearly exhausted,
Threw one foot forward over the battlement.

The demon grabbed the other with a shout;
His grip was so fierce he pulled the bottom out,
As the good angel, fainting, set the sun
Down by the throne of God, who said: “Well done!
Your great misfortune will be made divine:
Man will I create with a foot like yours!”

The cleverest thing a baby can do
Is the very first time it plays peek-a-boo;

When it hides its tiny pink face in its hands,
And crows, showing that it gets it.

What do the nurse, and mom and dad, mean when they hide and say, “Peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo.”

Oh, how amazing it is,
When they discover that the baby can play like this!

And everyone listens and believes it's true
That the baby's gurgle means “Peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo”;

And again and again the changes are made
On the amazing baby who speaks so early.

I wonder if anyone ever knew
A baby that never played peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo.

’It's as old as the hills. I believe
Cain learned it from Mother Eve;

For Cain was an innocent baby, too,
And I'm sure he played peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo.

And everyone in the world,
Has played that game ever since.

Kings, princes, and beggars alike,
Everyone has played peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo.

Thief and robber and bold troublemaker,
The wild drifter and the old drunkard,

All have been babies who laughed and knew
How to hide and play peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo.

Above the noise of business, above the chaos and clatter
   Of workers arguing with wealth, of Anarchists’ threats and cries,
Above the rush and bustle and roar of that bloodless battle,
   Where people are fighting for money, I hear the collapse of thrones.

I see no wild enemy, I hear no war drums,
But down in the dirt at our feet lie the useless crowns of kings;
And the powerful spirit of Progress is steadily approaching, approaching,
And the flag of one republic is being thrown out to the world.

The Universal Republic, where value, not lineage, is noble;
Where anyone, no matter how humble their beginnings, can rise to fame through their own efforts;
Where the most privileged and arrogant, if they're not genuine and faithful,
Will find no fancy title to hide or beautify their disgrace.

Not with the roar of guns and not with sharpened swords,
But with the expanding minds of people is fought this silent battle;
While over the blurry horizon the sun of royalty, setting,
Illuminates, with a fading glow, the path of the humblest worker.

Sitting by the window all alone,
   Watching the street lit by the moon,
Leaning my head to hear
   The familiar sound of your footsteps,
I've been wondering, babe,
   How I can handle the hurt,
As I watch, with sighs and eyes full of tears,
   And wait for you to come back in vain.

For I know that a day is coming
When your heart will grow weary of me;
When I might stand by the door and wait
For a figure I won’t see;
When the love that is currently my heaven,
The kisses that bring meaning to my life,
You will give to someone else,
And that someone will be—your wife.

You will get tired of sinning
(Even if you don’t call it that),
You will crave a love that’s cleaner
Than the love we have, just like that.
God knows I’ve loved you deeply,
With a passion strong and real;
But you will eventually walk away,
Even though I gave everything I feel.

I was as innocent as the morning
When I first saw your face;
I knew I could never reach you
In your high, elevated space.
But I looked and loved and adored
Like a flower might adore a star,
And your eyes shone down on me,
And you felt so distant—so distant.

And then? Well, then, you loved me,
Loved me with all your heart;
But we couldn't stand at the altar—
We were too far apart.
If a star were to marry a flower
The star would have to fall from the sky,
Or the flower, in trying to reach it,
Would wilt on its stem and die.

But you said you loved me, darling,
And swore by the heavens above
That God and all His angels
Would approve and bless our love.
And I? I was weak, not bad.
My love was as pure as true,
And sin itself felt like a virtue
If it was shared with you.

We have been happy together,
Even though we’ve made mistakes,
But I know the day is coming
When I’ll have to face the consequences.
You've been loyal and caring,
But that won't last forever,
So I think it’s best for me to leave
While you're still thinking kindly of me.

I know my looks are fading—
Sin marks the prettiest brow—
And I know that your heart will grow tired
Of the face you smile at now.
You will take a wife to your side
Once you turn away from me;
You will sit with your wife in the moonlight,
And hold her baby on your knee.

O God! I could never handle it;
It would drive me crazy, I know;
So while you love me deeply,
I think I should go.
It’s nicer to feel, my darling—
To know as I drift off to sleep—
That someone will grieve for me and miss me,
That someone is left to cry,

Than to die as I might in the future,
   To fall in the street one day,
Unknown, unloved, and forgotten
   After you throw me aside.
Maybe the blood of the Savior
   Can wash my clothes clean;
Perhaps I can drink from the waters
   That flow through lush green fields.

Perhaps we may meet in heaven,
And walk in the streets above,
With nothing to grieve us or separate us
Since our mistakes were all out of love.
God says, “Love one another,”
And will He send the soul of a woman
Down to the depths of hell
Because she loved—and stumbled?

Understood! Please provide the text you would like me to modernize.

And so in the moonlight he found her,
Or found her beautiful form,
Lifeless and pale as marble,
For her spirit had flown away.
The goodbye note she had written
She held to her cold, white chest,
And the buried blade of a dagger
Revealed how she had gone to rest.

All through the Castle of High-bred Ease,
Where the main activity was doing whatever you wanted,
Panic and wild despair spread around.
The queen was wringing her hands and hair;
The maids of honor were sad and serious;
The pages looked blank as they stood in line;
The court jester cried, “Boo-hoo, boo-hoo”
The cook in the kitchen dropped tears into the stew
And all through the castle you could hear sobs and wails,
Because the princess had broken her fingernail:
The beautiful Princess Red-as-a-Rose,
Fiancée of Lord High-Nose,
Had broken her nail down to the quick—
No wonder the queen and her court were sick.
Never had such dreadful sorrow
Dared to cross that castle door.
Oh! what would my Lord His-High-Nose say
When she took off her glove on her wedding day?
The fairest princess in Nonsense Land,
With a broken fingernail on her hand!
It was a terrible, terrible accident,
And they called a meeting of parliament;
And never before had such a serious question
Come to that royal Court
As “How can you hurry a nail to grow?”
And the kingdom’s experts were called to discuss.
They sent for Monsieur File-‘em-off;
He smoothed down the rough and jagged edges.
They sent for Madame la Diamond-Dust,
Who lived on the fingers of the upper class;
They sent for Professor de Chamois-Skin,
Who took her powder and rubbed it in;
They sent for the plump nurse Fat-on-the-Bone
To bathe her finger in eau-de-Cologne;
And they called in the court surgeon, Monsieur Red-Tape,
To check what he thought of the new nail’s shape,
Across the kingdom the telegrams flew
That reported how the fingernail thrived and grew;
And all through Nonsense Land
They offered their prayers for the princess’s hand.
At last, the joyful news was heard with a cheer
That the princess’s fingernail had grown out:
Pointed and polished and pink and clean,
Perfect for the hand of a someday queen.
Salutes were fired all over the land
By the home guard’s pop-gun band;
And great was the joy of my Lord High-Nose,
Who immediately ordered his wedding clothes,
And paid his tailor, Don Wait-for-aye,
Who died in shock that very same day.
My lord was judged insane by a jury;
For they said—and it was clearly true—
That a lord of such high birth
Would never be paying his bills, you see,
Unless he was out of his mind; and so
They locked him up without further ado.
And the beautiful Princess Red-as-a-Rose
Longed for her lover, my Lord High-Nose,
Until she entered a convent and took the veil—
And that’s the end of my nonsense tale.

I knew that a baby was hidden in the house;
Even though I saw no crib and heard no cries,
But the husband was sneaking around like a mouse,
And the good wife was softly humming a lullaby;
And there was a look on that mother’s face
That I knew could only mean one thing, and nothing else.

“The mother,” I said to myself; for I knew
That the woman before me was definitely that,
For there in the corner was a tiny cloth shoe,
And I saw on the stand such a little hat;
And the husband’s beard clearly said,
“Two plump, chubby hands have been tugging at me.”

And he pulled out a colorful picture book from his pocket,
And a dog that would bark if you tugged on a string;
And the wife put them away with such a happy smile;
And I thought to myself, “There’s nothing else
But a baby that could create all this, so
I know there’s one hiding around here somewhere.”

I stayed just a moment and didn’t see anything else,
And didn’t hear a sound, but I knew I was right;
What else could the shoe on the floor mean,
Along with the book and the toy, and those bright faces?
And why was the husband so quiet?
I’m sure, really sure, there’s a baby in that house.

The bold young Autumn rode by one day where an elm tree stood. “You're beautiful,” he said, as she lowered her head, “Too beautiful for the dull color of your robe. You’re way too young for such an old outfit; Your beauty deserves vibrant color and shine. Oh, I’d dress you in scarlet and gold Worthy of the grace of a queen.

“For just one little kiss on your lips, sweet elm,
   For just one little kiss, that’s all,
I would give you, I promise, a robe more beautiful
   Than anything a princess ever wore.
One little kiss on those lips, my dear,
   And look! you shall be, I claim,
Queen of the forest, and even better,
   Queen of my heart forever.”

She flipped her hair, but he accepted the kiss—
   That’s the way bold lovers act—
And a beautiful dress for that sweet embrace
   He gave before morning was faded.
For a week and a day she reigned like a queen
   In beauty and stunning clothes;
For a week and a day she was loved, I believe,
   With the love that comes from desire.

Then Autumn with bold eyes continued on his path
Looking for a more beautiful tree;
And the wild winds ripped at her clothes and threw
Her pretty things everywhere.
Poor, faded, ragged, and cold,
She swayed in her wild anguish,
And longed for the dull green dress she had given up
For the affection of her unreliable lover.

And the days passed, and Winter arrived,
And his fierce storms battered
The trembling tree, whose vibrant leaves
He had crushed underfoot.
I watched her stretch towards the mocking skies
Her frail arms, bare and thin;
Oh, what a pity! it's always the case
With a woman who deals with sin.

What do you think Red Robin
Found by a pile of hay?
A flask full of liquor,
That the mowers brought that day
To quench their thirst in the hayfield.
And Robin shook his head:
“Now I wonder what they call it,
And how it tastes?” he said.

“I’ve seen the mowers drink it—
Why isn’t it good for me?
So I’ll just pull out the stopper
And get to the stuff, and see!”
But sadly for the curious Robin,
One sip, and he burned his throat
From his beak to his poor crop’s lining,
And he couldn’t make a sound.

And his head felt light and dizzy,
And he stumbled left and right,
Knocked over the bottle of brandy,
And spilled it, every drop.
But after a while, he sobered up,
And quietly flew away,
And he hasn’t tasted alcohol,
Or touched it, since that day.

But I heard him say to his family,
During a casual conversation,
“These guys think they’re better than us,
Yet they drink stuff like that!
Oh, the poor pathetic beings!
I’m glad I’m just a bird!”
Then he flew up above the field,
And that was all I heard.

As the lifeless year is held by a lifeless December,
So let your past sins rest with your past days.
A new life is yours and a new hope. Remember
We create our own ladders to reach the sky.

Stand out in the bright light of hope, leaving behind
Whatever the past brought of pain and mistakes.
We waste half our energy in pointless regrets;
We linger by old graves in the shadows for too long.

Have you missed your target? Well, the goal is still bright.
Did you faint during the race? Well, catch your breath for the next one.
Did the clouds push you back? But look over there at their silver lining.
Were you tempted and fell short? Let that be a lesson.

As each year rushes by, let it be part of that parade
Of shadowy figures moving toward the past,
While you stand in the line of progress,
With your eyes on the sky, your face to the wind.

I promise you, the future has no fears
   For any sorrowful person while the stars move,
If they will stand strong on the mistakes of their past,
   And instead of regretting—decide, decide!

It’s never too late to start over,
   Even if your life feels completely shattered;
Look! How the light of the New Year is shining
   On the tired, beaten face of the hurt old world.

All hail the start of a new day emerging,
When a powerful nation will lift away
The heavy loads from backs that are hurting
With hard work and little pay;
When no one is respected for hoarding their wealth;
When no one thrives on someone else’s effort;
And God’s struggling, striving billions
Will enjoy His abundance of sun and land.

There’s enough gold for everyone in the earth’s wide embrace,
There’s plenty of food in the land’s vast supply;
There’s more than enough if it’s shared fairly;
Let each person take what they need—nothing extra.
Shame on the greedy hoarder with unused wealth,
Who takes from the worker to fill their stash,
Who drives down the pay of those digging ditches,
And steals the bread from the plates of the needy.

Shame on the owner of mines whose harsh
And greedy actions have made him rich,
While the poor workers who dig his fuel
Are stripped of comfort, hope, and health.
Shame on the ruler who rides in his carriage
Paid for by the labor of underpaid workers—
Men who are denied home and family
And are kept like sheep in a cramped pen.

Let the clear voice of the nation wake him
To a broader vision and fairer treatment;
Or let the hand of a just law shake him
Until his ill-gotten money rolls away.
Let no one live under a pile of stolen wealth,
Let no one suffer from want and cold;
We want to live rightly, not just give charity;
We want a fair distribution of work and wealth.

When it feels like one long day from dawn to noon,
And another day from noon to night,
Oh, then a little boy should come in from playing,
And cuddle up in his mother's arms.
Snuggle in and fall asleep,
Oh, come here, my baby, do;
Creep into my lap, and with a nap
We’ll split the day in two.

When the shadows lean in the afternoon,
   When lunch is done,
When the winds have lulled themselves to rest,
   And the bees buzz in the clover,
Then hurry to me, hurry, for a lullaby—
   Come, my baby, please;
Creep into my lap, and take a nap
   We’ll split the day in half.

We’ll split it in half with a lullaby,
   With a calming and gentle tune;
For the day shouldn’t be so long
   And keep my baby from sleeping.
Then rock-a-bye, rock, may sweet dreams come
   Like angels watching over you;
Baby’s asleep, and it’s all done,
   We’ve divided the day in two.

High above the clouds, a sunbeam shone,
And far below him,
With a unique grace that was entirely hers,
The mist gleamed, beautiful and faint.

He gazed at her with intense eyes
And yearned to kneel at her feet;
Of all the lovely things beneath the sky,
He considered her the sweetest of them all.

He had often tried to court her, like a sunbeam might,
Wave, bloom, and flourish;
But he had never before felt the pull
Of a great love’s immense power.

Tall cloud-mountains and vast space-seas,
Wind, and storm, and fire—
What are obstacles like these
To a heart that is filled with desire?

Boldly he walked over clouds and stars,
Boldly he swam through space,
She saw the sparkle in his eyes from a distance
And covered her delicate face.

He was so strong and so smart,
And his breath was like fire;
The Mist faded with a strange, vague fear,
As he approached, affectionate yet intense.

Close to his heart, she was held and kissed;
She fainted in love's excitement,
And the beautiful, pale-faced Mist lay dead
In the Sunbeam's passionate embrace.

There were two glasses, filled to the top,
On a wealthy man's table, right up to the edge.
One was deep red, like blood,
And the other was as clear as crystal water.

Said the glass of wine to his lighter counterpart:
“Let’s share stories of the past with each other.
I can speak of feasts, celebrations, and joy,
Where I was the ruler, for I reigned supreme;
The proudest and most impressive souls on earth
Bowed to my influence, as if struck by a curse.
From the heads of kings, I have snatched the crown;
From the peaks of fame, I have brought men down;
I have ruined many a respected name;
I have taken virtue and replaced it with shame;
I have tempted young ones, just a sip, just a taste,
That turned their futures into barren wastelands.
I am far greater than any king can be,
Or any army beneath the sky.
I have made the driver’s strength give out,
And sent the train crashing off its tracks.
I have sunk fine ships in the sea,
And the cries of the lost were sweet to me.
Fame, strength, wealth, genius, all fall before me,
And my might and power are above all.
Hey! hey! pale brother,” laughed the wine,
“Can you claim to have accomplished anything as great as I have?”

Said the glass of water: “I may not brag
About a king who lost his throne or a murdered host;
But I can share stories of hearts that were sad,
That by my crystal drops became light and glad;
Of thirsts I’ve satisfied, and brows I’ve cooled;
Of hands I’ve refreshed and souls I’ve rescued.
I have flowed through valleys and rushed down mountains;
Slept in the sunlight and dripped from the fountain.
I’ve broken free from clouds and fallen from the sky,
And everywhere brightened the landscape and the eye.
I’ve relieved the hot forehead of fever and pain;
I’ve helped the dry fields become fertile with grain;
I can tell about the powerful wheel of the mill,
That ground out the flour and turned at my will;
I can talk about manhood, brought low by you,
That I have lifted up and crowned anew.
I cheer, I help, I strengthen and support,
I bring joy to the hearts of both men and women;
I set the trapped wine-lover free,
And everyone is better for knowing me.”

These are the stories they shared,
The glass of wine and its lighter counterpart,
As they sat together, overflowing,
On the rich man’s table, full to the edge.

I saw them sitting in the shade;
The long green vines hung over,
But couldn’t hide the golden-haired girl
And Earl, my dark-eyed love.
His arm was wrapped so tight, so tight,
Her eyes were gently raised,
While his eyes took in the rosy cheek
And skin that was as white as snowflakes.

A strange noise echoed in my mind;
I was an unexpected guest.
I slipped away, but returned
With two knives carefully concealed.
I stood behind them. They were close together,
While they exchanged glances;
I aimed my blades, and neither missed
The heart I was targeting.

There were two death screams mixed together
It sounded like one voice crying,
I laughed—it was such pure joy, you know,
To hear and watch them dying.
I laughed and shouted while I stood
Over the lovers, gazing
At the trickling streams of blood
And terrified eyes slowly glazing.

It was such a joy to see the rose
fade from her cheek forever;
To know the lips he kissed so closely
could never respond, never.
To see his arm grow stiff and cold,
and know it could not hold her;
To know that while the world aged
his eyes could never see her.

A crowd of people gathered around,
Drawn there by my laughter;
I let out one last victorious shout—
Then darkness came after.
That was a thousand years ago;
Every hour I relive it,
Because there, just out of reach, you know,
She is, with Earl, my lover.

They lie there, staring, staring so
With wide, blank eyes that taunt me.
Will no one bury them deep,
So they’ll stop haunting me?
He kissed her lips, not mine; the flowers
And vines hung all around them.
Sometimes I sit and laugh for hours
Thinking about how I found them.

And sometimes I stand and scream
In a panic of fear:
I see the red warmth in her cheek,
Then laugh loudly at my mistake.
My cheek was way too pale, he thought;
He considered hers to be the brightest.
Ha! But my dagger hit a spot
That made her face the whitest!

But oh! the days feel so long,
Without my Earl, my love;
And something in my head feels off
The more I ponder it.
Ah! look—she’s not dead—look there!
She’s standing right next to me!
Her eyes are open—how they stare!
Oh, hide me! hide me! hide me!

What is flirtation? Really,
How can I explain that?
But when she smiles, I see its charm,
And when he tips his hat.

It’s walking in the moonlight,
It’s buttoning on a glove,
It’s lips that talk about plays next week,
While eyes are speaking love.

It’s gathering in the ballroom,
It’s spinning in the dance;
It’s something hidden under the surface
More than just a fleeting glance.

It’s lingering in the hallway,
It’s sitting on the stair,
It’s bearded lips on fingertips,
If mom isn’t there.

It’s tucking in the carriage,
It’s asking for a call;
It’s long good-nights in gentle lights,
And that is—no, not all!

It’s parting when it’s done,
   And one goes home to sleep;
Best joys must end, tra la, my friend,
   But one goes home to cry!

Reach out your arms and hold me tight,
Tell me you have no memories of your past
That ruin this incredible love of ours, so great and so vast.

Some truths lose their value when repeated too often—
Doesn't the action speak louder than the words?
(Dear Christ! that old dream came awake again and moved.)

As you love me, you've never loved like this before?
Though you say it often—say it again once more;
My heart is jealous of those days gone by.

Sweet wife, dear partner, mother of my child,
My life is yours, with memories unblemished.
(That fleeting, intense passion stirs once more.)

You’ve never experienced such joyful moments as these,
Just the two of us, our hearts overflowing with happiness,
And no other kisses are as sweet as mine?

I was the dry land, long suffering from drought,
You were the warm rain coming from the South.
(But oh! the wild intensity of her lips.)

You wouldn't, if you could, go down life's path
For just one small moment, and bring back
Some lost joys that you miss or lack?

I am happy. You are my everything.
(One burning hour, just one, if I could remember.
God! how men deceive, when pushed to the limit!)

How does Love communicate?
Through the slight blush on a revealing cheek,
And in the pale look that follows it; by
The trembling eyelid of a turned-away gaze—
The smile that leads to a sigh:
      This is how Love speaks.

How does Love express itself?
Through the irregular heartbeats, and the odd
Pulses that pause and hurt
While fresh feelings, like unfamiliar boats, navigate
Through the bloodstream, creating their unsettling path,
Quiet as dawn, yet with the same quick energy:
      This is how Love speaks.

How does Love express itself?
In avoiding what we desire
The sudden silence and holding back when close;
The eye that shines with a held-back tear;
The joy that seems to match our fear,
As the startled heart leads in the chest,
And knows, and recognizes, and welcomes its divine guest:
      This is how Love speaks.

How does Love express itself?
In the proud spirit that has suddenly become humble,
The arrogant heart that has turned modest; in the gentle
And unnamed light that fills the world with beauty;
In the likeness that the loving eyes find
In all beautiful things to one cherished face;
In the timid touch of hands that tingle and shake;
In glances and lips that can no longer hide:
This is how Love speaks.

How does Love express itself?
In wild words that might sound weak
They shrink back, embarrassed into silence; in the heat
Glance meets glance, quickly flashing higher and higher,
Like the lightning that comes before a fierce storm
In the deep, soulful stillness; in the warm,
Passionate tide that sweeps through throbbing veins,
Between the shores of sharp pleasures and pains;
In the embrace where craziness fades into bliss,
And in the intense joy of a kiss:
      This is how Love speaks.

He slept like tired workers do,
   She looked up at the moon.
He moved and said, “Wife, come to bed”;
   She replied, “Soon, very soon.”
(Oh! that odd mystery of the dead moon’s face.)

Her cheek was pale, her yearning mouth
Was lifted like a cup,
The moonlit night dripped liquid light:
She seemed to drink it up.
(Oh! that unburied corpse that lies in space.)

Her life had been nothing but hard work—
She read her Bible through;
She knew no more about books and knowledge
Than little kids do.
(Oh! the strange wonder of that pale world.)

Her youth had been a loveless waste,
Marked by no holidays.
And she had married for shelter and food;
She exchanged her labor for pay.
(Oh! the moonlit memories, vague and strange and dear.)

She sipped the night’s deceptive wine,
And saw a different scene:
A grand room—exotic flowers in bloom,
Herself in silky sheen.
(Oh! vast are the chambers of the moon, and wide.)

A step approached, a curtain moved;
She shivered with delightful fears.
Oh! beautiful face; oh! masculine charm;
Oh! powerful, passionate arms.
(Oh! quiet moon, what secrets do you keep!)

The warm red lips of longing love
Pressed against cheek and brow;
Like bees knowing where honey's found,
They sought her mouth, her breast.
(Oh! the lifeless moon holds many lifeless pleasures.)

The speaker shifted and grumbled,
“Come on, wife, where have you been?”
She whispered softly, “Oh God, I’m leaving—
But it’s the seventh sin.”
(Oh! the sad secrets of that white sphere.)

Don’t focus on the flaws as you go through life;
And even when you notice them,
It's wise and kind to be a bit blind
And look for the good behind them.
For even the cloudiest night has a glimmer of light
Somewhere in its shadows hiding;
It's way better to search for a star,
Than to focus on the dark spots on the sun.

The flow of life moves on
To the embrace of God’s vast ocean.
Don’t try to push against the river’s
Course and expect to change its motion.
Don’t waste a curse on the universe—
Remember it existed before you.
Don’t fight against the storm with your tiny frame,
Instead, bend and let it pass over you.

The world will never change
To cater to your every wish.
Some things will go wrong your entire life,
And the sooner you realize it, the better.
It's pointless to struggle against the Infinite,
Only to be defeated in the end;
The smarter person fits into God’s plan
Just like water fits into a container.

The gate swung wide, I rode out on my own,
Feeling prouder than a king on a throne.
I’m just a jockey, but shout after shout
Rose up from the crowd as they watched me ride out;
And the cheers that erupted from that warm-hearted crowd,
Were as sincere as any that a king ever bowed to.

My heart raced with pleasure so intense it felt like pain
As I patted my Salvator’s soft, silky mane;
And a sweet shiver ran from his coat to my hand
As we walked past the crowd down to the stand.

The loud cheers rolled back,
As the brave Tenny's hooves raced down the track;
And he stood there next to us, all muscle and bone,
Our worthy competitor, well-prepared for the fight
That awaited us on the smooth, shining course.
My Salvator, admired by horse lovers,
Like a beautiful woman is admired by men—
A perfect example of a thoroughbred, clean-limbed and bright—
Stood there accepting applause as if it were his right,
Nothing surprising or out of the ordinary.

And then, right in front of us, the bright flag is out,
There's a roar from the grandstand, and Tenny’s
in the lead;
At the sound of the voices shouting “go!”
He sprang like an arrow shot from a bow.
I tighten the reins on Prince Charlie’s great son—
He takes off like a rocket, the race has started.
Halfway down the furlong, their heads are level,
Barely enough room between their noses for a feather;
Past the grandstand and judges, in neck-and-neck struggle,
Ah, Salvator, boy! this is the race of your life.
I press my knees tighter, I coax him, I urge,
I feel him surge forward with a leap and a push;
I see him inch ahead, stride by stride,
While Tenny falls back, still falling behind.
We’re approaching the turn, the first quarter is done—
The daylight between the leader and chaser is clear.
The gap stretches, but Tenny keeps going,
As graceful and quick as a fawn;
His clumsiness gone, his muscles all strained—
A worthy opponent, well born and well trained.
I glance over my shoulder, ha! Tenny, the price
Of that moment's weakness will be—the race lost.
One second's slight surrender of courage and strength,
And the daylight between us has doubled in length.

The first mile is done, the race is mine—no!
For Tenny's royal blood responds to a challenge.
He flies through the air like a bullet from a gun,
And the two lengths between us shrink to one,
My heart tightens, a lump forms in my throat,
For Tenny’s long neck is right at Salvator’s rear;
And now with fresh courage growing bolder and bolder,
I see him again running side by side.
With my knees, hands, and body, I urge my grand horse,
I push him, I encourage him, I pray him to listen!
Oh, Salvator! Salvator! hear my calls,
For the hit of my whip will sting us both if it lands.
There’s a roar from the crowd like a stormy ocean
As Tenny’s massive form leaps close to my saddle:

One last powerful leap, and with my knee, leg, and hand,
I push my horse ahead by a nose past the stand.
We’re under the wire now—the big race is over,
And Salvator, Salvator, Salvator won!
Cheer, gray-haired leaders; cheer loud, I say.
This is the race of a century witnessed today!
Even if you live twice as long as what’s given to men,
You’ll never see such an amazing race again.
Let the crowd’s cheers crash like the waves
For Salvator, Salvator, king of the track!
He’s shattered the record that stood for thirteen long years;
He’s claimed the top spot among a huge group of rivals.
It was a neck-and-neck contest, a great, fair race,
And even his foes acknowledge his place.
Down with the old records, let them be thrown,
And display 2.05 for the world to see.

“I think I hear the sound of horses' hooves
Hitting the gravel road.
Go to the window that overlooks the street,
He wouldn’t let me die alone, I knew.”
Back to the couch, the waiting patient returned,
And said: “It’s the howling of the wind.”

She turned on her couch and seemed to sleep,
The long, dark lashes casting shadows on her cheek;
And the long, tired moments dragged on,
When suddenly the watcher heard her say:
“I think I hear the sound of horses’ hooves—”
And replied, “It’s just the rain on the roofs.”

Unbroken silence, quiet, deep, profound.
The restless sleeper turns: “How dark, how late!
What is that noise I hear—a trampling sound?
I think there’s a horseman at the gate.”
The watcher turns away, her eyes filled with tears:
“It’s just the shutter banging in the wind.”

The long hours dragged on; the clock kept ticking;
   The tired watcher didn’t leave her spot.
The gray shadows of early dawn
   Caught sudden light from the sleeper’s face.
“He's here! my love!  I knew he would!” she cried;
And, smiling softly in her sleep, passed away.

How will it be when one of us alone
Takes that strange last journey of the soul?
That certain search for an uncertain goal,
That trip where no companionship is known?
Will our beloved sea sing with the old sweet tone,
Even though one sits heartbroken where its waves roll?
Will space be silent, or from the mystic pole
Will messages from the spirit come back to us?
When our joined lives are torn apart,
And day no longer means cherished companionship,
When passionate nights and beautiful, dreamy dawns,
Are just memories to one lonely heart,
And only in dreams do love's kisses warm the lips,—
Dear God, how can this same beautiful world keep going on?

In nature’s bright blooms, there doesn’t always rest
That strange, subtle essence more rare than their beauty,
Which lies in the hearts of carnations and roses,
That mysterious something people call perfume.
Though the flower may be modest, its power is great
And full of meaning, each pistil and leaf,
If only it stays there, if only it remains there,
The fragrance that suggests love, joy, and grief.

Not every song a master creates
Can touch human hearts with joy or sorrow.
But strange, subtle notes, like the scent of roses,
Emerge from some melodies, even if simple.
And look! when you hear them, you love and fear them,
You shiver with pain, you thrill with joy,
For behind them lie countless forgotten dreams,
And long-lost faces seem to appear.

Those cherished, silly days when the world felt so beautiful,
Before you knew enough to feel sorrow;
When youth didn’t have a greater sense of responsibility
Than just to glide through life and feel happy.
They seemed to float along harmony’s river,
Surrounded by all the sweet dreams of that time—
Life’s burdens and troubles turning into air bubbles
And bursting on the music’s fast-flowing rhythm.

Fair Folly comes back with her magic while you listen
And points to the paths where she guided you before.
You look at past sunsets, you see dead stars shine,
You soak in life’s glory, you faint in death’s chill.
All pains and all pleasures rush up through those rhythms,
Your heart is ripped open with earthquakes of sound;
From ashes and embers rise Junes and Decembers,
Lost islands in depths of emotion rediscovered.

Some breezes are like openings to the oceans of memory,
They come from the past and flow into the heart;
And down them drift the wrecks of powerful emotions,
All soaked and battered by storms and drifting apart:
Their beautiful wood broken, their proud sails torn,
Their ghostly crew of lost days on their decks;
Then a clash of chords mixing, a turning point, a conclusion—
The music is finished, and the wrecks have disappeared.

Love brings us countless doses of joy,
Of pain and ecstasy, and peace and worry;
Love lifts us up to great heights,
And, like an angel, stands beside us there;
Then pushes us, like a demon, into a pit:
Where, in the darkness of despair, we search,
Until, suddenly, Love meets us with a kiss
And leads us back to hopeful, blossoming fields.

Love makes all wisdom seem like foolishness,
And yet the simplest person becomes wise with Love,
The happiest heart learns sadness from him,
Yet honors those who once seemed lost in thought.
Love thrives on change, and yet mocks change itself,
Because Love's entire existence is one big paradox.

Like the tenth wave that brings to the shore
Accumulated riches and strength,
My heart, which once thought it loved before,
   Carries growing passion through time's length
To offer to you.
         Oh! not the
   Weak
First ripple of the sea should be its pride,
But the powerful culmination of its wildness,
   Which peaks in one overwhelming tide.

The small waves of every raw feeling
Crash on life’s shore, pull back, and then
come together
With love’s vast ocean; and to some late devotion
Unseen, they bring back their lost joy.
So all the faded dreams of my past
Still exist in this one passion, grand and immense.

So you have the talent, good lady, you swear,
To keep Time’s fading touch at bay
From the rosy glow of the soft cheek,
And the silver strands from the gold away;
And the tell-tale years that have rushed past us
Shall quietly return, and, with goodwill,
They will erase their marks from our faces,
If we trust in your magical skill.

You speak well; but if I listen
And learn your secret and test its truth,
Do you have the potion and magic lotion
To give me the heart of youth too?
With rosy cheeks and beautiful eyes,
And the shiny hair of life’s lost prime,
Will you bring back all the hopes and longings
That made the glory of that time gone by?

When the sap in the trees makes young buds burst,
And the song of the birds fills the air like
spray,
Will rivers of feeling come sneaking back
From the beautiful hills of the distant past?
Will you break down the tower of reason
And throw forever into the dust
The caution Time gave me, the lessons life taught me,
And replace them with my old sweet trust?

If time's imprint from my forehead is worn,
Can you, with your clever skills,
Take on the weight of my thoughts, so I can enjoy
The carefree joys of youthful hours?
If silver strands from my hair disappear,
If a flush returns to my pale cheeks,
Will you kill duty and restore the beauty
Of days unbothered by anything but dreams?

When the gentle, fair arms of the siren Summer
Wrap around the earth in a lazy embrace.
Will deep, vast oceans of sweet feelings
Flow through my veins like they used to?
Can you bring back from a long-gone day
The racing heart and the limitless ambition?
I’ll reward you generously for all your effort,
If you’ll bring back all of this, good lady.

How should a girl respond to a guy
Who calls on her, by love’s ultimate command,
To reveal her entire heart, so he can understand
The complicated and unusual ways that love started?
So many paths from that great source flowed
To nourish the river that now flows freely,
So deep the heart, so full of mystery;
How should a girl respond to a guy?

If I flip through each page of my heart,
And let your eyes see everything inside,
All the dreams of love that came before I knew,
Even though in those dreams you weren’t involved,
Know that each feeling was a step
That led my growing womanhood to you.

No, I wasn't thoughtless until you arrived;
I know men like to see women as if they're moldable,
Without emotions until his warmth
From his heart ignites her with sudden passion.
You wanted honesty; I'm responding honestly;
My human heart beat with life night and day,
And I thought that Love had found me
Before it was overwhelmed by your face and name.

I don't know when I first felt this passion
That brings such brightness to my hopes and fears,
And paves a way to you with every thought.
I believe in that moment when God's wish
To create worlds capable of love sent out a million spheres,
This miracle of love was created in me.

An open door, a moonlit sky,
A youthful maid with a thoughtful gaze,
A strong footstep walking by.

Light as a dewdrop descends from above
Onto a rosebud’s gentle beauty,
A kiss touched her youthful face.

“Good night, goodbye,” and he was gone.
And so was childhood; it was dawn
In that young heart the moon shone on.

His name? His face? Faint memories;
I only know that in that first kiss
Was foretold this later happiness.

The dreams in my heart grew;
Don't be sad that my story is real,
Because all those dreams led right to you.

One time when Autumn put on her gorgeous robes
And rustled down the year's fading path,
As I walked by daydreaming, a tender voice
Called me back with the soft invitation of youth.
I turned and listened to a golden story!
A wonderful tale, half human, half divine—
A page from bright September’s book of glory,
To remember and make forever mine.
Strange treasures from the unknown seas of passion
Sailed through my veins, like a hazy elusive fleet,
With foreign cargoes of unnamed feelings,
As breezes of song blew softly ashore, faint and sweet,
And still asleep (because you hadn’t woken me)
I dreamed and dreamed, convinced my visions were real.
I woke when all the crimson color faded
And playful Autumn's lips and cheeks had turned pale;
And when the sorrowful year had slowly trudged,
With stumbling steps, through the snow-covered valley.
I woke and realized the magic of a season
Had given an illusory shine to a dream,
And looking into the clear calm eyes of Reason,
I smiled and said, “Goodbye to things that seem.”
It was just a red leaf from a lush September
That the winds of dreams blew across my path,
But oh! my love! I give you the whole year,
With all its seasons I offer to you.
The red leaf died in the first cold wind
The full year’s harvests I lay at your feet.

Forgive me, prince; the confession is done.
But listen and be warned, oh! my love.
You chased away all the dreams that could have been;
You won this battle, but there’s more to achieve;
Secure the fortress, or new dreams might emerge.

Sit still, I say, and cut out the theatrics!
I hurt your wrists? Well, you’ve hurt me.
It’s time you realized that not all men are stoics,
Nor are they toys to be played with based on your mood.
I will not let go of your hands, nor will I leave you
Until I have spoken. No man, you say,
Dared to treat you like this before? I believe you,
Because you've only dealt with boys until now.

You women emphasize your sharp intuition,
Your instincts are often talked about;
You claim to have a mysterious understanding
Of things that men have to think about.
So, naturally, when you sweetly ask me
“To come by again soon,” you see how I feel.
I can’t believe you were unaware;
You noticed my feelings for you from the beginning.

You’re one of those women who captivate effortlessly;
The essence you’re made of is like magnet ore,
And I’m the steel; still, it’s clear that
You’ve led me to love you more and more.
You’re fueling a fire that could blaze too intensely,
Often quick to ignite, but tough to extinguish;
I’m not a guy to be taken lightly,
To respond to a sign and leave at a mood.

You call me a brute, an inhuman creature;
You say I've insulted you and tell me to leave.
And you? Oh, you're a virtuous woman,
With thoughts as pure as freshly fallen snow.
Pah! You're just one of a thousand pretty faces
Who believe they're living perfect lives:
They don't break any rules, and handle all their responsibilities
As good women and flawless wives.

But with heavy eyelids, and lifted faces,
And bare shoulders, and perfectly timed sighs,
And who knows what other subtle charms,
You are mental seducers, who sin with your eyes.
You awaken love but ask it to stay hidden,
You tempt us to fall but tell us to be rational;
And then you’re filled with shocked wonder
When we start to crave you, body and soul.

Why, take a look at yourself! You were well aware
That my heart was already burning with desire.
When you asked me to call, you knew I was at risk,
Yet here you are, wearing the gown I adore;
For half of the trouble in the world is created
By vain, beautiful women with too much free time
But to keep themselves groomed, made up, and fragrant,
And to chase after sensations that are fun and fresh.

But when I flirt with a woman in charge,
I always know I’ll win at least one round;
So there—there—there! I will leave my mark
On the lips that can now cry “Shame, shame!”
You hate me? Probably! I’m not surprised,
Strong arm? I admit it; but you were still kissed;
And one thing's for sure—you can’t look down on me
For having been toyed with, dominated, and tossed aside.

And the next time you notice a guy is into
The beauty and charm that aren't meant for him,
Don't tease him and get him all distracted;
Stay away from deep waters even if you can swim.
Because when he gets swept up in the whirlwind of desire,
Where many confident swimmers end up drowning,
A guy will reach out and, in a panic,
Will pull whoever is closest down with him.

Though his heart may be torn apart
By a flirty girl who has misled him,
She can be forgiven and excused,
Because innocence can stumble into mistakes.
But the one who has willingly accepted the chains
That love creates at marriage’s command—
Well, she’s the one who should know better;
She doesn’t deserve mercy from anyone.

In the game of hearts, even if a woman wins,
The odds are always stacked against her, you know;
The world is quick to label her a sinner,
And a man is always ready to make her one.
Shame is likely, and sorrow is guaranteed,
And the man has the upper hand, no matter how it ends.
So now, my lady, let’s close the curtain,
And turn off the lights. We’re done with our play.

The passion you wouldn’t let me express
Won't be quieted. You’ll hear it in
The gloomy thunder as it rumbles and grumbles:
And when the storm approaches, with its cries and noise,
I know your peaceful ignoring is shattered,
And to your heart you whisper, “He has spoken.”

All of nature understands and connects
With human emotions. When the restless sea
Turns in its endless quest for peace and surges
To ask and to chase, it asks for me.
And with every desperate wave’s anguished struggle,
Your heart must say, “He is not forgetting.”

When invisible hands write with lightning bolts
Mysterious words on a cloudy scroll,
Know that my repressed passion is composing
A secret message for your woman's soul;
And when the wild winds rush past you screaming,
Let your heart say, “Now his despair is speaking.”

Love comes and goes, not at the command of reason,
   Nor is love quiet—even if it doesn't say a word;
By day or night, in any place or season,
   A powerful passion will always be felt.
So you will hear, through Junes and through Decembers,
The voice of Nature saying, “He remembers.”

She’s the most cheerful of beings, she’s the cutest of ladies,
With her cute shiny shoes or her stylish ties,
With her eyes that catch your gaze and her lips that invite kisses,
As she strolls by the ocean or walks under the open sky.

She’s an amazing dresser, and her parasols are beautiful;
Her trends will blow you away, her hats are stylish fantasies;
She’s not overly academic, but with her witty remarks and puns
She can get the intellectuals laughing and even make the guys smile.

She doesn't have bursts of creativity, and she's not a starry-eyed girl;
She's completely free from obsessions, and she doesn't fantasize about a “career”;
She's mostly cheerful and happy, never sad or weighed down by worries,
Though she might sigh a bit if a guy is around.

She’s a tough little walker, facing all kinds of weather,
And when the rain, fog, or mist make other competitors stumble,
Her fluffy hair curls up like a twisted ostrich feather
Around her ears, forehead, and the white nape of her neck.

She’s like a fish in water; she can handle reins and racket;
From head to toe and fingertips, she’s full of life;
When she’s out for a stroll in a really eye-catching jacket,
The rustling around her feet suggests how laundry workers can thrive.

She can take on the wind and sunshine with the utmost confidence,
And after hours of sailing, her cheeks are just rosy;
Even the sun seems enchanted by her, and at most will only tan her,
While everyone else ends up with a red nose from sunburn.

She’s a bit sentimental and loves getting attention,
And she sometimes flirts a little in the season’s wild excitement;
But win her over if you can, sir, she might just be the best thing that ever happens to you,
For she often plays the role of an angel, the Summer Girl.

Through the open door of dreamland
Came a ghost from long ago, long ago.
When I woke, completely unaware
Was the phantom to my pleas;
For he wouldn’t leave or go,
But stayed with me all day,
In my work and my play,
Walked this ghost from long ago, long ago.

Not a vague and pale ghost
Was this spirit that approached me, followed me:
Though he emerged from haunted places,
Though he came uninvited, unwanted,
He was quite striking to behold.
Like the bright sun in the sky
Was the glow around the face
Of that ghost that came to me, followed me.

And he wasn’t wearing a shroud or any cloth
As he walked by my side, right next to me:
He was dressed in royal splendor
And his eyes were deep and gentle,
As he moved with dignified pride;
And he looked like a great king,
Not scared of anything,
As he walked by my side, right next to me.

Then I turned to him and told him
To go back the way he came.
But he replied sadly,
“May the Past not try to take
From the Present without reason—
Just one memory from its collection,
Before it disappears forever,
Down the path it came, back to where it started?”

Then, feeling ashamed of my full wallets,
I drew from Memory’s treasure (such a treasure!)
All that I owed in tax and duty
For the cherished moments of beauty,
Which I paid in thoughts of gold;
Yet my present felt even
Richer still for all the cost
I drew from Memory’s treasure (such a treasure!).

I will make you a sign, rumseller,
And hang it over your door;
A truer and better sign
Than you’ve ever had before.
I will paint with the skill of a pro,
And many will stop to see
This amazing piece of artwork,
So realistic and lifelike.

I’ll paint you, rumseller,
   While you wait for that handsome young guy,
Just at the start of manhood,
   A mother’s pride and joy.
He’s not planning to stop,
   But you welcome him with a smile,
And you look so cheerful and friendly,
   That he stops to talk for a while.

I’ll paint you again, rumseller,
I’ll paint you as you stand,
With a frothy glass of liquor
Held out in your hand.
He hesitates, but you push him—
Drink, toast to me just this one!
And he takes the glass and downs it,
And the wicked deed is done.

And next I’m going to paint a drunkard—
Just one year has passed,
But into that disgusting figure
The handsome young boy has transformed.
The work was quick and sure.
I’ll paint him as he sprawls
In a heavy, drunken sleep,
Under the cold winter skies.

I will paint the figure of the mother
As she kneels beside her beloved child,
Her beautiful boy who meant more
Than the entire world combined.
I will paint the shape of a coffin,
Marked with one word—“Lost”
I will paint all this, rumseller,
And will do it free of charge.

The sin, the shame, and the sorrow,
The crime, the need, and the pain
That come from your workshop,
No hand can capture, you know.
But I’ll create you a sign, rumseller,
And many will stop to look
At this amazing swinging signboard,
So incredibly, frighteningly real.

To-night when I left the club at eleven,
Under the streetlight I saw a face—
A woman’s face! and I swear to God
It looked like the haunting ghost of—Grace!

And Grace? Well, Grace was beautiful; and I stayed,
And loved her for a while like we guys do.
And then—but come on! Of course, she’s married,
Has a husband, and probably a kid or two.

She was totally calm on the day we said goodbye;
She didn’t give me a dramatic scene, which really surprised me.
“She wasn’t the type to get her heart broken,”
I remember her saying, with a glint in her eyes.

I was tempted, I know, by her proud defiance,
To keep my promise right then and there.
But people would have called it a bad match!
I feared the comments and sneers of others.

So I left her to mourn for a cheat of a lover,
And to shield her heart from the harsh world’s
view,
Like women do across the whole earth;
My God! was it Grace that I saw tonight?

I pictured her married, often feeling sorry for her,
   A poor man’s wife in some boring spot.
And now to find out she’s here in the city,
   Under the streetlights, and with that face!

Yet I realized it right away, despite the makeup
Of paint and powder, and she recognized me;
She took a quick breath that was nearly a sobbing
And stepped back into the shade so I wouldn’t see.

There was fury in her eyes! She looked tired and weary
Her soul is fighting against the life she's lived.
As I stared at that face so oddly faded
I wondered why God didn’t take me out.

While I've been happy and cheerful,
   Welcomed by the best people in town,
That girl I led down the path to mistakes,
   Has gone on recklessly further and further down.

Understood. Please provide the text you would like me to modernize.

Two o’clock, and I haven’t slept at all;
That face I saw in the light of the streetlamp
Is watching me from every shadow around—
I understand how a murderer feels tonight.

It was a long time ago that our love started;
It’s something that can’t be measured by time:
In a time and place that the Modern World forgot,
We were lovers before God called us, Woman and Man.

Like the memory of music created by streams,
All the beauty of that other love life feels real;
But I always believed it was true, and now I know, I know,
We were lovers in the Land of Silver Dreams.

When the moon was full, I discovered the place;
   Out in the vastness of shining space,
On a quest that was bound to succeed, I opened the sails of my memory
   And dropped anchor in the Bay of Love's First Grace.

At the base of Aristarchus is this bay,
(Oh! the awe of that distant mountain!)
And the Land of Silver Dreams sparkles all around,
Where we loved before God created night or day.

We were beings in strange bodies made of light;
We had wings, and we could fly from one height to another;
And we created a nest called Hope, on the steep slope of Moon Mountain,
Where we sat and observed new worlds come into view.

And we saw this little planet called Earth,
When the powerful Mother Chaos created it;
But in love’s illusion, we believed all those worlds from space were brought,
For no greater aim or purpose than our joy.

And we laughed freely in love, and we sang,
Until the echoing sounds of Aristarchus rang,
As hot, hissing comets came, and bright suns ignited,
And countless worlds sprang forth from the darkness.

I can show you, when the Moon is at its best,
Aristarchus, and the place where we made our nest,
Oh! I’ve always wondered why, when the Moon was up in the sky,
I felt such strange longing and unrest.

And I understood the quiet beauty and the strength
Of our love was never limited by Earth’s path.
So with Memory’s sail open, I sailed past this
World, and I followed it back to where it began.

In a big mansion just down the street
      Lives the lovely, stunning Dell;
   You might have heard of this charming lady,
      Because she’s quite a socialite.
   I live in a small cottage across from her—
      You probably don’t know me;
   For when the bright lady moon shines,
      Who notices a pale star?
But oh, well! oh, well! I’m much happier than Dell,
      As odd as that might seem.

Dell has the fanciest robes—
      Pinks, purples, and blues;
   And she keeps bothering her maid and stressing out
      Trying to decide which one to choose.
   Which should it be now, silk or lace?
      Which one will make me look best?
   She stands by the mirror with a worried face,
      While her maid looks on in despair.
Ah, well! ah, well! I’m not worried like Dell,
      Because I only have one to wear.

Dell has admirers of all types,
      Of every age and style;
   Suitors hover around her,
      And enjoy her words and smile.
   She keeps them all, with a playful charm,
      Depending on her mood or fun,
   And wonders foolishly if in one heart
      True love has begun.
Ah, well! ah, well! I never question myself like Dell,
      For I know a true heart’s worth.

Pleasure for Dell feels dull and outdated,
      Often she sits and sighs;
   Life for me is a story yet to be told,
      Each day brings a joyful surprise.
   Dell will marry, of course, someday,
      After her time as a belle is over;
   She will approach the matter in a worldly way
      And marry Dame Fortune’s son.
But, oh! it’s sweet to say, I won’t waste time choosing like Dell,
      Because I love and am loved by—one.

One night, Nurse Sleep reached out her hand
To the tired little May.
“Come, let’s go to Wonderland,”
She said, “I know the way.
Just rock-a-by—hum-m-m,
And voila! we arrive
At the place where the dream girls play.”

But naughty May, she wriggled away
From Sleep’s soft arms, and said:
“I have to stay awake until I eat my cake,
And then I will go to bed;
With a bye-lo, away I will go.”
But the good nurse shook her head.

She shook her head and hurried away,
While May sat eating her crumb.
But after the cake, a pain set in,
Though May cried: “Come, Sleep, come,
And oh! let’s just say bye-bye”—
Except for the echoes, it was quiet.

She chased after Sleep into Wonderland,
   Ran until the morning light;
And just when she caught her and held her hand,
   A nightmare gave her a scare.
And oh, I hope she’ll realize
   Better next time around.

In Vanity Fair, as we bow and smile,
As we talk about the opera after discussing the weather,
As we chat about fashion and trends,
We know we’re acting a role together.
You know that the joy she shows is borrowed;
She knows you laugh just to cover your sadness;
We understand that beneath the silks and laces,
And behind the pretty, radiant faces,
Lie hidden struggles and deep despair,
In Vanity Fair.

In Vanity Fair, on the fashion show,
Our colors look bright and our swords are shining;
But many uniforms are worn and frayed,
And most of the weapons, despite how they’re defining,
Are dull and damaged and really battered,
And a closer look will see how tattered
And stained are the banners that wave above us.
Our comrades claim love, but they really hate us;
And dressed like Pleasure walks the hollow-eyed Care,
In Vanity Fair.

In Vanity Fair, as we seek status,
As we hustle and push and crowd and rush,
We realize the destination isn't worth the effort—
We know the reward isn't worth the stress;
That all our achievements come at someone else's expense;
That in striving for ourselves, we hurt one another;
That the crown of success is heavy and burdensome
The head of the winner with thorns—not comforts;
That accolades are hollow and meaningless to have,
In Vanity Fair.

But in Vanity Fair, as we go along,
We meet strong hearts that are worth knowing
Among the fake jewels that crowd the scene,
We sometimes see a real gem shining.
We discover great souls beneath stylish clothes,
Beneath light attitudes hide strength and passion;
And true honor and godlike resilience
Can exist in places of pleasure;
And we find pure altars and shrines of prayer
In Vanity Fair.

[This recitation is meant to be performed with waltz music playing in the background, incorporating dance steps during the refrain “With one, two, three,” etc.]

A cheerful young girl with quick feet,
Heigh-ho! oh no!
Said she’d much rather dance than eat,
And that turned out to be true.
She danced all day and she danced all night;
She danced till the green earth turned white;
She danced ten partners out of breath;
She danced the eleventh one right to death;
And still she danced up and down—
The happiest girl in town.
With one, two, three; one, two, three; one, two, three—kick;
Chassée back, chassée back, spin around quick.
The name of this girl ended with E—
Heigh-ho; oh no!
And she was as lovely as a girl could be,
Until she danced her beauty away.
She danced her big toes out of joint;
She danced her other toes all to a point;
She danced out slipper, boot, and shoe;
She danced till the bones of her feet peeked through.
And still she danced, waltzed, and whirled—
The happiest girl in the world.
With one, two, three; one, two, three; one, two, three—kick;
Chassée back, chassée back, spin around quick.

Now the end of my story is sad to tell—
   Heigh-ho! and away we go!
For this beautiful maiden’s final fate
   Is wrapped in darkness and sorrow.
She danced herself into a spinning top;
She whirled and whirled until she couldn’t stop;
She danced and leaped and sprang so far,
That she finally got stuck on a pointed star;
And there she must dance until Judgment Day,
And even after that, because she danced away
Her soul, you see, so she has no place anywhere outside of space,
With her one, two, three; one, two, three; one, two, three—kick;
Chassée back, chassée back, whirl around quick.

We picked a red rose, you and I,
All in the summer sun;
Its scent was sweet and its bloom was rare,
Enjoyed by us as one.
The rose is gone, summer has passed,
And cold winds are howling;
We are far apart, but in each heart
We find the thorn still prowling.

We sipped sweet wine, you and I,
   All in the summer heat.
The beaded drink we casually enjoyed,
   And filled the glass together.
Together we admired its rosy glow,
   And watched the bubbles sparkle;
Apart, alone we only know
   The dregs are really bitter.

We walked in the sunshine, you and I,
   All in the summer weather:
The night felt as bright as noon,
   When we were together.
I wonder why, when we said goodbye,
   Over hills and valleys and meadows,
A shadow fell, and our paths seemed like
   They were forever in darkness.

We shared a sweet dream, you and I,
All in the summer warmth,
Where roses and wine and warm sunshine
Were blended together.
We dreamed that June was still with us,
We woke up to find it was December.
We dreamed that we could forget,
We woke up only to remember.

“Dying? I’m not dying! Are you crazy?
You think I need to beg for divine mercy?
I think you are a monster, who would be happy
To watch me fight in death’s cold grasp.

“But, man, you’re lying! Because I’m strong—really
Stronger than I’ve been in years; and soon
I’ll feel young again like I did in my youth,
My glorious youth—life’s greatest priceless gift.

“O youth, youth, youth! O God! that golden
time,
When proud and joyful I laughed the hours away.
Why, there’s no sacrifice (maybe no crime)
I wouldn’t make if it could make me young
today.

“But I’m not old! I just got—well, sick, somehow;
Grew stiff in my limbs, weak, and my vision got blurry.
It was just an illness. I’m better now,
Oh, so much better, ever since last night.”

“And I could weep warm floods of happy tears
   To think my strength is finally coming back,
For I have dreamed of such a moment for years,
   As I lay reflecting on my glorious past.

“You shake your head? Why, man, if you were sane
I’d bow down to you, I truly would.
How dare you tell me my hopes are pointless?
How dare you say I have aged out of my youth?

“‘In heaven I might get it back’? Oh, be quiet!
I want no heaven other than what my happy youth gave me.
Its long, bright hours, its joy and excitement—
O youth, youth, youth! it is my youth I long for.

“There is no heaven! There’s nothing but a deep
And yawning grave that I dread.
I’m not even certain about rest or sleep;
Maybe we just lie and think like I do here.

“Think, think, think, think, as we lie here and decay,
And hear the young above us laughing joyfully.
How dare you say I’m dying! I am not.
I would curse God if I could.”

“Why, look at me standing here! Why, hear this strong, full breath—
Do you dare repeat that foolish, despicable lie?”
A shout—a fall—the silence we call death
Stilled his wild words. Well, has he found his youth?

What a terrible night! Does the Night, I wonder—
The Night, with her black veil down to her feet
Like a devoted nun, know what’s hidden underneath
That dreadful, still, snow-white sheet?
The winds sound insane, and, howling wildly,
Blindly roam over the sad earth.
Do they and the dark clouds frowning above them,
Do they dream or know?

Why, just a week ago in this room—
Although it must be a week, not more than one—
(I can’t remember lately or figure out
When one day ends or another begins),
But here in this room we were laughing easily,
And our two hearts were full of joy;
And the beautiful face that was smiling so warmly
Lies under that sheet.

I don't know why—it's strange and scary,
   But I feel afraid of her, lying there;
She who was always so happy and cheerful,
   Lying so still with that cold stare:
She who resembled some grand queen,
   Fond of color and warmth and heat,
To lie there wrapped in that terrible way
   In a plain white sheet.

She who was created from summer joys,
Tropical, beautiful, kind, and fair,
To lie here and dream of my sweetest kisses—
God! no wonder it makes my hair turn gray.
Cry out, O wind! because the world feels lonely;
Spread out a cloud to cover the feet of Night!
For everything I cherish in life is just
A figure and a shadow.

Oh! I know a woman who is considered good,
But she scares me more than a raging lion would.
I get chills up and down my spine whenever we
meet,
Even though she looks gentle and is very neat and
tidy.

And she has a thousand good qualities and no recognized flaws,
But she’s the kind of person you could compare to a pin.
And she pokes you and sticks you in a way that's hard to describe—
When you try to figure out what’s bothering you, you just can’t pinpoint it.

But she makes you feel uneasy and frustrated—
If someone asks you why, you can’t really explain.
A pin is such a small thing—there’s no question about that—
Yet when it’s stuck in your skin, you feel miserable until it’s gone!

She has a great eye for detail. When she sees a pretty girl
She always makes sure to mention if her bangs are out of place.
And she's really compassionate; to her friend who gets a lot of attention,
She's often heard saying: “Honey, you look so worn and tired!”

And she is a thoughtful critic; because yesterday she looked at
The new dress I was showing off with a woman's natural pride,
And she said: “Oh, how flattering!” and then quietly
added, “It
Is truly unfortunate that the basque fits so well.”

Then she said: “If you had heard me last night, I’m sure, my friend,
You would say I’m a champion who knows how to defend.”
And she left me with a feeling—quite unpleasant, I must say—
That the whole world would look down on me if it hadn’t been for her.

Whenever I run into her, in such an unremarkable way
She makes me feel like I'm at my worst that day;
And the hat I bought (which cost me half a sonnet)
With just one look from her round eyes turns into a cheap hat.

She’s always cheerful and radiant, sharp and ready for action;
Time doesn’t seem to dull her edge, nor does she collect any rust.
Oh! I wish some unfortunate person would start
To clean up the world for me by picking up this pin.

Oh! not for the great departed,
Who shaped our country's laws,
And not for the bravest souls,
Who died for freedom's cause,
And not for some living hero
To whom everyone bows,
My muse would lift her song of praise—
But for the man to be.

For out of the struggle that women
Are going through today,
A man who is more than human
Will eventually be born, I say.
A man whose pure spirit
Has no trace of selfishness;
A man who is strong enough to face wrong,
A man who is proud to work.

A man with unshakable hope,
A man with godlike strength,
Will arrive when he’s truly needed,
Will come at just the right time.
He will quiet the noise and conflict
Between one group and another,
And the long struggle of hard work against wealth
Will succeed because of this man.

I know he’s on his way,
   To help, to guide, to save.
Even though I hear no drums,
   And see no flags waving.
But the deep struggles of women,
   And the brave, free ideas expressed,
Are signs that he’s approaching—
   The man who will change the world.

Don’t mourn for the lost ages,
With their great heroic figures,
Who exist in the pages of history
And live on in the poet’s words.
For the best times are still ahead of us,
And the world has yet to witness
The greatest value of this old earth
In the people who are yet to come.