I wonder whether ragged autumn leaves feel ill clad
Remembering their soft dress in spring?
Or whether autumn browns seem dreary to the leaves and grass?
And growing older makes cedars shabby at the stem?
I hear the hard, dry clatter of some dead oak leaves,—
They sound so strong for any wind.
But sometimes when I am tired my dress makes me ashamed
And I am awkward and ill at ease—
Clothes have a way of telling stories
Even as the bark of trees will tell
Which way the storm winds blow—
I remember when I was young
And scarcely knew that money paid for clothes,
My garments were fresh and silken like poplar leaves
And there were more than I needed;
And my hair was soft and thick,
With gold always in it as in the larch in early spring;
And my body was lithe and vigorous;
When I was tired it was the quick dip of the sapling in the storm,
The least clearing wind set me free again
And I stood straight with all my quivering aspen leaves
Shaking the sunlight into dance.
Remembering their soft dress in spring?
Or whether autumn browns seem dreary to the leaves and grass?
And growing older makes cedars shabby at the stem?
I hear the hard, dry clatter of some dead oak leaves,—
They sound so strong for any wind.
But sometimes when I am tired my dress makes me ashamed
And I am awkward and ill at ease—
Clothes have a way of telling stories
Even as the bark of trees will tell
Which way the storm winds blow—
I remember when I was young
And scarcely knew that money paid for clothes,
My garments were fresh and silken like poplar leaves
And there were more than I needed;
And my hair was soft and thick,
With gold always in it as in the larch in early spring;
And my body was lithe and vigorous;
When I was tired it was the quick dip of the sapling in the storm,
The least clearing wind set me free again
And I stood straight with all my quivering aspen leaves
Shaking the sunlight into dance.
III
Now I lie awake at night, many nights,
Sometimes when I am ill,
Sometimes when I am well,
And think about money and rents in worn clothes
And feel the hunger of old women and backyard cats
As if it were my own hunger;
And the wind noses about for crumbs in a bit of newspaper
And flaps tattered dirty shawls over me,
And my thoughts are bent and old
And I shiver in the dark trying to bless God.
I wonder why God gives Himself to trees
And lets old women starve?
And backyard cats nose for crumbs in a piece of newspaper?
And why certain rich people are as well varnished against cold
As fat beech buds against the frost?
Do you suppose God is a Merchant
And sells this warm lustre from the stars—
Stars hung like bright drops of water in a big night wind—
And plans to make a profit from the rich?...
I am not an anarchist
Except in stars.
Sometimes when I am ill,
Sometimes when I am well,
And think about money and rents in worn clothes
And feel the hunger of old women and backyard cats
As if it were my own hunger;
And the wind noses about for crumbs in a bit of newspaper
And flaps tattered dirty shawls over me,
And my thoughts are bent and old
And I shiver in the dark trying to bless God.
I wonder why God gives Himself to trees
And lets old women starve?
And backyard cats nose for crumbs in a piece of newspaper?
And why certain rich people are as well varnished against cold
As fat beech buds against the frost?
Do you suppose God is a Merchant
And sells this warm lustre from the stars—
Stars hung like bright drops of water in a big night wind—
And plans to make a profit from the rich?...
I am not an anarchist
Except in stars.
IV
When the dawn comes it brings the crows.
Caw! Caw! Caw! The crows!
The crow sleeps east but west he blows
To pick some carrion that he knows
Caw! Caw! Caw! It blows!
Caw! Caw! Caw! The crows!
The crow sleeps east but west he blows
To pick some carrion that he knows
Caw! Caw! Caw! It blows!
V
I travel East to meet the sun
With a gray heron battling up against the wind,
Above the nests that knew the ravens in their sleep,
Above the trees that toss the light,
Above the rocks that blossom into rose,
On towards the sun!
It does not matter now how I am clothed;
For my mind glitters with a thousand thoughts,
Star-sown, moon-shaped, sun-colored,
Amber-shining like polished foliage in a great dawn wind,
And the lustre on the heron’s breast
Is now God and now the Morning Star:
I travel East to meet the sun!
With a gray heron battling up against the wind,
Above the nests that knew the ravens in their sleep,
Above the trees that toss the light,
Above the rocks that blossom into rose,
On towards the sun!
It does not matter now how I am clothed;
For my mind glitters with a thousand thoughts,
Star-sown, moon-shaped, sun-colored,
Amber-shining like polished foliage in a great dawn wind,
And the lustre on the heron’s breast
Is now God and now the Morning Star:
I travel East to meet the sun!
BROWN MOTHER
Brown Mother, Earth Mother, my love does it stir, is it living?
Is this seed-time in darkness? It is bleak, and the rain
Drums hard on this silence, makes heavy my pain.
I am blind yet the wind does search me like eyes that are old.
O, my Mother, sweet Mother, through the lengthening night it is cold!
Is this seed-time in darkness? It is bleak, and the rain
Drums hard on this silence, makes heavy my pain.
I am blind yet the wind does search me like eyes that are old.
O, my Mother, sweet Mother, through the lengthening night it is cold!
Brown Mother, Earth Mother, the swell of your bosom, the scent of your hair,
They are life, they are death, two in one to your child,
Like the flame of your blossom, the sweep of your wild,
Or the primal red mud of life’s sowing.
They are life, they are death, two in one to your child,
Like the flame of your blossom, the sweep of your wild,
Or the primal red mud of life’s sowing.
Earth Mother, brown Mother, dear Mother, will the long night be run?...
Touch the root to its milk, do you say? Send the sap to the bud,
Feel the five-fingered leaf on my bosom, the grass on my lip?
Find my bed in the wild? Bear the rose and the lily for child?...
Touch the root to its milk, do you say? Send the sap to the bud,
Feel the five-fingered leaf on my bosom, the grass on my lip?
Find my bed in the wild? Bear the rose and the lily for child?...
O, my Mother, Earth Mother, reach me round with your loving,
Fold me in to your heart, base me deep on your breast for this sleep!
Fold me in to your heart, base me deep on your breast for this sleep!
Then, Mother, sweet Mother, with the clay and the spring I shall wake,
Turn my back to the East with its frost and its manacled trees,
Turn my face to the West and the blaze of my lover the Sun!
Turn my back to the East with its frost and its manacled trees,
Turn my face to the West and the blaze of my lover the Sun!
SEA GULLS
On Leaving Eggemoggin
Sea gulls I saw lifting the dawn with rosy feet,
Bearing the sunlight on their wings,
Dripping the dusk from burnished plumes;
And I thought
It would be joy to be a sea gull
At dusk, at dawn of day,
And through long sunlit hours.
Bearing the sunlight on their wings,
Dripping the dusk from burnished plumes;
And I thought
It would be joy to be a sea gull
At dusk, at dawn of day,
And through long sunlit hours.
Sea gulls I saw carrying the night upon their backs,
Wide tail spread crescent for the moon and stars—
The moon a glowing jelly fish,
The stars foam flecks of light;
And I thought
It would be joy to be a sea gull!
Wide tail spread crescent for the moon and stars—
The moon a glowing jelly fish,
The stars foam flecks of light;
And I thought
It would be joy to be a sea gull!
How I would dart with them,
Strike storm with coral spur,
Rip whirling spray of angry tides,
Snatch mangled, light-shot offal of the sea,—
Torn, tossed and moving terribly;
And stare for stare answer those myriad eyes
That float and sway, stab, sting and die away!
Strike storm with coral spur,
Rip whirling spray of angry tides,
Snatch mangled, light-shot offal of the sea,—
Torn, tossed and moving terribly;
And stare for stare answer those myriad eyes
That float and sway, stab, sting and die away!
How I would peer from wide cold eyes of fire
At dusk, at dawn
And through the long daylight
Into those coiling depths of sea;
Then split the sun, the moon, the stars,
With laughter, laughter, laughter,
For the sea’s mad power!
At dusk, at dawn
And through the long daylight
Into those coiling depths of sea;
Then split the sun, the moon, the stars,
With laughter, laughter, laughter,
For the sea’s mad power!
DRAGON
Some saw a dragon eating up the light,
Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho!
Some heard a lost bird riding out the night,
Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho!
Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho!
Some heard a lost bird riding out the night,
Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho!
But I saw:
A low dark hill with its twisted back,
Two wings of flame from the green cloud rack,
A sprawling flank overlaid with leaf
Glitter and gleam and shine like steel,
Crackle and lash like a serpent’s tail!
A low dark hill with its twisted back,
Two wings of flame from the green cloud rack,
A sprawling flank overlaid with leaf
Glitter and gleam and shine like steel,
Crackle and lash like a serpent’s tail!
And I heard:
The wind draw out of the west and wail,
Dance and stagger and jig and reel
With the long low sound of a life in grief!
The wind draw out of the west and wail,
Dance and stagger and jig and reel
With the long low sound of a life in grief!
I saw a life in grief
Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho!
Dance and stagger and jig and reel!
Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho!
Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho!
Dance and stagger and jig and reel!
Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho!
THE WANDERER
Hear the illimitable wind
Rush from a desolate sea of space
Into the valley’s folded gloom,
And smite the branches gibbeted
On frosty trees, and lash the woods
To moans of age-old agony!
Rush from a desolate sea of space
Into the valley’s folded gloom,
And smite the branches gibbeted
On frosty trees, and lash the woods
To moans of age-old agony!
Hark! how it leaps upon the roofs
Of cottages, to drop whimpering
Like some old dog before the door of home;
Or pipes through chink and sill, a witless thing.
Of cottages, to drop whimpering
Like some old dog before the door of home;
Or pipes through chink and sill, a witless thing.
It is the only houseless one,
A pensioner of sea and cloud,
An outcast in a universe
Of night and day, of life and death,
An alien, frenzied wanderer,—
Homeless, illimitable wind!
A pensioner of sea and cloud,
An outcast in a universe
Of night and day, of life and death,
An alien, frenzied wanderer,—
Homeless, illimitable wind!
BLIND SLEEP
In dreams have come to stay
Earth’s golden bonnet of the day,
Her gay attire,
The dove wings gray she wore at dawn,
The ivory of her cradled breast,
Her dusk of plumèd fire,
And all her garments of delight.
Earth’s golden bonnet of the day,
Her gay attire,
The dove wings gray she wore at dawn,
The ivory of her cradled breast,
Her dusk of plumèd fire,
And all her garments of delight.
Heavily I grope
Step after step,
Afar,
About this star-illumined sod,
Silver with all the slumber of the world,
Jewelled with every gem of light,
Splintered with frosty air,—
And know blind sleep.
Step after step,
Afar,
About this star-illumined sod,
Silver with all the slumber of the world,
Jewelled with every gem of light,
Splintered with frosty air,—
And know blind sleep.
THE BOWL
God said, “For you this bowl is life!
Draw near and look!
Therein is the bright water of dawn,
Night’s silver covering of rain!
Therein is dream lying like day,—
Topaz with sun upon it!
Lithe out of this bowl
Shall leap the larch in spring,
For this is love,—
Green flame of flight to the very tip!”
Draw near and look!
Therein is the bright water of dawn,
Night’s silver covering of rain!
Therein is dream lying like day,—
Topaz with sun upon it!
Lithe out of this bowl
Shall leap the larch in spring,
For this is love,—
Green flame of flight to the very tip!”
I looked into the bowl, wondering:
And night and dawn mingled
And sleep stirred
And the day turned in its dream,
And flame, flickering, swept the bowl’s lip.
Then I took the bowl in my two hands,
Thanking God.
And night and dawn mingled
And sleep stirred
And the day turned in its dream,
And flame, flickering, swept the bowl’s lip.
Then I took the bowl in my two hands,
Thanking God.
But now in my bowl dawn breaks no more,
Over the bowl’s lip I hear the iron shudder of dry leaves
Beaten by frozen wind.
There is no rain to soften sleep,
No day like topaz in the sun,
I see the larch crumble to ash,—
My arms grow numb back to the very heart
Holding this bowl God gave to me!
Over the bowl’s lip I hear the iron shudder of dry leaves
Beaten by frozen wind.
There is no rain to soften sleep,
No day like topaz in the sun,
I see the larch crumble to ash,—
My arms grow numb back to the very heart
Holding this bowl God gave to me!
THE GREAT SILENCE
I
Magnificent, my Own,
Across the City’s crash of sound,
Above the marching of her war-shod feet,
I hear you call, “I am alone,—alone!”
In that full, tragic voice of yours repeat,
Echo and tone,
“Alone,—I am alone!”
Across the City’s crash of sound,
Above the marching of her war-shod feet,
I hear you call, “I am alone,—alone!”
In that full, tragic voice of yours repeat,
Echo and tone,
“Alone,—I am alone!”
II
Oh, Splendid One,
The stars still hang the City’s night
With peace and light!
What wars could ever bind
The signing of God’s universe in space?
You turn your eyes,
Burning, ancient, wise,
And speak, “All have I seen,
Evil and good,
All man has been,
All man has done,—
And I am blind.”
But God, I cried ...
Then came your moan,
Like Pontius Pilate overthrown,
“God I have denied!”
The stars still hang the City’s night
With peace and light!
What wars could ever bind
The signing of God’s universe in space?
You turn your eyes,
Burning, ancient, wise,
And speak, “All have I seen,
Evil and good,
All man has been,
All man has done,—
And I am blind.”
But God, I cried ...
Then came your moan,
Like Pontius Pilate overthrown,
“God I have denied!”
III
Magnificent, my Own,
There beyond the City’s sky
Are pinnacle and dream,
The rushing of a mighty stream,
The night-wind’s cry
And thunder-harp of pine.
“Oh, Christ,” you weep,
“They are not mine,
They are not mine!
I cannot see, I cannot hear,
Only I remember year on year
Abel and Cain.
Yet somewhere in this welter of my pain
I keep
Memory of another,—
those two lost syllables of doom.”
“What syllables are they, my Own?”
“That word is ‘Brother’!”
There beyond the City’s sky
Are pinnacle and dream,
The rushing of a mighty stream,
The night-wind’s cry
And thunder-harp of pine.
“Oh, Christ,” you weep,
“They are not mine,
They are not mine!
I cannot see, I cannot hear,
Only I remember year on year
Abel and Cain.
Yet somewhere in this welter of my pain
I keep
Memory of another,—
those two lost syllables of doom.”
“What syllables are they, my Own?”
“That word is ‘Brother’!”
WHITE HAIR
All the warmth has gone out of white hair,
It only answers to the wind
And lifts and stirs like creeping snow
Close to the frozen scalp of earth.
It has no gold of autumn grasses
Or red of beech buds
Or warm brown of tree bark
Or depths of quiet
In which eyes burn like star-flame in a dark night.
It only answers to the wind
And lifts and stirs like creeping snow
Close to the frozen scalp of earth.
It has no gold of autumn grasses
Or red of beech buds
Or warm brown of tree bark
Or depths of quiet
In which eyes burn like star-flame in a dark night.
Has death white hair
And the cramped empty shoulders of old age?
If he has, I shall be as a child, frightened and trying to hide from him.
But if his touch is the touch of warm rain,
If his breath is sweet like the gray-green fruit of the juniper,
If his shoulder is deep and strong like the up-heaved root of hemlock
And his hair velvet-dusk as a moth’s wing,
Then I shall go to him gladly,
And sleep well....
And the cramped empty shoulders of old age?
If he has, I shall be as a child, frightened and trying to hide from him.
But if his touch is the touch of warm rain,
If his breath is sweet like the gray-green fruit of the juniper,
If his shoulder is deep and strong like the up-heaved root of hemlock
And his hair velvet-dusk as a moth’s wing,
Then I shall go to him gladly,
And sleep well....
CLEAR POOLS
What is this bitterness of love that scatters dust in the eyes?
What this absence that shrivels the heart and the blood?
What these cries that stop the ears with their pain?
Let us take our love unto God,
He understands, He has fashioned us and is kind;
How well He knows that love must carry its burden
If it would run to bathe in clear pools and lift its eyes to the stars!
What this absence that shrivels the heart and the blood?
What these cries that stop the ears with their pain?
Let us take our love unto God,
He understands, He has fashioned us and is kind;
How well He knows that love must carry its burden
If it would run to bathe in clear pools and lift its eyes to the stars!
What are we that we should not know that we are His,
And of Him our passion and of Him our tears?
His breast is deep and He will fold us there
In the mystery of His dark, in the miracle of His closeness.
Distance from us knows He not nor space,
And our love which is His how can it be divided from itself?
Are we not one even as we are His?
And of Him our passion and of Him our tears?
His breast is deep and He will fold us there
In the mystery of His dark, in the miracle of His closeness.
Distance from us knows He not nor space,
And our love which is His how can it be divided from itself?
Are we not one even as we are His?
What is that cry?
Is it sorrow or is it the wind upon the waters?
What is this light that flows like a brook?
How well He knows that love must carry its burden,
If it would run to bathe in clear pools and lift its eyes to the stars!
Is it sorrow or is it the wind upon the waters?
What is this light that flows like a brook?
How well He knows that love must carry its burden,
If it would run to bathe in clear pools and lift its eyes to the stars!
THESE TWO
Sometimes when I am alone at night
I put my hand upon my heart;
But it matters little to me that these two are one
From the deep inflow of the rushing blood
Even to the extremity of each living finger
Swung from hollowed palm and flexible wrist:—
This heart and hand that are so wonderful,
So joined in life; so fashioned
In the beat of pulse
And passionate discernment of touch for joy,
So separate and yet not to be divided.
I put my hand upon my heart;
But it matters little to me that these two are one
From the deep inflow of the rushing blood
Even to the extremity of each living finger
Swung from hollowed palm and flexible wrist:—
This heart and hand that are so wonderful,
So joined in life; so fashioned
In the beat of pulse
And passionate discernment of touch for joy,
So separate and yet not to be divided.
It is not of them I am thinking
When I place my hand on my heart
In the lonely night.
In its weight
Again I feel your head lying on my breast
And in its touch the oval of your childlike face.
You are wide-eyed once more,
With those gray eyes of the sea
Full of space and the shadows of birds’ wings
And the terror of known depths of human tragedy;
You are wide-eyed now
Looking into the dark with me,
Wondering about the night.
When I place my hand on my heart
In the lonely night.
In its weight
Again I feel your head lying on my breast
And in its touch the oval of your childlike face.
You are wide-eyed once more,
With those gray eyes of the sea
Full of space and the shadows of birds’ wings
And the terror of known depths of human tragedy;
You are wide-eyed now
Looking into the dark with me,
Wondering about the night.
THE RAILROAD STATION
A station is a place of miracle:
So many trains passing and repassing,
So many thoughts coming and going,
So many greetings and farewells!
Any surprise might happen there:
God come and go,
Street cries turn to stars,
Dust of blown rubbish whirl to aureole!
Thus, in such a place,
Love met me once.
That day the shining tracks seemed leaping toward eternity,
And we heard the street cries sing like stars,
And we saw God come and go
And the dust upon our hair was gold!
Now, blinded, I look past all I see:
It might happen,
Love might be there again!
It’s not that I think a railroad station heaven.
Who does!
Yet so many greetings and farewells,—
Anything might happen!
Have you not felt that way,
And, bewildered, watched;
And, longing, waited?
So many trains passing and repassing,
So many thoughts coming and going,
So many greetings and farewells!
Any surprise might happen there:
God come and go,
Street cries turn to stars,
Dust of blown rubbish whirl to aureole!
Thus, in such a place,
Love met me once.
That day the shining tracks seemed leaping toward eternity,
And we heard the street cries sing like stars,
And we saw God come and go
And the dust upon our hair was gold!
Now, blinded, I look past all I see:
It might happen,
Love might be there again!
It’s not that I think a railroad station heaven.
Who does!
Yet so many greetings and farewells,—
Anything might happen!
Have you not felt that way,
And, bewildered, watched;
And, longing, waited?
BUBBLES
How shall I link my thought to yours
Through hours that whirl to dust!
Fling me some word will keep me close to you,
If but a rainbow bubble like our breath,
And share with me its swift-revolving dream!
Through hours that whirl to dust!
Fling me some word will keep me close to you,
If but a rainbow bubble like our breath,
And share with me its swift-revolving dream!
See how the bubble shapes the silver moon, the golden sun!
In purple sleep it spins among the stars,
Or crimson film it holds the dawn,
Only to break in shattered mist upon our lips,—
One azure word turned kiss!
In purple sleep it spins among the stars,
Or crimson film it holds the dawn,
Only to break in shattered mist upon our lips,—
One azure word turned kiss!
PEDDLED JOY
“May I not sell this gewgaw red?”
“You must not sell!
You cannot buy!”
“Not sell my own, my heart?”
“You two are one: you may not part,—
One peddled joy, you both are dead!”
“You must not sell!
You cannot buy!”
“Not sell my own, my heart?”
“You two are one: you may not part,—
One peddled joy, you both are dead!”
WORK
I told my heart that work must be
The only aim of life for me.
But oh! my heart cried, “Love, love, love!”
And wept bitterly.
The only aim of life for me.
But oh! my heart cried, “Love, love, love!”
And wept bitterly.
SOMEWHERE TONIGHT
On hearing the Evening Bells at Westport-on-Lake Champlain
I
Somewhere I have heard bells
Mellow as the moon:
Somewhere they hung and swung,
With slender sound they rose
Tiptoe with hunger for the sky,
Star-pointed with the light of dream;
Somewhere those eager bells whispered of love,—
That was another day,
And we were gay!
Mellow as the moon:
Somewhere they hung and swung,
With slender sound they rose
Tiptoe with hunger for the sky,
Star-pointed with the light of dream;
Somewhere those eager bells whispered of love,—
That was another day,
And we were gay!
II
And now this withered sound’s farewell
Swinging like tethered rhyme,
Slow-moving, pendulous,
A sigh upon the water’s breast,
A cloud within the sky!
Never again for us, Belovèd,
Yet somewhere the moon shines and is bright,—
Somewhere tonight!
Swinging like tethered rhyme,
Slow-moving, pendulous,
A sigh upon the water’s breast,
A cloud within the sky!
Never again for us, Belovèd,
Yet somewhere the moon shines and is bright,—
Somewhere tonight!
YOUR SUNLIT WAY
I
Should one thought cry against me in your heart,
I could not rise from Death, saying, “Love, my place
Is by your living side; ghostly, I touch
Your precious hands, I kiss your lovely face!”
I could not rise from Death, saying, “Love, my place
Is by your living side; ghostly, I touch
Your precious hands, I kiss your lovely face!”
II
I would not have you shrink to feel me near,
Or claim despite your will what once was mine,
Was ours in God-flung vow, passionate, dear
By night, by day, companioned or apart.
Or claim despite your will what once was mine,
Was ours in God-flung vow, passionate, dear
By night, by day, companioned or apart.
III
Not mine to snare your liberty, to cage
Your sunlit way. Yet, wish me gone, I leap
From light, I plunge to find amen and shroud
In Death,—this time for Love’s eternal sleep.
Your sunlit way. Yet, wish me gone, I leap
From light, I plunge to find amen and shroud
In Death,—this time for Love’s eternal sleep.
STRANGE FACES
There!
That is the face for me—
That face I shall never see
In this world again!
All that I miss is there,
Touch of life and its kiss!
O, mysterious love in our heart
Found for us both as we pass,—
As we part!
That is the face for me—
That face I shall never see
In this world again!
All that I miss is there,
Touch of life and its kiss!
O, mysterious love in our heart
Found for us both as we pass,—
As we part!
EVERYWHERE
You I love,
You and you:
One I never see
And one I know.
You and you:
One I never see
And one I know.
Well, and what then?
Nothing.
But, I ask,
Does the wind blow?
Do feet drift or go?
And where?
How shall a tinker mend
A pinch of dust?
Nothing.
But, I ask,
Does the wind blow?
Do feet drift or go?
And where?
How shall a tinker mend
A pinch of dust?
Some things are mine to keep,
Some to share:
My thoughts I bear
Because I must;
My love I spend
Because I wish,
On you I never see,
On you I know,—
Everywhere.
Some to share:
My thoughts I bear
Because I must;
My love I spend
Because I wish,
On you I never see,
On you I know,—
Everywhere.
CLOUD
A slate galleon hurrying across a sea of fire,—
And they call that “cloud”!
And the sea it sails upon “sky”!
Tut, it is a ship as plain as anything
Full-spread to find the silver edges of the world
Where ships and island daffodils
Burn, follow sun, dip,
Cling to the shining brim like flapping butterflies,
Let go,
Then, whirling sail and streaming daffodil,
Dart into night and flame to stars!
And the “sky” ...
Now you tell what the sky is!
And they call that “cloud”!
And the sea it sails upon “sky”!
Tut, it is a ship as plain as anything
Full-spread to find the silver edges of the world
Where ships and island daffodils
Burn, follow sun, dip,
Cling to the shining brim like flapping butterflies,
Let go,
Then, whirling sail and streaming daffodil,
Dart into night and flame to stars!
And the “sky” ...
Now you tell what the sky is!
BUCENTAUR
At Isle au Haut
Dawn, bright dawn,
White swan on the edge of the dark pool of night
Fan the shade from its mirror,
Cleave the stars on its deep!
White swan on the edge of the dark pool of night
Fan the shade from its mirror,
Cleave the stars on its deep!
Joyous barge of my dream,
On the wave, on the wind, O Bucentaur,
With your cry sweep the seas,
Shake the wind from the trees,
Wake the world from its sleep,
Meet and greet
Song within song!
On the wave, on the wind, O Bucentaur,
With your cry sweep the seas,
Shake the wind from the trees,
Wake the world from its sleep,
Meet and greet
Song within song!
Your eyes jewelled fire,
Your touch my desire,
Draw nearer, draw nearer
Down the rose-colored stream;
White swan, bright dawn,
Kiss me, and lift me
On the wing of your light!
Your touch my desire,
Draw nearer, draw nearer
Down the rose-colored stream;
White swan, bright dawn,
Kiss me, and lift me
On the wing of your light!
MOTH
At Isle au Haut
Gray as a moth the light of day
Dawns in the east,
Dimming the star that crowns the hill,
Stilling the wind,
Hushing the deep
Of the water’s sleep;
Dawns in the east,
Dimming the star that crowns the hill,
Stilling the wind,
Hushing the deep
Of the water’s sleep;
Flits like a moth’s pearl wing in the night
To the peak of mast
And the spire of tree,
Touches the nest and its thrush to song,
Flutters the edge of the sky along.
To the peak of mast
And the spire of tree,
Touches the nest and its thrush to song,
Flutters the edge of the sky along.
Gray like a moth
Dawn slips away,
Bright in apocalypse of light.
Rose and gold and green of the world,
Wind and bird and the great sea’s lay
Possess the day!
Dawn slips away,
Bright in apocalypse of light.
Rose and gold and green of the world,
Wind and bird and the great sea’s lay
Possess the day!
GRAY WATERS
At Isle au Haut
Take me to some isle upon the sea!
Bear me on wing of bird or keel of ship
Out where gray waters slip
About some isle upon the sea,—
Upon the sea!
Bear me on wing of bird or keel of ship
Out where gray waters slip
About some isle upon the sea,—
Upon the sea!
Lay me within some caverned rock
Whose bosom, hard from all the years,
Knows nothing of men’s tears,—
Gray peaceful rest beside the sea,
Beside the sea!
Whose bosom, hard from all the years,
Knows nothing of men’s tears,—
Gray peaceful rest beside the sea,
Beside the sea!
Take me to some isle upon the sea!
Bear me on wing of bird or keel of ship
Out where gray waters slip
About some isle upon the sea!
Upon the sea!
Bear me on wing of bird or keel of ship
Out where gray waters slip
About some isle upon the sea!
Upon the sea!
JOURNEY’S END
I shall not hear the thrushes sing,
Though sing they will that day;
For me will be an unknown sod
And an undreamed-of May!
Though sing they will that day;
For me will be an unknown sod
And an undreamed-of May!
WHITE PATHS
Here are white paths that gleam
In the twilight space of dream;
Here the winds turn in their sleep
With the rocking of the deep;
Here the golden song of thrush
Is music’s sunlight, evening’s hush;
Here the rustle of our prayer
Climbs the forest altar stair;
And here the stars burn in the sod—
Peaceful candlelight for God.
In the twilight space of dream;
Here the winds turn in their sleep
With the rocking of the deep;
Here the golden song of thrush
Is music’s sunlight, evening’s hush;
Here the rustle of our prayer
Climbs the forest altar stair;
And here the stars burn in the sod—
Peaceful candlelight for God.
EBONY
On watching a beautiful black arm opening a Venetian Lantern at Fleur de Lys
Ebony, Ebony,
Dreaming of a rose,
Flame in the flower-heart,
Dusk in repose;
Dreaming of a rose,
Flame in the flower-heart,
Dusk in repose;
Jeweled eyes glistening,
Dew on the leaf,
Sweet to Africa
Is the thought of her grief.
Dew on the leaf,
Sweet to Africa
Is the thought of her grief.
TO SOME PHILADELPHIA SPARROWS
Men say unfriendly words of you, poor birds!
And I? I praise you for your saucy joy
On dusty streets; I love you for your twitter
In vines that cling to heated city walls;
Your noisy congregations on the trees;
Unchurchly ways of saying this and that
About your brother men; your gaieties
In parks nearby a fountain’s dripping brim.
And I? I praise you for your saucy joy
On dusty streets; I love you for your twitter
In vines that cling to heated city walls;
Your noisy congregations on the trees;
Unchurchly ways of saying this and that
About your brother men; your gaieties
In parks nearby a fountain’s dripping brim.
Men say your manners are not fine. And, too,
They call you scavengers, they call you thief
And enemy to other prettier birds.
Perhaps we are one feather, you and I!
I would not hold it any grief to be
Your brother bird upon the city street.
They call you scavengers, they call you thief
And enemy to other prettier birds.
Perhaps we are one feather, you and I!
I would not hold it any grief to be
Your brother bird upon the city street.
I love you, chatterers! Yet I have heard
The lark in other lands, the thrush in this.
Dull many a day had been without your din,
Your wrangles under foot, your shameless ways.
The lark in other lands, the thrush in this.
Dull many a day had been without your din,
Your wrangles under foot, your shameless ways.
Men say unfriendly words of you. Of me
They speak unkindly, too. Yet see how gay
We are! Ah, well, we are one feather, you
And I! We have the city streets for plunder,
The eaves for wonder, and above there is
The sky!
They speak unkindly, too. Yet see how gay
We are! Ah, well, we are one feather, you
And I! We have the city streets for plunder,
The eaves for wonder, and above there is
The sky!
ORIOLE’S NEST
AT FLEUR DE LYS
Night in an oriole’s hanging nest
Is rocking a basket world to sleep.
The wind blows soft
And the wind blows far,
Star, creep, star!
Is rocking a basket world to sleep.
The wind blows soft
And the wind blows far,
Star, creep, star!
Pack me tight in my basket world,
Tread me and turn me with feet of your love!
O, Mother Bird, fledge me with feather and rest!
O, Mother Bird, brood me with flame of your breast!
Down in the marshes the little fish gleam,
Down in the marshes the little fish stir
Rushes in sleep,
Rushes that keep
Wrinkling the light of a drowsy star.
Tread me and turn me with feet of your love!
O, Mother Bird, fledge me with feather and rest!
O, Mother Bird, brood me with flame of your breast!
Down in the marshes the little fish gleam,
Down in the marshes the little fish stir
Rushes in sleep,
Rushes that keep
Wrinkling the light of a drowsy star.
Here in my basket world hung on the wind
Over me rustles an ebony bough,
Over me hovers a silvery beak;
And clear and soft
And near and far
Lustre of loving eyes rocked in this nest,
Eyes that are gentle,
Eyes that are meek.
O, Mother Bird, fledge me with feather and rest!
O, Mother Bird, brood me with flame of your breast!
Over me rustles an ebony bough,
Over me hovers a silvery beak;
And clear and soft
And near and far
Lustre of loving eyes rocked in this nest,
Eyes that are gentle,
Eyes that are meek.
O, Mother Bird, fledge me with feather and rest!
O, Mother Bird, brood me with flame of your breast!
LITTLE MISS HILLY
Oh, little Miss Hilly of Northampton-town
Goes walking the valleys and meadows adown;
She looks in the brooks for the stars and the moon
And she sings an old chanty a bit out of tune.
Oh, little Miss Hilly is dear unto me,—
Is dear unto me!
Goes walking the valleys and meadows adown;
She looks in the brooks for the stars and the moon
And she sings an old chanty a bit out of tune.
Oh, little Miss Hilly is dear unto me,—
Is dear unto me!
Her arms are so eager but tiny are they,
And her fingers are agile as waters at play.
Yet little Miss Hilly must climb a steep slope,
Must go without laughter and live without hope:
Must chatter and patter like leaves and like rain,
Must shiver and quiver and ache with the pain
Of climbing for stars and wanting the moon
As she puts an old chanty once more into tune,
Ere the stars will come down or the moon will reply
Except by a wink through a chink in the sky
Oh, little Miss Hilly so dear unto me,
So dear unto me!
And her fingers are agile as waters at play.
Yet little Miss Hilly must climb a steep slope,
Must go without laughter and live without hope:
Must chatter and patter like leaves and like rain,
Must shiver and quiver and ache with the pain
Of climbing for stars and wanting the moon
As she puts an old chanty once more into tune,
Ere the stars will come down or the moon will reply
Except by a wink through a chink in the sky
Oh, little Miss Hilly so dear unto me,
So dear unto me!
ROSE TOADA
A Sleep Song
I
Shoo, Rose Toada, Shoo!
Jewelled red eyes for you.
Shoo, Rose Toada, Shoo!
Jewelled red eyes for you.
Shoo, Rose Toada, Shoo!
II
Hoosh, Rose Toada, hoosh!
Little green snake in the bush.
Hoosh, Rose Toada, hoosh!
Little green snake in the bush.
Hoosh, Rose Toada, hoosh!
III
Bizz, Rose Toada, buzz!
Gold on its wings and fuzz.
Bizz, Rose Toada, buzz!
Gold on its wings and fuzz.
Bizz, Rose Toada, buzz!
THATCH
Oh Boy, give me your yellow thatch for home,
Your yellow thatch of hair,
Straw with the wind and air!
Your yellow thatch of hair,
Straw with the wind and air!
Oh Boy, give me your stubble cheek to roam,
Brown hayfield in the dew,—
Rusty with sun and you!
Brown hayfield in the dew,—
Rusty with sun and you!