Crafty Chieftain, where you lie
You can see the clouds drift by,
Waiting in the dusky fern
For your enemy's return.
You can see the clouds drift by,
Waiting in the dusky fern
For your enemy's return.
Does the beauty of that place
Never tell you of my face,
I, you left, to plot and plan
For the ending of a man?—
Never tell you of my face,
I, you left, to plot and plan
For the ending of a man?—
You had better sought my aid,
I have met him unafraid,
We have wandered all alone
Underneath a yellow moon.
I have met him unafraid,
We have wandered all alone
Underneath a yellow moon.
We have found the end of strife
Is the waking up to life—
Therefore you, who forced my vow,
Take my all of wisdom now.
Is the waking up to life—
Therefore you, who forced my vow,
Take my all of wisdom now.
Love has taught me but one truth—
Love is merry, love is youth,
We be children, he and I.
Where is your sagacity?
Love is merry, love is youth,
We be children, he and I.
Where is your sagacity?
THE SCALES
I wonder if the store of joy
And love is limited,
And if because my heart is glad
Some other heart has bled.
And love is limited,
And if because my heart is glad
Some other heart has bled.
Believing this, a balance just
Of recompense, I pray
That my beloved gained the joy
I did not have to-day.
Of recompense, I pray
That my beloved gained the joy
I did not have to-day.
THE OLD TRAGEDY
Did I allure you?—I only meant to love you,
I only meant to be so dear you could not let me go.
I held you close against my heart, bending down above you,
As mothers brood above their babes, I loved you, loved you so.
I only meant to be so dear you could not let me go.
I held you close against my heart, bending down above you,
As mothers brood above their babes, I loved you, loved you so.
'T was passion that moved you, called to you and caught you;
You never felt my tenderness full launched on your desire.
You never knew the friendship and sympathy I brought you.
Ah, Mary pity women when their veins are filled with fire.
You never felt my tenderness full launched on your desire.
You never knew the friendship and sympathy I brought you.
Ah, Mary pity women when their veins are filled with fire.
And so I have lost you, I who never won you;
You thought me but a siren by your crafty arts beguiled.
I hate myself and scorn you for the honor I have done you.
I leave you, bitter woman, and I came to you a child.
You thought me but a siren by your crafty arts beguiled.
I hate myself and scorn you for the honor I have done you.
I leave you, bitter woman, and I came to you a child.
TABOO
Now am I sacred, for that holy thing,
Your touch, has made me as a god; to-day
I am magnificent, I am a king
To whom my fellow men must cringe and pray.
Your touch, has made me as a god; to-day
I am magnificent, I am a king
To whom my fellow men must cringe and pray.
Such is taboo; but when to-morrow comes
I may look once upon the sun and you;
Then, thro' the dawn, with wailing and sad drums
I pay the utter price.—Such is taboo!
I may look once upon the sun and you;
Then, thro' the dawn, with wailing and sad drums
I pay the utter price.—Such is taboo!
THE RIVALS
Seated in my ingle nook
With Duty by my side,
How I strove to see her charms
And take her for my bride!
With Duty by my side,
How I strove to see her charms
And take her for my bride!
"Sweet," I said, "I love you so"—
And suddenly I heard
The laughing call of Beauty's voice
And all my soul was stirred.
And suddenly I heard
The laughing call of Beauty's voice
And all my soul was stirred.
Once again she cried my name
And gone was every doubt,
For who could stay at Duty's side
When Beauty calls without?
And gone was every doubt,
For who could stay at Duty's side
When Beauty calls without?
ALONE
I only wanted room to be alone.
I saw the days like little silver moons
Cool and restrained shine forth; there were no noons
To make me glad with glory, to atone.
I dreamed of solitude. When one has known
Ardent and eager verity, the tunes
Of semi-truths are sweet, as subtle runes
Attest the bud more dear than flower full blown.
I saw the days like little silver moons
Cool and restrained shine forth; there were no noons
To make me glad with glory, to atone.
I dreamed of solitude. When one has known
Ardent and eager verity, the tunes
Of semi-truths are sweet, as subtle runes
Attest the bud more dear than flower full blown.
To be alone, to watch the dusk and weep
For beauty's face that is so veiled, to know
How exquisite the earth breaths come and go,
To feel my life a silent, empty room
Where lovely thoughts might take new shape and bloom,—
This is the dream that is more dear than sleep.
For beauty's face that is so veiled, to know
How exquisite the earth breaths come and go,
To feel my life a silent, empty room
Where lovely thoughts might take new shape and bloom,—
This is the dream that is more dear than sleep.
BENEATH THE MASK
I said that men were cowards,
I thought that men were brave,
I said that women gained no faith
For all the love they gave.
I thought that men were brave,
I said that women gained no faith
For all the love they gave.
Beneath a mask of scorning
I wore a heart of trust,
But laughed in all my lovers' eyes
And vowed their vows were dust.
I wore a heart of trust,
But laughed in all my lovers' eyes
And vowed their vows were dust.
Time showed my words were true ones,
My thoughts have proved no test,
But still beneath my mask, I say
I know my dreams were best.
My thoughts have proved no test,
But still beneath my mask, I say
I know my dreams were best.
THOTH
Hewn from basalt, black as sin,
Blind eyes staring, hands on knees,—
This is Thoth, who shall survive
All your fair divinities.
Blind eyes staring, hands on knees,—
This is Thoth, who shall survive
All your fair divinities.
Mars and Venus, piping Pan,
White Diana, Cupid sweet,—
All their beauty, all their pride,
Lie like ashes round his feet.
White Diana, Cupid sweet,—
All their beauty, all their pride,
Lie like ashes round his feet.
Vast and calm and ultimate
Ere this orb dissolves in space
Life's last glimpse to man shall be
Thoth, with his impassive face.
Ere this orb dissolves in space
Life's last glimpse to man shall be
Thoth, with his impassive face.
LITTLE DANCER
O little dancer, slim as a new moon,
A candle flame blown by the wind—how soon
Will all this be forgotten! Do you care
The pagan poppies dying in your hair;
Do you despair to think that even as they
Your lovely life will tarnish in a day?
How can we keep you, butterfly!—O must
Such lovely grace resolve itself in dust?
We must believe that some day when you lie
Hid from the lights, beneath the open sky
The trees will bend more perfectly above you,
The flowers dance gayer for they'll know and love you,
And we will mind a little less the cold,
Remembering your grace when we are old.
A candle flame blown by the wind—how soon
Will all this be forgotten! Do you care
The pagan poppies dying in your hair;
Do you despair to think that even as they
Your lovely life will tarnish in a day?
How can we keep you, butterfly!—O must
Such lovely grace resolve itself in dust?
We must believe that some day when you lie
Hid from the lights, beneath the open sky
The trees will bend more perfectly above you,
The flowers dance gayer for they'll know and love you,
And we will mind a little less the cold,
Remembering your grace when we are old.
SIC ITUR AD ASTRA
If it be educational to breast
Salt lipped the wave that is the woe of Earth,
Who could be called a fool? There is no rest
From sorrow in this island of re-birth.
Salt lipped the wave that is the woe of Earth,
Who could be called a fool? There is no rest
From sorrow in this island of re-birth.
And yet, ringed 'round with shadow as we are,
In the penumbra we may all discern
Glowing and gay the promise of a star
For the adventurer with faith to yearn.
In the penumbra we may all discern
Glowing and gay the promise of a star
For the adventurer with faith to yearn.
THE JUDGES
Watch me, eyes of the wind and rain,
See if I come to the dusk with stain,
Search me, eyes of the soaring sun,
See what mischief my hands have done.
See if I come to the dusk with stain,
Search me, eyes of the soaring sun,
See what mischief my hands have done.
If there be beauty of word or deed,
If there be truth or a scorn of greed,
Give me the peace of your dark, sweet hours,
Let me be still as your moon and flowers.
If there be truth or a scorn of greed,
Give me the peace of your dark, sweet hours,
Let me be still as your moon and flowers.
If there be harm to a heart that trusts,
If there be pander to sordid lusts,
Curse and condemn me to wide-eyed pain,
Judge, and pay me, eyes of the rain.
If there be pander to sordid lusts,
Curse and condemn me to wide-eyed pain,
Judge, and pay me, eyes of the rain.
THE SPRING PLANTING
"What shall we plant for our Summer, my boy,—
Seeds of enchantment and seedlings of joy?
Brave little cuttings of laughter and light?
Then shall our Summer be flowery and bright."
Seeds of enchantment and seedlings of joy?
Brave little cuttings of laughter and light?
Then shall our Summer be flowery and bright."
"Nay!—You are wrong in your planting," said he,
"Have we not grass and the weeds and a tree?
Why should we water and weary away
For sake of a flower that lives but a day!"
"Have we not grass and the weeds and a tree?
Why should we water and weary away
For sake of a flower that lives but a day!"
So she made gardens which he would not dig,
Tended her apricot, apple and fig.
Then, when one morning he chanced to appear,
Sadly he noticed—"No trespassing here."
Tended her apricot, apple and fig.
Then, when one morning he chanced to appear,
Sadly he noticed—"No trespassing here."
AN IMPRESSIONIST PICTURE
"How do you do," I said; the yellow coat
She wore was like a golden serpent's skin.
I took her white gloved hand, my voice grew thin
As tho' her hand were tight about my throat.
The air was green with heat, a flaccid note
I did not fail to see, for heat might win
My cause; her weary soul looked from within
And saw the white sails flapping on my boat.
She wore was like a golden serpent's skin.
I took her white gloved hand, my voice grew thin
As tho' her hand were tight about my throat.
The air was green with heat, a flaccid note
I did not fail to see, for heat might win
My cause; her weary soul looked from within
And saw the white sails flapping on my boat.
"Coolness and rest" my eyes were whispering,
In Isles where morn grows never afternoon,
Where Passion buds forever with the Spring,
Nor wanes with shifting tides of sea and moon,
But—"How are you?" she said, and that was all,
And tho' she smiled, she passed beyond recall.
In Isles where morn grows never afternoon,
Where Passion buds forever with the Spring,
Nor wanes with shifting tides of sea and moon,
But—"How are you?" she said, and that was all,
And tho' she smiled, she passed beyond recall.
SUCH HELP FOR SINGING
Such help I have for singing!
The little winds a-stir
Touch gently on the lisping leaves
Like dainty dulcimer.
The little winds a-stir
Touch gently on the lisping leaves
Like dainty dulcimer.
The sights and scents of April—
What dreams, what themes they bring—
While gaunt crows cry their gasconade
Down all the ways of Spring.
What dreams, what themes they bring—
While gaunt crows cry their gasconade
Down all the ways of Spring.
Such happy help for singing!
And round, below, above
The air is thrilling with my joy
Of love, love, love.
And round, below, above
The air is thrilling with my joy
Of love, love, love.
TEMPUS EDAX RERUM
Upon the silence of my unconcern
The little noise that was your name falls dead.
I can remember how your mouth was red,
In the lost years, but tho' the senses yearn
For some unguessed desire, they never turn
To that vitality, your face!—We sped
So swiftly thro' our burning hour. We said
Drink deep, 't will never end; too late we learn
That lovely passion's face so soon is grey,
That notes too often pressed upon grow dumb,
That after the high climax crowns a day
The dusk seems long and empty. We who come
To taste again Life's feast, why must it be
We meet such ghosts to chill our revelry?
The little noise that was your name falls dead.
I can remember how your mouth was red,
In the lost years, but tho' the senses yearn
For some unguessed desire, they never turn
To that vitality, your face!—We sped
So swiftly thro' our burning hour. We said
Drink deep, 't will never end; too late we learn
That lovely passion's face so soon is grey,
That notes too often pressed upon grow dumb,
That after the high climax crowns a day
The dusk seems long and empty. We who come
To taste again Life's feast, why must it be
We meet such ghosts to chill our revelry?
THE COWARD
Wishful of many honors,
He was too lame to climb,
And so he sat to wait for Death,
Forgetting to be brave.
He was too lame to climb,
And so he sat to wait for Death,
Forgetting to be brave.
He never saw the windfalls,
From off the trees of Time,
Drop down in mellow chance to him
The while he digged his grave.
From off the trees of Time,
Drop down in mellow chance to him
The while he digged his grave.
THE LOST ROMANY
The Romany has gone, he has taken all my kisses,
I knew I could not keep him, so I laughed and let him go.
I do not know the road where his freedom and his bliss is,
So take my sober spinning where no gypsy winds can blow.
I knew I could not keep him, so I laughed and let him go.
I do not know the road where his freedom and his bliss is,
So take my sober spinning where no gypsy winds can blow.
I will find my life serene, I will wed a pleasant lover,
I may think no more of perfume and the lingering in the lane;
I will rear me sturdy children, and my soul I will discover,
For I will not love a Romany in all this world again.
I may think no more of perfume and the lingering in the lane;
I will rear me sturdy children, and my soul I will discover,
For I will not love a Romany in all this world again.
COMPENSATION
If one grew blind thro' gazing
Wide-eyed upon the sun,
What matter when such memoried light
Would last till life were done.
Wide-eyed upon the sun,
What matter when such memoried light
Would last till life were done.
If one should die of loving,
Divinely wild, and brave,
What matter with such dreams to dream
Within the quiet grave.
Divinely wild, and brave,
What matter with such dreams to dream
Within the quiet grave.
UNTAMED
Ah, we weary so with kisses,
Weary so with your caresses,
As the hooded hawk returning
To its tinkling bells and jesses,
So we flutter to the prison
Of your arms, in meek surrender,
And we grieve when you are angry,
And we smile when you are tender,
But our souls, untamed, are soaring
Where no blandishments can teach them,
Free our hearts, and free our spirits,
Where your hands can never reach them.
Weary so with your caresses,
As the hooded hawk returning
To its tinkling bells and jesses,
So we flutter to the prison
Of your arms, in meek surrender,
And we grieve when you are angry,
And we smile when you are tender,
But our souls, untamed, are soaring
Where no blandishments can teach them,
Free our hearts, and free our spirits,
Where your hands can never reach them.
TO PERVANCHE
If you were mine—(for all the little flowers
That see you, weary of their innocence)—
If prayers that have been pale with penitence
Grew purple with our passion, all the hours
From sun to sun would be unique with bliss,
Little red mouth that is not mine to kiss!
That see you, weary of their innocence)—
If prayers that have been pale with penitence
Grew purple with our passion, all the hours
From sun to sun would be unique with bliss,
Little red mouth that is not mine to kiss!
You are not mine and you will never be,
And so I am magnanimous, I give
My love and you to Time, and you shall live
Bride of his avid passion. I will see
The moon of all this lure and beauty set,
And I will turn from you and quite forget.
And so I am magnanimous, I give
My love and you to Time, and you shall live
Bride of his avid passion. I will see
The moon of all this lure and beauty set,
And I will turn from you and quite forget.
THE BELLE
She spread her atlas petticoat
So rare, so fine to see.
Her bonnet was of Tuscan straw,
Her shawl was Turkey red.
She peacocked gay before men's eyes,
This lady of degree,
On slippered tiny feet, and ah!
She wished that she were dead.
So rare, so fine to see.
Her bonnet was of Tuscan straw,
Her shawl was Turkey red.
She peacocked gay before men's eyes,
This lady of degree,
On slippered tiny feet, and ah!
She wished that she were dead.
At every ball, at every rout
She was the toast of town;
But no one knew who called her cold
What cruel wound had she.
The laughing gallant that she loved
Had scorned her high renown,
And now another bore his babe,
And held it on her knee.
She was the toast of town;
But no one knew who called her cold
What cruel wound had she.
The laughing gallant that she loved
Had scorned her high renown,
And now another bore his babe,
And held it on her knee.
RELEASE
How may we be released from memories?
One dreads each green renewal of the grain,
Reviving ancient life. If but the brain
Might be made clean of last year's withered lies,
Blown like brown leaves across the April skies
In hateful resurrection, and retain
Only the springs of promise, fine and sane,
And a kind, leading hand to make us wise.
One dreads each green renewal of the grain,
Reviving ancient life. If but the brain
Might be made clean of last year's withered lies,
Blown like brown leaves across the April skies
In hateful resurrection, and retain
Only the springs of promise, fine and sane,
And a kind, leading hand to make us wise.
If with the running sap a royal birth
Each year might be accomplished, strong and free
With the sweet prescience of virginity,
Then were we true inheritors of earth,
And the large lonely stars no more should see
The age worn phoenix-lives that make our dearth.
Each year might be accomplished, strong and free
With the sweet prescience of virginity,
Then were we true inheritors of earth,
And the large lonely stars no more should see
The age worn phoenix-lives that make our dearth.
THE THIEF
Did you see the rascal with the rain-grey eyes?
He robbed me of my happiness before I knew its worth.
He stole into my garden and took it by surprise,
When midnight hid his wicked ways upon the sleeping earth.
He robbed me of my happiness before I knew its worth.
He stole into my garden and took it by surprise,
When midnight hid his wicked ways upon the sleeping earth.
How shall I arrest him, for he took away my Spring,
Took away my April 'neath his cloak of steaming rain.
Tho' he left his Summer and a choir of birds that sing,
Nothing will content me for I want my Spring again.
Took away my April 'neath his cloak of steaming rain.
Tho' he left his Summer and a choir of birds that sing,
Nothing will content me for I want my Spring again.
I WILL WRITE LETTERS TO THE GRASS
I will write letters to my friend the grass,
I will sing all my songs to lilac flowers
Gather the spices in the airs that pass,
And wrap my heart close shrouded in the hours.
I will sing all my songs to lilac flowers
Gather the spices in the airs that pass,
And wrap my heart close shrouded in the hours.
I dread man's huge impertinence; he creeps
Thro' the inviolate silences of Spring
Like a marauder, waking that which sleeps
To gather strength for lyric blossoming.
Thro' the inviolate silences of Spring
Like a marauder, waking that which sleeps
To gather strength for lyric blossoming.
I will write all my letters to the grass.
The world shall be resolved into a cry
Faint as a little voice that cries Alas!
And I will laugh alone beneath the sky.
The world shall be resolved into a cry
Faint as a little voice that cries Alas!
And I will laugh alone beneath the sky.
ONLY THIS
We need demand no further gift from Heaven,
We might dispense with documents and creeds,
If but this one great grace to us were given—
The strength to follow where our reason leads.
We might dispense with documents and creeds,
If but this one great grace to us were given—
The strength to follow where our reason leads.
THE SURVIVOR
Beauty will crumble with tasking,
Love rarely lasts for a year,
Virtue is sold for the asking,
Bravery fades before fear.
Love rarely lasts for a year,
Virtue is sold for the asking,
Bravery fades before fear.
Youth never lives till the morrow,
One thing of all is alive,
Joy cannot quench it, or sorrow,
Folly alone shall survive.
One thing of all is alive,
Joy cannot quench it, or sorrow,
Folly alone shall survive.
Folly, from cradle to burning,
Toys for the great and the small,
None shall escape her by learning—
Folly has rattles for all!
Toys for the great and the small,
None shall escape her by learning—
Folly has rattles for all!
MEGAERA
Always to suffer so, to want and weep
With woe that groweth every day more deep;
To don the green robe of tormented scorn,
And ever curse the hour that love was born!
Furies, my Sisters! have you no surcease
For me to whom no death shall bring release?
With woe that groweth every day more deep;
To don the green robe of tormented scorn,
And ever curse the hour that love was born!
Furies, my Sisters! have you no surcease
For me to whom no death shall bring release?
They name me Jealous One. They hate my name,
The ages hold me high to endless shame;
How, if I suffer so, does no one care
And pity, for the wrath that I must bear?
Gods! let me go, your service wrecks and sears,
The vase must break that holds so many tears.
The ages hold me high to endless shame;
How, if I suffer so, does no one care
And pity, for the wrath that I must bear?
Gods! let me go, your service wrecks and sears,
The vase must break that holds so many tears.
THE SONG OF MOKAI
He's dead, I watched him die.
He cast a spell on my mate,
They loved, and the moon whirled 'round the sky,
They mocked at my rage and hate.
He cast a spell on my mate,
They loved, and the moon whirled 'round the sky,
They mocked at my rage and hate.
Blood red from the burning sea
The sun rose, and I knew!
My soul whined wild little songs to me,
I did what I had to do.
The sun rose, and I knew!
My soul whined wild little songs to me,
I did what I had to do.
I have taken the bone of his thigh,
I have fashioned it into a horn;
And I sing my soul's song, shrill and high,
And curse the day he was born.
I have fashioned it into a horn;
And I sing my soul's song, shrill and high,
And curse the day he was born.
TO THE GYPSY MAN
Is there no room in your gypsy heart
Where a woman's love might lie
Warm and sheltered, your prize and song,
As you wander beneath the sky?
Where a woman's love might lie
Warm and sheltered, your prize and song,
As you wander beneath the sky?
No, for you say, "I'll carry no weight,
I must be free, be free;
I'll carry no love in my gypsy heart
To make a drag for me."
I must be free, be free;
I'll carry no love in my gypsy heart
To make a drag for me."
Little you know, then, love is the cloak
That shelters you from the storm;
Love makes the shoes for your gypsy feet,
Love is your coat so warm.
That shelters you from the storm;
Love makes the shoes for your gypsy feet,
Love is your coat so warm.
Though you take no purse and you take no staff
You cannot escape the load
Of a woman's longing and woman's love
That follows you down the road.
You cannot escape the load
Of a woman's longing and woman's love
That follows you down the road.
THERE IS NO DANGER IN DISDAIN
There is no danger in disdain,
No grief in perfidy;
The meek they are who taste of pain
And matchless misery.
No grief in perfidy;
The meek they are who taste of pain
And matchless misery.
The hearts who give, and giving, die,
Could they but learn the way
To take, and laugh and then deny,
They still might live their day.
Could they but learn the way
To take, and laugh and then deny,
They still might live their day.
THE PLAYMATE
Brown boy running on a wide wet beach,
Free as the water and the wind are free;
Eyes of an odalisque and skin of a peach,
O for such a playmate to play with me!—
Free as the water and the wind are free;
Eyes of an odalisque and skin of a peach,
O for such a playmate to play with me!—
Drenched with the sunshine of the long brave hours,
How we would tumble in the white wild spray;
Then, drowsy children, fall asleep like the flowers,
And wake keen and merry to a new clean day.
How we would tumble in the white wild spray;
Then, drowsy children, fall asleep like the flowers,
And wake keen and merry to a new clean day.
AFTERWARDS
You know how I came to you,
World beaten, tossed aside;
Ready for death at a hangman's hand,
Stript of all hope or pride.
World beaten, tossed aside;
Ready for death at a hangman's hand,
Stript of all hope or pride.
Leaning, you gathered me up
Close to your great sweet heart,
Lulled me and told me to be a man,
Taught me your wonderful art.
Close to your great sweet heart,
Lulled me and told me to be a man,
Taught me your wonderful art.
Now I am very wise,
Proud with your love's true vow;
Glorious with power,—I am more than a man,
What will you do with me now!
Proud with your love's true vow;
Glorious with power,—I am more than a man,
What will you do with me now!
THE OLD MAID
Ah, Heaven! How soon my body will be old!
I powder and I perfume and I tire
With the long wasting of my one desire.
I choose fair colors, furs, and antique gold
To draw men's eyes and hands, and yet how cold,
How careless are their eyes. I see the fire
Flame from my neighbor, and I can aspire
To only friendship. I have tried the bold,
The luring attitude, the timid mien,
The boyish, wise, or simple, all in vain.
I know the women laugh at me, but oh,
How can I let my dreamed perfection go?
I am a woman, I must have a man
Only to ratify my nature's plan.
I powder and I perfume and I tire
With the long wasting of my one desire.
I choose fair colors, furs, and antique gold
To draw men's eyes and hands, and yet how cold,
How careless are their eyes. I see the fire
Flame from my neighbor, and I can aspire
To only friendship. I have tried the bold,
The luring attitude, the timid mien,
The boyish, wise, or simple, all in vain.
I know the women laugh at me, but oh,
How can I let my dreamed perfection go?
I am a woman, I must have a man
Only to ratify my nature's plan.
MADNESS?
They say I'm mad because I stare
And look as tho' they were not there,
Because I only speak when aught
Occurs to me by way of thought.
And look as tho' they were not there,
Because I only speak when aught
Occurs to me by way of thought.
Instead of serving Fashion's creeds,
I cut my coat to fit my needs.
I laugh at grief and only weep
When noisy life disturbs my sleep.
I cut my coat to fit my needs.
I laugh at grief and only weep
When noisy life disturbs my sleep.
My dreams are delicate and wild;
Was ever wise man so beguiled?—
Mad, am I mad!—then pray that you
May some day hope for madness too!
Was ever wise man so beguiled?—
Mad, am I mad!—then pray that you
May some day hope for madness too!
THE SCHOLAR
From what sweet masters have I fathomed doubt,
What love and laughter taught me to be blind;
How patient did they point the letters out
Latin and Greek to my bewildered mind.
What love and laughter taught me to be blind;
How patient did they point the letters out
Latin and Greek to my bewildered mind.
Now I am very wise, I know the 'a'
The little 'a' of doubt's first faint distress
Then, letter perfect, I recall the way
Thro' all the alphabet of bitterness.
The little 'a' of doubt's first faint distress
Then, letter perfect, I recall the way
Thro' all the alphabet of bitterness.
WISDOM'S SECRET
Coerced by Furies who persuaded me
That life was imminent with idleness,
Their jibes made mad, their lashes aided me
To grasp the accident of bitterness.
That life was imminent with idleness,
Their jibes made mad, their lashes aided me
To grasp the accident of bitterness.
Come storm! I cried, come passion and despair,
For calm inhibits growth!—I called on fire
To sear my comfortable days, and wear
The nights to wastes of torment and desire.
For calm inhibits growth!—I called on fire
To sear my comfortable days, and wear
The nights to wastes of torment and desire.
Then pausing breathless, in a little wood
I met with Wisdom laughing in the sun;
She said, "Lie still, for idleness is good,
And grow in peace as I myself have done."
I met with Wisdom laughing in the sun;
She said, "Lie still, for idleness is good,
And grow in peace as I myself have done."
CAGED
Once I had wings—I had no heart to fly,
They put me in a cage, I did not die.
They tamed me, taught me tricks and bade me sing;
I waited, bore it patiently; one thing
I knew, that some day it might be
The cage would open and I should be free.
I waited endlessly,—at last the day!
Faint with delight I thought to fly away,
Ah, but the mockery of that open door!—
My wings were powerless, I could fly no more.
They put me in a cage, I did not die.
They tamed me, taught me tricks and bade me sing;
I waited, bore it patiently; one thing
I knew, that some day it might be
The cage would open and I should be free.
I waited endlessly,—at last the day!
Faint with delight I thought to fly away,
Ah, but the mockery of that open door!—
My wings were powerless, I could fly no more.
THE WIFE SPEAKS
Not all those women you have loved and left,
O my Beloved, can stir my jealousy;
Not the light loves which you forgot for me,
For my heart's fingers made by life most deft
Have mended all the rents their arrows cleft
And from their old enchantments set you free.
But one is my despair, and only she,
The one who loved you, hopeless and bereft.
O my Beloved, can stir my jealousy;
Not the light loves which you forgot for me,
For my heart's fingers made by life most deft
Have mended all the rents their arrows cleft
And from their old enchantments set you free.
But one is my despair, and only she,
The one who loved you, hopeless and bereft.
How can I give as much, who hold your heart
As she, unloved who gave with scorn of gain?
So do the angels; at her name I smart
And feel a sordid bargainer who gives
For fair exchange; I cannot heal the pain,
I am defeated by her while she lives.
As she, unloved who gave with scorn of gain?
So do the angels; at her name I smart
And feel a sordid bargainer who gives
For fair exchange; I cannot heal the pain,
I am defeated by her while she lives.
THE ALTAR
Some take comfort from a star,
Thro' the slow grey surge of Time,
Some take joy from ruddy war,
Lust of conflict, heat of crime.
Thro' the slow grey surge of Time,
Some take joy from ruddy war,
Lust of conflict, heat of crime.
In these days of codes and creeds,
Gods may wander newly born,
Every day for each man's needs
Bringing blessings thro' the morn.
Gods may wander newly born,
Every day for each man's needs
Bringing blessings thro' the morn.
I will take a happy word,
Open heart and hand for play,
And a song which none have heard
For my altar of the day.
Open heart and hand for play,
And a song which none have heard
For my altar of the day.
RECENT POETRY
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM WATSON
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