So We Grew Together

Reading over your letters I find you wrote me         "My dear boy," or at times "dear boy," and the envelope         Said "master" - all as I had been your very son,         And not the orphan whom you adopted.         Well, you were father to me! And I can recall         The things you did for me or gave me:         One time we rode in a box car to Springfield         To see the greatest show on earth;         And one time you gave me redtop boots,         And one time a watch, and one time a gun.         Well, I grew to gawkiness with a voice         Like a rooster trying to crow in August         Hatched in April, we'll say.         And you went about wrapped up in silence         With eyes aflame, and I heard little rumors         Of what they were doing to you, and how         They wronged you - and we were poor - so poor!         And I could not understand why you failed,         And why if you did good things for the people         The people did not sustain you.         And why you loved another woman than Aunt Susan,         So it was whispered at school, and what could be baser,         Or so little to be forgiven?...          They crowded you hard in those days.         But you fought like a wounded lion         For yourself I know, but for us, for me.         At last you fell ill, and for months you tottered         Around the streets as thin as death,         Trying to earn our bread, your great eyes glowing         And the silence around you like a shawl!         But something in you kept you up.         You grew well again and rosy with cheeks         Like an Indian peach almost, and eyes         Full of moonlight and sunlight, and a voice         That sang, and a humor that warded         The arrows off. But still between us         There was reticence; you kept me away         With a glittering hardness; perhaps you thought         I kept you away - for I was moving         In spheres you knew not, living through         Beliefs you believed in no more, and ideals         That were just mirrors of unrealities.         As a boy can be I was critical of you.         And reasons for your failures began to arise         In my mind - I saw specific facts here and there         With no philosophy at hand to weld them         And synthesize them into one truth -         And a rush of the strength of youth         Deluded me into thinking the world         Was something so easily understood and managed         While I knew it not at all in truth.         And an adolescent egotism         Made me feel you did not know me         Or comprehend the all that I was.         All this you divined....             So it went. And when I left you and passed         To the world, the city - still I see you         With eyes averted, and feel your hand         Limp with sorrow - you could not speak.         You thought of what I might be, and where         Life would take me, and how it would end -         There was longer silence. A year or two         Brought me closer to you. I saw the play now         And the game somewhat and understood your fights         And enmities, and hardnesses and silences,         And wild humor that had kept you whole -         For your soul had made it as an antitoxin         To the world's infections. And you swung to me         Closer than before - and a chumship began         Between us....             What vital power was yours!         You never tired, or needed sleep, or had a pain,         Or refused a delight. I loved the things now         You had always loved, a winning horse,         A roulette wheel, a contest of skill         In games or sports ... long talks on the corner         With men who have lived and tell you         Things with a rich flavor of old wisdom or humor;         A woman, a glass of whisky at a table         Where the fatigue of life falls, and our reserves         That wait for happiness come up in smiles,         Laughter, gentle confidences. Here you were         A man with youth, and I a youth was a man,         Exulting in your braveries and delight in life.         How you knocked that scamp over at Harry Varnell's         When he tried to take your chips! And how I,         Who had thought the devil in cards as a boy,         Loved to play with you now and watch you play;         And watch the subtle mathematics of your mind         Prophecy, divine the plays. Who was it         In your ancestry that you harked back to         And reproduced with such various gifts         Of flesh and spirit, Anglo-Saxon, Celt? -         You with such rapid wit and powerful skill         For catching illogic and whipping Error's         Fangd head from the body?...             I was really ahead of you         At this stage, with more self-consciousness         Of what man is, and what life is at last,         And how the spirit works, and by what laws,         With what inevitable force. But still I was         Behind you in that strength which in our youth,         If ever we have it, squeezes all the nectar         From the grapes. It seemed you'd never lose         This power and sense of joy, but yet at times         I saw another phase of you....         There was the day         We rode together north of the old town,         Past the old farm houses that I knew -         Past maple groves, and fields of corn in the shock,         And fields of wheat with the fall green.         It was October, but the clouds were summer's,         Lazily floating in a sky of June;         And a few crows flying here and there,         And a quail's call, and around us a great silence         That held at its core old memories         Of pioneers, and dead days, forgotten things!         I'll never forget how you looked that day. Your hair         Was turning silver now, but still your eyes         Burned as of old, and the rich olive glow         In your cheeks shone, with not a line or wrinkle! -         You seemed to me perfection - a youth, a man!         And now you talked of the world with the old wit,         And now of the soul - how such a man went down         Through folly or wrong done by him, and how         Man's death cannot end all,         There must be life hereafter!...         As you were that day, as you looked and spoke,         As the earth was, I hear as the soul of it all         Godard's Dawn, Dvork's Humoresque,         The Morris Dances, Mendelssohn's Barcarole,         And old Scotch songs, When the Kye Come Hame,         And The Moon Had Climbed the Highest Hill,         The Musseta Waltz and Rudolph's Narrative;         Your great brow seemed Beethoven's         And the lust of life in your face Cellini's,         And your riotous fancy like Dumas.         I was nearer you now than ever before,         And finding each other thus I see to-day         How the human soul seeks the human soul         And finds the one it seeks at last.         For you know you can open a window         That looks upon embowered darkness,         When the flowers sleep and the trees are still         At Midnight, and no light burns in the room;         And you can hide your butterfly         Somewhere in the room, but soon you will see         A host of butterfly mates         Fluttering through the window to join         Your butterfly hid in the room.         It is somehow thus with souls....         This day then I understood it all:         Your vital democracy and love of men         And tolerance of life; and how the excess of these         Had wrought your sorrows in the days         When we were so poor, and the small of mind         Spoke of your sins and your connivance         With sinful men. You had lived it down,         Had triumphed over them, and you had grown.         Prosperous in the world and had passed         Into an easy mastery of life and beyond the thought         Of further conquests for things.         As the Brahmins say, no more you worshiped matter,         Or scarcely ghosts, or even the gods         With singleness of heart.         This day you worshiped Eternal Peace         Or Eternal Flame, with scarce a laugh or jest         To hide your worship; and I understood,         Seeing so many facets to you, why it was         Blind Condon always smiled to hear your voice,         And why it was in a greenroom years ago         Booth turned to you, marking your face         From all the rest, and said, "There is a man         Who might play Hamlet - better still Othello";         And why it was the women loved you; and the priest         Could feed his body and soul together drinking         A glass of beer and visiting with you....          Then something happened:         Your face grew smaller, your brow more narrow,         Dull fires burned in your eyes,         Your body shriveled, you walked with a cynical shuffle,         Your hands mixed the keys of life,         You had become a discord.         A monstrous hatred consumed you -         You had suffered the greatest wrong of all,         I knew and granted the wrong.         You had mounted up to sixty years, now breathing hard,         And just at the time that honor belonged to you         You were dishonored at the hands of a friend.         I wept for you, and still I wondered         If all I had grown to see in you and find in you         And love in you was just a fond illusion -         If after all I had not seen you aright as a boy:         Barbaric, hard, suspicious, cruel, redeemed         Alone by bubbling animal spirits -         Even these gone now, all of you smoke         Laden with stinging gas and lethal vapor....         Then you came forth again like the sun after storm -         The deadly uric acid driven out at last         Which had poisoned you and dwarfed your soul -         So much for soul!         The last time I saw you         Your face was full of golden light,         Something between flame and the richness of flesh.         You were yourself again, wholly yourself.         And oh, to find you again and resume         Our understanding we had worked so long to reach -         You calm and luminant and rich in thought!         This time it seemed we said but "yes" or "no" -         That was enough; we smoked together         And drank a glass of wine and watched         The leaves fall sitting on the porch....         Then life whirled me away like a leaf,         And I went about the crowded ways of New York.         And one night Alberta and I took dinner         At a place near Fourteenth Street where the music         Was like the sun on a breeze-swept lake         When every wave is a patine of fire,         And I thought of you not at all         Looking at Alberta and watching her white teeth         Bite off bits of Italian bread,         And watching her smile and the wide pupils         Of her eyes, electrified by wine         And music and the touch of our hands         Now and then across the table.         We went to her house at last.         And through a languorous evening.         Where no light was but a single candle,         We circled about and about a pending theme         Till at last we solved it suddenly in rapture         Almost by chance; and when I left         She followed me to the hall and leaned above         The railing about the stair for the farewell kiss -         And I went into the open air ecstatically,         With the stars in the spaces of sky between         The towering buildings, and the rush         Of wheels and clang of bells,         Still with the fragrance of her lips and cheeks         And glinting hair about me, delicate         And keen in spite of the open air.         And just as I entered the brilliant car         Something said to me you are dead -         I had not thought of you, was not thinking of you.         But I knew it was true, as it was,         For the telegram waited me at my room....             I didn't come back.         I could not bear to see the breathless breath         Over your brow - nor look at your face -         However you fared or where         To what victories soever -         Vanquished or seemingly vanquished!