BY THE CONEMAUGH, a poem

Johnstown Flood
May 31, 1889

FOREBODING sudden of untoward change,
     A tight'ning clasp on everything held dear,
A moan of waters wild and strange,
     A whelming horror near;
And midst the thund’rous din a voice of doom,—
"Make way for me, O Life, for Death make room!

"I come like the whirlwind rude,
     'Gainst all thou hast cherished warring;
I come like the flaming flood
     From a crater's mouth outpouring;
I come like the avalanche gliding free—
And the Power that sent thee forth, sends me!

"Where thou hast builded with strength secure
     My hand shall spread disaster;
Where thou hast barr'd me, with forethought sure,
     Shall ruin flow the faster;
I come to gather where thou hast sowed,—
But I claim of thee nothing thou hast not owed!

"O Life, from the fire-swept mould
     Arise new forms of beauty;
Out of the waters cold
     Diviner thoughts of duty;
The sunlight gleams where hath swept the tide,
And flowers blossom as flames subside!

"On my mission of mercy forth I go
     Where the Lord of Being sends me;
His will is the only will I know,
     And my strength is the strength He lends me;
Thy loved ones I hide 'neath my waters dim,—
But I cannot take them away from Him!"

"By the Conemaugh" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The American (22 June 1889)—as rendered above—and in Poems (1898). The fourth stanza is omitted from the 1898 and subsequent versions.

ODE TO SILENCE, a poem

O THOU, sublime, who on the throne
Of eyeless Night sat, awful and alone,
     Before the birth of Cronos—brooding deep
     Upon the voiceless waters which asleep
Held all things circled in their gelid zone:
O Silence! how approach thy shrine
     Nor falter in the listening void to raise
     A mortal voice in praise,
Nor wrong with words such eloquence as thine?

Amid the fragrant forest hush,
The nightingale or solitary-thrush
May, on thy quiet breaking, give no wound;
     For they such beauty bring as all redeems,
     Nor fear to interrupt thy dreams
Or trouble thy Nirvana with a sound!

And though more fitting worship seem the breath
     Of violets in the sequestered wood,
The zephyr that low whispereth
     To the heart of Solitude,
The first unfolding of the bashful rose
That noiseless by the wayside buds and blows:

More fitting worship the far drift of clouds
     O'er azure floating with a swan-like motion,
The Siren-lays faint heard amid the shrouds,
     The voiceless swell of the unfathomed ocean,
The silver Dian pours on the calm stream
Where pale the lotus-blossoms lie adream,—

Yet, mother of all high imaginings,
     In whom is neither barrenness nor dearth,
Wise guardian of the sacred springs
     Whose fresh primordial waters heal the earth,—
O soul of muted fire,
Of whom is born the passionate desire
     That gives to beauty birth,—

All music that hath been, howe'er divine,
All possibilities of sound are thine!
     The syrinx-reed, the flute Apollo owns,
     Symphonic chords, and lyric overtones,
First draw their inspiration at thy shrine.
     There come heart-broken mortal things;
     There once again they find their wings;
There garner dreams benign,—
O nurse of genius! unto whom belong
Beethoven's harmonies and Homer's deathless song!

"Ode to Silence" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The Unconquered Air (1912) and Poems (1916) Volume I.

REVEILLE, a poem

Adonis (1800, 1806) by Benjamin West

WHAT frolic zephyr through the young leaves plays,
     Scattering fragrance delicate and sweet?
     What impulse new moves Robin to repeat
     To pale Anemone his roundelays?
What winning wonder fills the world with praise
     In this mysterious time? Lo, all things greet
     A loved one, new redeemed from death's defeat—
     A youth whose languid head fair nymphs upraise!

For him the crocus dons his bravery,—
     And violets for him their censers swing;
     For him the shy arbutus, blushfully,
Peeps through the mosses that about her cling;
     Adonis wakes! Awake, earth's minstrelsy!
     In swelling diapason hymn the Spring!

"Reveille" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Poems (1898) and Poems (1916) Volume I.

On this day in 1900

Daughter Alice marries John Ellingwood Trask at 4:30pm in St. Luke's Church in Germantown.

She wore a gown of white satin, trimmed with Duchess lace and satin ribbons. Her bridal veil was of tulle, caught up with orange blossoms, and her bouquet of white sweet peas. The maid of honor was Miss Anna C. Johnson, a daughter of Archdeacon Johnson... [The Times (Philadelphia), 3 June 1900]

WATER LILIES, a poem

Water Lilies (ca. 1906, printed 1912)
by Adolph de Meyer
from The Met

I GATHERED them—the lilies pure and pale,
     The golden-hearted lilies, virgin fair,
     And in a vase of crystal, placed them where
Their perfumes might unceasingly exhale.
High in my lonely tent above the swale,
     Above the shimmering mere and blossoms there,
     I solaced with their sweetness my despair,
And fed with dews their beauteous petals frail.

But when the aspens felt the evening breeze,
     And shadows 'gan across the lake to creep,
When hermit-thrushes to the Oreades
     Sang vesper orisons, from cloisters deep,—
My lilies, lulled by native sympathies,
     Upfolded their white leaves and fell asleep.

"Water Lilies" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Poems (1898) and Poems (1916) Volume I.

THE MOURNER, a poem

A Figure Weeping over a Grave (1827 or 1829)
by George Richmond
Image from The Met

"'TIS over—all over!" the mourner said.
"My love, in the grave of my love, lies dead:
Barren of bloom as yon wintry tree,
Lifeless and chill, is the heart of me!

"I shall smile no more: a tale that is told
Is the rapture of being.  Now would I were old,
Who wearying years would no longer see
Stretching away unendingly!

"What value has Time?  The last to-morrow
For me will hold but the one, one sorrow
Which, lone, I still shall endure, forlorn
As the bird that, above me, its mate doth mourn."
·            ·            ·            ·            ·            ·
Full wearily wasted the months; and still
Guarding his grief with a constant will,
It chanced that the mourner, one halcyon day,
Wandering sadly the self-same way,

Beheld, half doubting, the wintry tree
A bower of blossom—a thing to see!—
And heard with emotion the sad bird sing:—
"O beauty! O love! O delight!—It is Spring!"

"The Mourner" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Lippincott's Monthly Magazine (May 1914).

30th Anniversary of the P.M.T.A.

From the August 1921 issue of The Etude

On 24 May 1921, Mrs. Coates attended the thirtieth anniversary of the formation of the Philadelphia Music Teacher's Association. Making the first address, Coates read her poem "Dream the Great Dream." The anniversary banquet was held in Philadelphia at the ballroom of the Bellevue-Stratford Hotel. Her address is as follows:

"Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen: I can but feel it an especial privilege to be here this evening with all these many honored representatives of the universal art, the art which requires no translator—best beloved by men—the art which most closely unites men of alien lands and interests. In thinking of this art to which all the early years of my life were devoted, an art which I have always greatly loved, many thoughts crowd upon the mind. But with so many distinguished speakers present, I feel that I can say nothing so eloquent as the silence which will give us an opportunity to listen to them; so with this word and one more, I shall take my place again.

DREAM THE GREAT DREAM

Dream the Great Dream, though you should dream—you, only,

     And friendless follow in the lofty quest.

Though the dream lead you to a desert lonely,

     Or drive you, like the tempest, without rest,

Yet, toiling upward to the highest altar,

     There lay before the gods your gift supreme,—

A human heart whose courage did not falter

     Though distant as Arcturus shone the Gleam.

The Gleam?—Ah, question not if others see it,

     Who nor the yearning nor the passion share;

Grieve not if children of the earth decree it—

     The earth, itself,—their goddess, only fair!

The soul has need of prophet and redeemer:

     Her outstretched wings against her prisoning bars,

She waits for truth; and truth is with the dreamer,—

     Persistent as the myriad light of stars!"

"Dream the Great Dream" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The Pathfinder (June 1911), The Unconquered Air (1912) and Poems (1916) Volume II.