Cross Roads by Margaret E. Sangster (read the beginning after the end novel .txt) 📕

/> Above the sound of tramping feet,
They sing of country bowers.
Against the house that looms so gray,
They smile in - well, a friendly way.

A tired shop girl hurries by;
Their color seems to catch her eye;
She pauses, starts, and wistfully
She gazes up. It seems to me
That I can hear her longing sigh. . . .
A little shop girl hurries by.

A newsboy stops to sell his wares;
The crowds brush by him; no one cares
To buy his papers. But above
The scarlet flowers bravely grow
In token of the Father's love. . . .
The crowds brush coldly by below.


A blind man stumbles, groping past;
He cannot see their scarlet shine;
And yet some memory seems to twine
About his soul.
For, oh, he turns
As trusting as a child who yearns
For some vague dream, and smilingly
He lifts the eyes that cannot see. . . .
A blind man stumbles, groping past.

The window box across the street
Is filled with scarlet flowers;
They tell a secret, tender, sweet,
Through all the dreary hours.
And folk who hurry on their way
Dream of some other brighter day. . . .
The window box across the street
Is filled with scarlet flowers.


ON FIFTH AVENUE

I walked down Fifth Avenue the other day
(In the languid summertime everybody strolls down
Fifth Avenue);
And I passed women, dainty in their filmy frocks,
And much bespatted men with canes.
And great green busses lumbered past me,
And impressive limousines, and brisk little "lectrics.

I walked down Fifth Avenue the other day,
And the sunshine smiled at me,
And something, deep in my heart, burst into song.
And then, all at once, I saw her -
A woman with painted lips and rouge-touched
cheeks -
Standing in front of a jeweler's window.
She was looking at diamonds -
A tray of great blue-white diamonds -
And I saw a flame leap out of her eyes to meet them
(Greedy eyes they were, and cold, like too-perfect
jewels);
And I realized, for the first time,
That diamonds weren't always pretty.

And then I SAW THE OTHER ONE:
A thin little girl looking into a florist's shop
At a fragrant mass of violets, dew-purple and fresh.
She carried a huge box on her arm,
And a man, passing, said loudly,
"I guess somebody's hat'll be late today!"
And the thin little girl flushed and hurried on,
But not before I had seen the tenderness in her eyes -
The tenderness that real women show
When they look at vast rolling hills, or flowers, or
very small pink babies.

I walked down Fifth Avenue the other day.
(All the world walks, leisurely, down Fifth Avenue
in the summertime.)


FROM A CITY WINDOW

The dust is thick on the city street,
The smoke on the city sky
Hangs dense and gray at the close of day -
And the city crowds surge by
With heavy feet through the summer heat
Like a sluggish sullen tide; ...
But hand in hand through a magic land
We are wandering side by side.

For somewhere, dear, there's a magic land
On the shores of a silver sea;
And there is a boat with turquoise sails -
With sails that are wide and free;
A boat that is whirling through the spray,
That is coming for you and me!

Somewhere, dear, there's a singing breeze
That creeps through the laughing air
To the wide-flung boughs of a blue-black tree -
It touches your joyous hair;
And the touch of it is as soft and light
As a baby's lisping prayer.

Somewhere, dear, there's a bit of beach
Where the sand is warm and white;
Where the sky seems close and the drifting clouds
Are tenderly, warmly bright.
And there is a ship with turquoise sails,
With sails like a living light!

Ah, the ship is bringing us dreams come true,
And hopes that are all dew-kissed;
It is bringing us days that are all aglow
With scarlet and amethyst; . . .
Bringing us faith to find our way
Through a world that is wrapped in mist.

Our window looks on the city street,
We can glimpse the city sky;
But our hearts are gay at the close of day,
Though the tired crowds pass by
With heavy feet through the blinding heat,
Like a sullen, sluggish tide. . . .
For hand in hand through a magic land.
We are wandering side by side.


THE LADY ACROSS THE COURT

She only comes when night is near,
And stands a moment quietly
Beside her window, in the dusk -
She lives across the court from me -
And though I cannot see her eyes
Because she is too far away,
I somehow feel that they are kind,
And very soft, and widely gray!

Her hands are only dim white blurs,
That rest against the window pane;
And yet I know that they are firm,
And cool and sweet as April rain.
And, oh, I cannot help but wish
As, through the dark, I go to bed,
That they might rest a moment like
A little prayer upon my head!

She only comes when night is near,
I do not know who she can be;
I never see her anywhere
But just across the court from me. . . .
I am so small the curtains hide
The wistful smiles that I have smiled,
And yet I, somehow, think she feels
The love of me - a lonely child.


TO A PORCELAIN PUPPY DOG

Oh, pudgy porcelain puppy dog from far-away Japan,
I saw you in a shop to-day where lonesomely you
sat
Upon a velvet cushion that was colored gold and
purple,
Between a bowl of goldfish, and a sleeping wooden
cat.

I wonder what you thought about as stolidly you sat
there,
A grin of faint derision on your pudgy porcelain
face;
I wonder if you dreamed about some cherry blossom
tea house,
And if the goldfish bored you in their painted
Chinese case?

I wonder if you dreamed about the laughter of the
geishas
As languidly they danced across the shining
lacquered floor,
I wonder if your thoughts were with a purple clump
of iris
That bloomed, all through the summer, by the
little tea house door?

I wonder if you hated us who passed, you by unheeding,
You who had known the temples of another, older
land?
And, oh, I wonder if you knew when I had paused
beside you
To pat you, porcelain puppy dog, that I could
understand?


COLORS

I love color.
I love flaming reds,
And vivid greens,
And royal flaunting purples.
I love the startled rose of the sun at dawning,
And the blazing orange of it at twilight.

I love color.
I love the drowsy blue of the fringed gentian,
And the yellow of the goldenrod,
And the rich russet of the leaves
That turn at autumn-time. . . .
I love rainbows,
And prisms,
And the tinsel glitter
Of every shop-window.

I love color.
And yet today,
I saw a brown little bird
Perched on the dull-gray fence
Of a weed-filled city yard.
And as I watched him
The little bird
Threw back his head
Defiantly, almost,
And sang a song
That was full of gay ripples,
And poignant sweetness,
And half-hidden melody.

1 love color. ...
I love crimson, and azure,
And the glowing purity of white.
And yet today,
I saw a living bit of brown,
A vague oasis on a streak of gray,
That brought heaven
Very near to me.


POSSESSION
(A TENEMENT MOTHER SPEAKS)

Y' ain't as pretty as some babies are -
But, oh, yer mine!
Yer lil' fingers sorter seem t' twine
Aroun' my soul.
Yer eyes are bright, t' me, as any star,
Yer hair's like gol'.

Some people say yer hair is sandy-red,
An' that yer eyes is sorter wan an' pale,
An' that yer lil' body looks, well, frail. . ..
Y' ain't been fed
Like rich folks children are. . . .
It takes fresh air
Ter keep a baby fat an' strong an' pink!
It takes more care,
'N I have time ter give. . . .
An' yet, if God'll only let yer live -

When yer first came,
An' when I seen yer face, deep down inside
My heart I felt - well, sorter broke an' tore,
'Cause when yer came ter me I like ter died,
An' I had lost my job, there at th' store.
I looked at you, an' oh, it wasn't pride
I felt, but bitterness an' shame!

An' then yer gropin' fingers touched my hand,
As helpless as a snow-flake in the air,
Yer didn't know, yer couldn't understand,
('Cause yer was new t' this cold-hearted land),
That life ain't fair!
Yer didn't know if I was good, 'r bad,
'R much ter see -
Y' only knew that I belonged, an' oh,
Yer trusted me!

Somehow, right there, I didn't stop ter think
That yer was white an' thin - instead o' pink,
An' that yer lips, an' not yer eyes, was blue. . .
I got t' thinkin' how, when work was through
I'd sing t' yer, an' rock yer off t' rest.
I got t' thinkin' that I had been blessed,
More than th' richest girl I'd ever knew!
An' oh, I held yer tight against my breast,
An', lookin' far ahead, I dreamed an' planned
That I would work th' fingers off my hand
Fer you!
An' mother-love swept on me like a tide,
An', oh, I cried!

Some people say yer hair is sandy-red,
But they don't know;
They say yer eyes is sorter pale an' weak,
But it ain't so!
It's jus' because yer never been well fed,
An' never had a lil' cribby bed;
It's jus' because yer never had a peek
At th' blue sky -
That's why!

Yer ain't so pretty as some babies are,
But, oh, t' me yer like a silver star
That, through th' darkest night can smile an'