CORINNE ROOSEVELT ROBINSON
SERVICE AND SACRIFICE
SERVICE AND SACRIFICE
CORINNE ROOSEVELT ROBINSON
"THE CALL OF BROTHERHOOD" AND "ONE WOMAN TO ANOTHER"
CHARLES SCRIBXER S SONS
COPYRIGHT, 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1919, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS
Published April, 1919
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY SMALL. MAYNARD & CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1916, 1918, 1919, BY THE MCCLURE PUBLICATIONS. INC.
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY THE FLYING MAGAZINE ASSN., INC.
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY ESS ESS PUB. CO.
THE 8CRIBNER PRESS
THE MEMORY OF MY BROTHER
WHOSE WATCHWORDS WERE COURAGE AND SERVICE
WHOSE LIFE WAS A
TRUMPET CALL TO LOYALTY TO AMERICA
IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED
At Sagamore the Chief lies low
Above the hill in circled row
The whirring airplanes dip and fly,
A guard of honor from the sky ;
Eagles to guard the Eagle. Woe
Is on the world. The people go
With listless footstep, blind and slow;
For one is dead who shall not die
Oh ! Land he loved, at last you know
The son who served you well below,
The prophet voice, the visioned eye.
Hold him in ardent memory,
For one is gone who shall not go
To FRANCE 3
AT THE TOMB OF LAFAYETTE 6
To PEACE, WITH VICTORY 9
THANKSGIVING DAY, 1917 10
THANKSGIVING, 1918 11
To GENERAL LEONARD WOOD 12
CHRISTMAS, 1918 13
ON THE MOHAWK HILLS 14
To ITALY 17
IN BED 19
To DOROTHY D 21
SOLDIER OF PAIN 23
THEODORE ROOSEVELT 24
To MY BROTHER 26
THE A. E. F 28
VALIANT FOR TRUTH 30
THE LAST LEAF IN SPRING . 35
FLIGHT . 40
FROM A MOTOR AT MIDNIGHT 43
THE PATH THAT LEADS NOWHERE 45
"!F I COULD HOLD MY GRIEF" 47
"THE WOMAN SPEAKS" 48
"WE WHO HAVE LOVED" 49
LIFE HURT ME 50
THE OLD HOUSE 51
LE GRAND DISPARU 52
THE PLUS SIGN 53
IN LIGHTER VEIN
VERSES WRITTEN FOR THE OFFICIAL BENEFIT FOR
THE RELIEF OF BELGIAN WOMEN AND CHILDREN,
DECEMBER 8, 1914.
MISS SYBIL CARLISLE 58
MR. WALTER HAMPDEN 59
MR. THOMAS JEFFERSON 60
MISS EDITH WYNNE MATTHISON 60
MISS VIOLA ALLEN 61
MR. HOLBROOK BLINN 62
MRS. PATRICK CAMPBELL 62
MISS ETHEL BARRYMORE 63
MR. WILLIAM H. CRANE 64
MISS FRANCES STARR 64
MLLE. DORZIAT 65
MR. FRANCIS WILSON 65
MISS JULIE OPP 66
MISS JANE COWL 66
MISS ANNIE RUSSELL 67
MR. HENRY MILLER 67
MRS. SOL SMITH 68
MISS PHYLLIS NEILSON TERRY 68
MR. WILLIAM GILLETTE 69
MME. ALDA 69
MR. WILLIAM FAVERSHAM 70
MME. NAZIMOVA 70
MR. EBEN PLYMPTON 71
MISS MARIE DORO 71
MESSRS. WEBER AND FIELDS 72
MISS ROSE COGHLAN 72
MR. HENRY DIXEY 73
MISS MARGARET ANGLIN 73
MISS MARY SHAW 74
MISS RUTH CHATTERTON 74
MISS BLANCHE BATES . .... 75
MISS ELLEN TERRY 75
To JOSEPH H. CHOATE ........ 77
A NEW YEAR S TOAST TO OUR G. O. M., JOSEPH
H. CHOATE 80
TO SOTHERN AND MARLOWE 82
HENDERSON HOUSE 86
To A BISHOP 92
THE POETRY SOCIETY ANTHOLOGY ..... 93
Verses written for the annual dinner of the Poetry
Society of America
EDWARD J. WHEELER 95
MERLE ST. CROIX WRIGHT 97
JESSIE B. RITTENHOUSE 99
MILES MENANDER DAWSON 101
PADRAIC COLUM 103
CHARLES HANSON TOWNE 104
ARTHUR GUITERMAN 105
A PLEA FOR THE "ULTIMATE CONSUMER" IN LITER
ATURE . 107
SERVICE AND SACRIFICE
A \ 7E, who have loved the France of old,
The France that gave us Lafayette,
Now deeper still our poignant debt,
And tenderer ten thousandfold.
Our youth has shed its blood for you,
Because your valor wrung the heart.
You, who have borne so brave a part,
You builded better than you knew.
If we of alien race and tongue
Shall face, once more, the God of War,
What you have been and what you are
Shall be the flame before us flung.
Your gallant heart shall strengthen ours
To reach unswerving toward the goal,
Through you, perchance, a new-born soul,
Unrecognized, within us flowers.
Ah! France, who gave us Lafayette
When we were scarred as you are now,
Before your wounds we humbly bow,
And bless you for our deeper debt!
APRIL 6, 1917
IN terms of service, not of sacrifice,
We pledge our bodies for our souls desire,
Infused with flame, heart-high with holy fire,
Yet not as martyrs would we pay the price.
Rather as lovers, asking but to give,
And giving only passion purified,
Craving one epitaph "Behold here died
A Freeman who would have his country live !
AT THE TOMB OF LAFAYETTE
"TAFAYETTE, we are here!"
Doffed helmet, bowed head
Greet you, the great Dead.
Were it weakness to shed
So impassioned a tear?
Lafayette, we are here !
We are here, Lafayette !
Though we waited so long,
We have come to right wrong,
Here are arms lithe and strong
That would pay the old debt,
We are here, Lafayette !
Lafayette, as we kneel,
Can you hear in your grave
That our pledge is to save
Or to die as the brave
Men of France do reveal
How to die for her weal !
Lafayette, we are here!
Vive la France! She shall live
For her life we would give
What you gave, and retrieve
The dear debt by your bier;
Lafayette, we are here !
BEFORE THE AMERICAN TROOPS GO
MARCH 30, 1918
A \ 7E wait and hold our breath, for it must come,
* ^ The hour of anguish which shall strike for all :
When, like a heavy and unyielding pall,
We know what we have sensed with pulses numb.
The measured march of Sorrow strikes us dumb.
Imprisoned by our dread, as by a wall,
Breathless we wait, and neither rise nor call,
Yet tremble at the echo of the drum.
Oh ! Spring that we have loved and welcomed oft,
When bursting buds acclaimed the new-born year,
We shudder at the thought of what you bring,
Each breeze that murmurs softer and more soft
Hurries the breaking heart, the bitter tear,
Death, the Intruder, tramples down the Spring !
TO PEACE, WITH VICTORY
NOVEMBER 11, 1918
I COULD not welcome you, oh ! longed-for peace,
Unless your coming had been heralded
By victory. The legions who have bled
Had elsewise died in vain for our release.
But now that you come sternly, let me kneel
And pay my tribute to the myriad dead,
Who counted not the blood that they have shed
Against the goal their valor shall reveal.
Ah ! what had been the shame, had all the stars
And stripes of our brave flag drooped still unfurled,
When the fair freedom of the weary world
Hung in the balance. Welcome then the scars!
Welcome the sacrifice ! With lifted head
Our nation greets dear Peace as honor s right;
And ye the Brave, the Fallen in the fight,
Had ye not perished, then were honor dead!
THANKSGIVING DAY, 1917
TET us give thanks, and lift our ringing voices,
*~^ Though not for plenty, nor for paths of peace;
Let us rejoice, as a strong man rejoices
To run his race; nor pray for swift release:
We who have doubted, dumb with indecision,
Nor turned our faltering footsteps toward the Right,
We who have heeded not the surer vision,
Let us give thanks for we have seen the light !
Let us give thanks that once again, compelling,
Our flag shall float for Freedom to the skies,
Ten thousand times ten thousand voices swelling
Proclaim our service and our sacrifice.
Let us give thanks an undivided nation,
One purposed now, we press toward the goal,
To Thee, our Fathers God and our Salvation,
Let us give thanks for we have found our Soul !
JET us give thanks, and meet with head uplifted
*^ The pealing bells that ring for righteous peace;
Now that the coward souls like sand are sifted,
We, who are purged, can welcome our release.
Had we not seen the light, our honor, lying
Like unsheathed sword, had lost its dauntless
Had we not conquered death by our own dying,
We had been false to Freedom s fairest pledge.
But now we kneel, eyes lifted in thanksgiving
With peace triumphant deep within our heart,
W 7 e, who have failed nor fallen dead, nor living,
Let us give thanks, for we have borne our part !
TO GENERAL LEONARD WOOD
NOVEMBER 11, 1918
WOUR vision keen, unerring when the blind,
Who could not see, turned, groping, from the
Your sentient knowledge of the wise and right
Have won to-day the freedom of mankind.
Honor to whom the honor be assigned!
Mightier in exile than the men whose might
Is of the sword alone, and not of sight,
You march beside the victor host aligned.
Had not your spirit soared, our ardent youth
Had faltered leaderless; their eager feet,
Attuned to effort for the valiant truth
Through your command, swiftly, rushed to compete
To hold on high the torch of Liberty
Great-visioned Soul, yours is the victory !
ONCE more with Christmas Eve comes "Peace,
Good r Will."
Once more the Christmas hope unstifled springs,
And hearts are glad because it seems that still
We hear the rustle of the Angels wings.
As, long ago, the men who watched their sheep
Welcomed the radiant messengers of light,
So we who walked in darkness, woke to weep,
No longer dream of slaughter in the night.
Ring out oh! bells of Peace, and let your voice
Be the new pledge of brotherhood in truth
The valiant Dead would bid us to rejoice,
For this they gave their ardor and their youth.
That all the anguish, all the mortal pain
Shall bring new vision to a world once blind;
The booming guns, though silenced, call again
Not now to die, but live for all mankind!
ON THE MOHAWK HILLS
THE FOURTH OF JULY, 1903
""TWICE, threescore year and ten have passed
* Since our first Independence Day,
But hearts still beat as true and fast
And wheresoe er our lines are cast,
We gather in triumphant way
To celebrate our Freedom s birth
A Freedom echoed o er the earth.
The wind that sweeps these rolling hills,
The water in its tireless play
Of mirrored streams or rushing rills
Whose ripple all the valley fills,
Is free to follow, free to sway,
As we are free whose fathers died
For Freedom and for countryside.
Then let us give our pledge that we
Are not unworthy of our sires,
But with a sure intent to be
Both freely brave and bravely free
Shall cast behind our base desires
And swear by all we hold most dear,
Our Country s call to answer here.
Our Country s call ! It may not come
As in those stirring days of yore
With bugle note, and beat of drum
And crash of arms mid terror dumb,
And burning heart though pulses numb,
IBut still our Country calls each one
To fight and serve like Washington.
To fight for truth and serve the right,
To battle with a royal will,
To walk according to our light,
Though rough the path and dim the sight,
A soldier, and a conqueror still,
As true unto the Flag as he
Who led it once to victory.
And as each year sweeps swiftly by,
The mighty memories of this day
Shall knit us with a stronger tie,
Shall fit us more to live or die,
For Home and Country, to repay
The debt we owe our Patriot Dead,
Our Freedom s price the blood they shed.
TO IT A L Y
land of dear desire,
Where Beauty like a gleam
Has waked the hidden fire
Of what our souls would dream !
Where shining ilex glistens,
And cypress sombre shade
Above dim fountains listens
In some forgotten glade.
Oh ! land of dear desire,
Thy beauty floods again
My heart with sudden fire
And burns away its pain.
I dream with Perugino
On some far Umbrian hill,
Or pray with sweet St. Francis
Till this world s fret is still.
Until my soul reposes
As once, unscourged he lay,
Amid the thornless roses
Until the break of day.
Dear Saint, who was the brother
Of every living thing,
Could we to one another
Thy gracious message bring,
The world renewed, awaking,
Would shed the shattered, torn,
Grim night of its own making,
And pledge a peace reborn.
Fair land of dear desire,
Thy beauty like a gleam
Shall kindle and inspire
What all our souls would dream !
WRITTEN FOR A BENEFIT FOR THE "ENFANTS DE LA FRONTIERS," 1917
WHEN evening comes
And I m in bed
And mother sits and sings
And holds my hand
And strokes my head,
I think of all the things
That I have heard
Can they be true?
That children just like me
Are cold and lost and hungry too
In lands across the Sea?
They say they wander in their fright
All dumb with cold and dread;
And when I think of them at night
I want to hide my head
Upon my mother s gentle arm
That holds me close and still,
And seems to promise that no harm
Can ever come, or ill.
And then I hear my mother s voice
So tender in a prayer,
"Dear God, may all the girls and boys
Who wander Over there
Be brought for kindly sheltering
To those who crave to give,
And they who mourn shall learn to sing
And they who die shall live."
And when the prayer is done I sleep
So still without a sound,
And dream no little child shall weep
And all the lost are found!
TO D O R () T II Y D .
Ox HEK FIRST BIKTHDAY, JUNE 30, 1JJ17
TTHIS is to little Dorothy D.
* Granddaughter mine so sweet is she,
Long ago a poet knew
A dear little girl called Dorothy Q.;
But I am convinced she could not be
Any sweeter than Dorothy D.
Dorothy Douglas, may you grow
Into the dearest girl I know:
May you be loyal, frank and true,
Just as your mother is; may you
Loving, joyous, and honest be,
Like your father, my Dorothy D.
Welcome into the great, strange world,
Now where the dogs of war have hurled
Bitter cries that have stunned our ears,
Into this world where no one hears
Echoes of that sweet peace we knew.
May your mother have peace through you-
Peace of the heart that love shall bring,
Love, that conquers the bitter sting
Of grief or failure or suffering.
Ah! my Dorothy, Dorothy D.,
Little bundle of joy to be,
We who are grateful thank you, dear,
For coming to bring us love and cheer.
SOLDIER OF PAIN
\ TOT in the trenches, torn by shot and shelling,
Not on the plain,
Bombed by the foe; but calm and unrebelling,
Soldier of Pain !
Facing each day, head high with gallant laughter,
What accolade in what divine hereafter
Shall this redeem?
Through the long night of racked, recurrent waking,
Till the long day,
Fraught with distress, brings but the same heart
Front for the fray.
In a far land our Nation s patriots, willing,
Fought, and now lie,
But you as brave a harder fate fulfilling,
Dare not to die !
A WOMAN SPEAKS TO HIS SISTER
I NEVER clasped his hand,
* He never knew my name,
And yet at his command,
I followed like a flame.
I pressed amid the crowd
To touch his garment s hem,
As one of old once touched
The Man of Bethlehem.
I was of those who toil,
Whose bread is wet with tears,
A daughter of the soil,
And bent, though not with years.
His words would lift the veil
That blurred my tired eyes,
They seemed to strengthen me
To serve and sacrifice.
And all the values lost,
^Yhen life was cold and grim,
Were clear and true again
Interpreted by him.
Our leader and our friend,
He knew what we must bear,
And to the gallant end
He bade us do and dare.
Clad in an armored truth
And by high purpose shod,
He gave us back our youth,
Our country, and our God !
TO MY BROTHER
T LOVED you for your loving ways,
* The ways that many did not know;
Although my heart would beat and glow
When Nations crowned you with their bays.
I loved you for the tender hand
That held my own so close and warm,
I loved you for the winning charm
That brought gay sunshine to the land.
I loved you for the heart that knew
The need of every little child;
I loved you when you turned and smiled,
It was as though a fresh wind blew.
I loved you for your loving ways,
The look that leaped to meet my eye,
The ever-ready sympathy,
The generous ardor of your praise.
I loved you for the buoyant fun
That made perpetual holiday
For all who ever crossed your way,
The highest or the humblest one.
I loved you for the radiant zest,
The thrill and glamour that you gave
To each glad hour that we could save
And garner from Time s grim behest.
I loved you for your loving ways,
And just because I loved them so,
And now have lost them, thus I know
I must go softly all my days !
THE A . E . F .
To T. R.
FROM "THE STARS AND STRIPES"
ONE is the joy, gone is the thrill of returning,
We who had longed to share with you all
To lay them at the feet of our great companion;
Hushed is rejoicing!
Never again to see the light from your window,
Shining across the land that you loved and in
"Put out the light," you said, and slept; but not
The darkness for others.
You, our leader, but more, our greatest companion-
Near enough for the spur of your voice and your
Ever ready to share, but sharing, still leading
Upward and onward.
Listen ! This is our pledge, to fare and to follow,
Follow 7 the trail you blazed, without shadow oi
We, who have learned of you, shall not be found
Here or hereafter !
VALIANT FOR TRUTH
"And so Valiant for Truth passed over, and all the trumpets sounded
for him on the other side"
WALIANT for Truth has gone Alas ! that he has
V left us,
Valiant for Truth, the leader that we love,
Where shall we find his like? Grim death, thou
hast bereft us
Of that great force that lifted us above.
Valiant for Truth, thy voice rang strong, and clear,
We had not borne to have its accents fail;
Nor would we choose, oh ! Knight, that thou shouldst
go less proudly
Ardent and young, upon the last, long trail.
What though we stumble blindly over ways that
We are not worthy if we do not fare
Forth to the W 7 est, where still thy voice calls us to
Up to the heights, and we shall meet thee there.
"Valiant for Truth has come," thus all the trumpets
"Valiant for Truth who faltered not, nor fell;
Fearless he rode the trail, the last long trail un
Rode to the final goal, where all is well!"
II ESDRAS IV
PHEN Uriel spake, the great angel, the angel of
" Would ye know then the secrets of Yaveh, the
rule of his rod?
So, weigh me the weight of the fire, the blast of the
That has left in the wake of the tempest no whisper
Or call me the day that has vanished, one hour
of the day,
And I will interpret Jehovah, His will and His way !"
And I answered, "Oh! Angel of Yaveh, ye know
and I know
That the questions ye ask are a riddle. The gleam
and the glow
Of the flash of the fire are fitful, and cannot be
And the whirl of the cyclone unmeasured can never
And the clay that is past could we call it then
Heaven would he here,
But, perchance, we could walk, even blindly, were
the pathway more clear!"
Then Uriel answered, "I ask ye of things ye have
Ye have sat at the warmth of the fire; the breeze
that has blown
Has cooled ye when faint with the summer s long
sweep of the sun,
And the day that is past, ye have lived it, although
it is done.
If ye cannot discern, though half hidden, the things
ye have seen,
Would ye look on the veiled face of Yaveh, His
might and His mien?"
And I answered God s angel in sorrow, Twere
better by far
That we ne er had been born to the bitter, blind
things that we are;
To suffer, and not to know wherefore, to be but
Of Jehovah who reads not the riddle of all He has
Then, gently, the angel of Yaveh made answer to
"When the flame of the fire has vanished, oh ! what
do ye see,
The smoke that is left? Yea, the ashes, but fire
Are greater than smoke or than ashes. The clouds
are the same
They pass to the earth in the shower, the drops
But greater than drops and unending the rush of
What has been is but drops and but ashes to the
more still to be,
For the ways of Jehovah are wondrous. Wait,
mortal, and see!"
THE LAST LEAF IN SPRING
\A/HY am I here?
* * I, who belonged to that dread season drear,
When, wet and cold,
November rains did change to formless mould
My comrades, and did sweep
Them all to their last sleep,
I was passed by.
Even the storm that wild Autumnal night,
When winds, tornado-like, rushed by in might,
And carried my companions on their breast,
Left me at rest.
I had been happier far with them to fly
Fiercely dissolved, against an avenging sky-
Riding Death s ride upon the sounding gale,
Than, wan and pale,
Against this branch to cling,
And wait a new-born Spring !
I have no place
Where buds do bloom apace.
One near me now
Burst into adolescence,
How, ah ! how ?
Her fragrant scents
With youth s impertinence
Importune me to know why I still hold
The branch, with tendrils cold
"Why," they would ask of me, "have you survived?
Your brothers were short-lived
And went their way,
Why did you stay?"
Can but reply,
A monk at heart,
As though apart, unshrived,
"I know not nay I only know
I would not have it so."
And yet, and yet
Perchance tis not so sad
To see the earth once more, reborn and glad.
I cannot feel it not one hollow vein
Can nature s sap retain;
But I can see
The mystery of bloom, on bud and tree,
Can hear new leaves
Murmur within their shoots of days to come,
Can almost hear the hum
Of some precocious and marauding bee
Around the roots
Of flowers it may not see.
And even I
A skeleton indeed at such a feast,
For one brief moment
From my fate released,
Can chant my threnody-
Can lift my voice
And in the thought rejoice,
As one who, living still, though out of time,
Has heard again the rhythm and the rhyme
Of Earth s renewal. The sublime
Recurrence of the beauty of the days
Born but to praise,
When, long and sweet and slow,
The hours linger and the flowers grow.
All me ! Ah me !
I strive to think
I am content to see,
And not to feel.
It is not true,
I long to revel in the Heaven s blue,
I long to dance
And waver gayly in the wooing breeze
Balanced at ease,
Sure of my strength to brave its harmonies
With no mischance.
I long for mad
Sweet ecstasy, when all the world is glad
I strain to thrill
When robins trill
The song of passion to their waiting mate;
But no, my fate
Come Wind, arise
Blow, feigning Autumn,
Blow, as though the world
In cold November s fog and mist were furled,
Blow fiercely till upon the new grass hurled,
I lie, a shattered thing
That none regret:
I had no right
To that stupendous sight
The promise and the pageant of the Spring.
And yet ! and yet !
Hurried to Earth at last
Upon the April blast
I would not quite forget!
| HAVE followed the flush of the morn
* To the heart of the sun.
Aurora, the spirit of Dawn,
Ere the day has begun,
Has winnowed the way of the wind
For the beat of my wings,
Above the dim haunts of mankind
To the essence of things.
Apollo awaits me afar
With his horses in-reined,
As I float with the faint morning star
Where the ether is stained.
By the crimson that flares as he sweep?
Down the fire-touched mist,
As his chariot wavers and leaps
From the heights amethyst.
I swing in the nebulous space
Till I welcome the shroud
Of night; and the stars in their race
Are singing aloud,
They chant of the past, of the days
When the song of the spheres,
The rhythm of prayer and of praise
Knew no mortal ears.
Orion has thrown me his belt
As a life-line of light,
The Pleiades shimmer and melt
As a lure to my sight,
Arcturus points up to the crown,
To the crown I have won
I am morning and night, I have mown
My path to the sun.
Must I fall from the kingdom of air
To the bondage of earth,
Man calls me his shackles to bear,
For twas he gave me birth.
His vision has buoyed my flight,
Has given me grace
To conquer the dawn and the night,
And the infinite space.
Man-made, I have pierced the wide blue
Of the heavens on high,
Nor Hermes, winged God, as he flew
Were freer than I
Man-made, as a God, lo ! I dare
Olympus to span
I am kin to the uttermost air,
Yet the daughter of Man !
FROM A MOTOR AT MIDNIGHT
! the strange wild thrill of a motor flight
In the still, clear cold of an Autumn night,
When led by the lure of the straight white road
The car leaps loose to the engine s goad,
And the front lamps shine down the distant track