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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Edna St. Vincent Millay

-

-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most

-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions

-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of

-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at

-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have

-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.

-

-Title: Poems

-

-Author: Edna St. Vincent Millay

-

-Release Date: March 31, 2019 [EBook #59167]

-

-Language: English

-

-Character set encoding: UTF-8

-

-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***

-

-

-

-

-Produced by Tim Lindell, Charlie Howard, and the Online

-Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This

-file was produced from images generously made available

-by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-Poems _by_ Edna St. Vincent Millay

-

-

-

-

-    Poems _by_

-    Edna St. Vincent Millay

-

-    ❦

-

-    London

-    Martin Secker

-    1923

-

-

-

-

-    _Printed in Great Britain_

-    _London: Martin Secker (Ltd.) 1923_

-

-

-

-

-CONTENTS

-

-

-    _Section One_

-

-    Renascence,                                    13

-

-    God’s World,                                   22

-

-    Afternoon on a Hill,                           23

-

-    Journey,                                       24

-

-    Sorrow,                                        26

-

-    Tavern,                                        27

-

-    Ashes of Life,                                 28

-

-    The Little Ghost,                              29

-

-    Kin to Sorrow,                                 31

-

-    Three Songs of Shattering,                     32

-

-    The Shroud,                                    34

-

-    The Dream,                                     35

-

-    Indifference,                                  36

-

-    Witch-wife,                                    37

-

-    Blight,                                        38

-

-    When the Year Grows Old,                       40

-

-    Unnamed Sonnets, i-v,                          42

-

-    Sonnet vi (Bluebeard),                         47

-

-

-    _Section Two_

-

-    I,                                             51

-

-    II,                                            51

-

-    Recuerdo,                                      52

-

-    Thursday,                                      53

-

-    To the Not Impossible Him,                     54

-

-    The Singing-Woman from the Wood’s Edge,        55

-

-    Humoresque,                                    58

-

-    She is Overheard Singing,                      59

-

-    The Unexplorer,                                61

-

-    Grown-up,                                      62

-

-    The Penitent,                                  63

-

-    Daphne,                                        64

-

-    Portrait by a Neighbour,                       65

-

-    The Merry Maid,                                66

-

-    To S. M.,                                      67

-

-    The Philosopher,                               68

-

-    Sonnet--Love, Though for This,                 69

-

-    Sonnet--I Think I Should Have Loved You,       70

-

-    Sonnet--Oh, Think Not I am Faithful,           71

-

-    Sonnet--I Shall Forget You Presently,          72

-

-

-    _Section Three_

-

-    Spring,                                        75

-

-    City Trees,                                    76

-

-    The Blue-Flag in the Bog,                      77

-

-    Eel-Grass,                                     86

-

-    Elegy before Death,                            87

-

-    The Bean-Stalk,                                88

-

-    Weeds,                                         90

-

-    Passer Mortuus Est,                            91

-

-    Pastoral,                                      92

-

-    Assault,                                       93

-

-    Travel,                                        94

-

-    Low-Tide,                                      95

-

-    Song of a Second April,                        96

-

-    The Poet and his Book,                         97

-

-    Alms,                                         102

-

-    Inland,                                       104

-

-    To a Poet that Died Young,                    105

-

-    Wraith,                                       107

-

-    Ebb,                                          109

-

-    Elaine,                                       110

-

-    Burial,                                       111

-

-    Mariposa,                                     112

-

-    Doubt no more that Oberon,                    113

-

-    Lament,                                       114

-

-    Exiled,                                       115

-

-    The Death of Autumn,                          117

-

-    Ode to Silence,                               118

-

-    Memorial to D. C.,                            127

-

-    Unnamed Sonnets, i-xii,                       134

-

-    Wild Swans,                                   146

-

-

-

-

-SECTION ONE

-

-

-

-

-_Renascence_

-

-

-  All I could see from where I stood

-  Was three long mountains and a wood;

-  I turned and looked another way,

-  And saw three islands in a bay.

-  So with my eyes I traced the line

-  Of the horizon, thin and fine,

-  Straight around till I was come

-  Back to where I’d started from

-  And all I saw from where I stood

-  Was three long mountains and a wood.

-  Over these things I could not see:

-  These were the things that bounded me;

-  And I could touch them with my hand,

-  Almost, I thought, from where I stand.

-  And all at once things seemed so small

-  My breath came short, and scarce at all.

-  But, sure, the sky is big, I said;

-  Miles and miles above my head;

-  So here upon my back I’ll lie

-  And look my fill into the sky.

-  And so I looked, and, after all,

-  The sky was not so very tall.

-  The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,

-  And--sure enough!--I see the top!

-  The sky, I thought, is not so grand;

-  I ’most could touch it with my hand!

-  And reaching up my hand to try,

-  I screamed to feel it touch the sky.

-

-  I screamed, and--lo!--Infinity

-  Came down and settled over me;

-  Forced back my scream into my chest,

-  Bent back my arm upon my breast,

-  And, pressing of the Undefined

-  The definition on my mind,

-  Held up before my eyes a glass

-  Through which my shrinking sight did pass

-  Until it seemed I must behold

-  Immensity made manifold;

-  Whispered to me a word whose sound

-  Deafened the air for worlds around,

-  And brought unmuffled to my ears

-  The gossiping of friendly spheres,

-  The creaking of the tented sky,

-  The ticking of Eternity.

-  I saw and heard and knew at last

-  The How and Why of all things, past,

-  And present, and for evermore.

-  The Universe, cleft to the core,

-  Lay open to my probing sense

-  That, sick’ning, I would fain pluck thence

-  But could not,--nay! But needs must suck

-  At the great wound, and could not pluck

-  My lips away till I had drawn

-  All venom out.--Ah, fearful pawn!

-  For my omniscience paid I toll

-  In infinite remorse of soul.

-  All sin was of my sinning, all

-  Atoning mine, and mine the gall

-  Of all regret. Mine was the weight

-  Of every brooded wrong, the hate

-  That stood behind each envious thrust,

-  Mine every greed, mine every lust.

-  And all the while for every grief,

-  Each suffering, I craved relief

-  With individual desire,--

-  Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire

-  About a thousand people crawl;

-  Perished with each,--then mourned for all!

-  A man was starving in Capri;

-  He moved his eyes and looked at me;

-  I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,

-  And knew his hunger as my own.

-  I saw at sea a great fog bank

-  Between two ships that struck and sank;

-  A thousand screams the heavens smote;

-  And every scream tore through my throat.

-  No hurt I did not feel, no death

-  That was not mine; mine each last breath

-  That, crying, met an answering cry

-  From the compassion that was I.

-  All suffering mine, and mine its rod;

-  Mine, pity like the pity of God.

-  Ah, awful weight! Infinity

-  Pressed down upon the finite Me!

-  My anguished spirit, like a bird,

-  Beating against my lips I heard;

-  Yet lay the weight so close about

-  There was no room for it without.

-  And so beneath the weight lay I

-  And suffered death, but could not die.

-

-  Long had I lain thus, craving death,

-  When quietly the earth beneath

-  Gave way, and inch by inch, so great

-  At last had grown the crushing weight,

-  Into the earth I sank till I

-  Full six feet under ground did lie,

-  And sank no more,--there is no weight

-  Can follow here, however great.

-  From off my breast I felt it roll,

-  And as it went my tortured soul

-  Burst forth and fled in such a gust

-  That all about me swirled the dust.

-  Deep in the earth I rested now;

-  Cool is its hand upon the brow

-  And soft its breast beneath the head

-  Of one who is so gladly dead.

-  And all at once, and over all

-  The pitying rain began to fall;

-  I lay and heard each pattering hoof

-  Upon my lowly, thatchèd roof,

-  And seemed to love the sound far more

-  Than ever I had done before.

-  For rain it hath a friendly sound

-  To one who’s six feet under ground;

-  And scarce the friendly voice or face:

-  A grave is such a quiet place.

-

-  The rain, I said, is kind to come

-  And speak to me in my new home.

-  I would I were alive again

-  To kiss the fingers of the rain,

-  To drink into my eyes the shine

-  Of every slanting silver line,

-  To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze

-  From drenched and dripping apple-trees.

-  For soon the shower will be done,

-  And then the broad face of the sun

-  Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth

-  Until the world with answering mirth

-  Shakes joyously, and each round drop

-  Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.

-  How can I bear it, buried here,

-  While overhead the sky grows clear

-  And blue again after the storm?

-  O, multi-coloured, multiform,

-  Beloved beauty over me,

-  That I shall never, never see

-  Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,

-  That I shall never more behold!

-  Sleeping your myriad magics through,

-  Close-sepulchred away from you!

-  O God, I cried, give me new birth,

-  And put me back upon the earth!

-  Upset each cloud’s gigantic gourd

-  And let the heavy rain, down-poured

-  In one big torrent, set me free,

-  Washing my grave away from me!

-

-  I ceased; and through the breathless hush

-  That answered me, the far-off rush

-  Of herald wings came whispering

-  Like music down the vibrant string

-  Of my ascending prayer, and--crash!

-  Before the wild wind’s whistling lash

-  The startled storm-clouds reared on high

-  And plunged in terror down the sky,

-  And the big rain in one black wave

-  Fell from the sky and struck my grave.

-  I know not how such things can be;

-  I only know there came to me

-  A fragrance such as never clings

-  To aught save happy living things;

-  A sound as of some joyous elf

-  Singing sweet songs to please himself,

-  And, through and over everything,

-  A sense of glad awakening.

-  The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,

-  Whispering to me I could hear;

-  I felt the rain’s cool finger-tips

-  Brushed tenderly across my lips,

-  Laid gently on my sealèd sight,

-  And all at once the heavy night

-  Fell from my eyes and I could see,--

-  A drenched and dripping apple-tree,

-  A last long line of silver rain,

-  A sky grown clear and blue again.

-  And as I looked a quickening gust

-  Of wind blew up to me and thrust

-  Into my face a miracle

-  Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,--

-  I know not how such things can be!--

-  I breathed my soul back into me.

-

-  Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I

-  And hailed the earth with such a cry

-  As is not heard save from a man

-  Who has been dead, and lives again.

-  About the trees my arms I wound;

-  Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;

-  I raised my quivering arms on high;

-  I laughed and laughed into the sky,

-  Till at my throat a strangling sob

-  Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb

-  Sent instant tears into my eyes;

-  O God, I cried, no dark disguise

-  Can e’er hereafter hide from me

-  Thy radiant identity!

-  Thou canst not move across the grass

-  But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,

-  Nor speak, however silently,

-  But my hushed voice will answer Thee.

-  I know the path that tells Thy way

-  Through the cool eve of every day;

-  God, I can push the grass apart

-  And lay my finger on Thy heart!

-

-  The world stands out on either side

-  No wider than the heart is wide;

-  Above the world is stretched the sky,--

-  No higher than the soul is high.

-  The heart can push the sea and land

-  Farther away on either hand;

-  The soul can split the sky in two,

-  And let the face of God shine through.

-  But East and West will pinch the heart

-  That cannot keep them pushed apart;

-  And he whose soul is flat--the sky

-  Will cave in on him by and by.

-

-

-

-

-_God’s World_

-

-

-  O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!

-        Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!

-        Thy mists, that roll and rise!

-  Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag

-  And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag

-  To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!

-  World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!

-

-  Long have I known a glory in it all,

-        But never knew I this;

-        Here such a passion is

-  As stretcheth me apart,--Lord, I do fear

-  Thou’st made the world too beautiful this year;

-  My soul is all but out of me,--let fall

-  No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

-

-

-

-

-_Afternoon on a Hill_

-

-

-  I will be the gladdest thing

-    Under the sun!

-  I will touch a hundred flowers

-    And not pick one.

-

-  I will look at cliffs and clouds

-    With quiet eyes,

-  Watch the wind bow down the grass,

-    And the grass rise.

-

-  And when lights begin to show

-    Up from the town,

-  I will mark which must be mine,

-    And then start down.

-

-

-

-

-_Journey_

-

-

-  Ah, could I lay me down in this long grass

-  And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind

-  Blow over me,--I am so tired, so tired

-  Of passing pleasant places! All my life,

-  Following Care along the dusty road,

-  Have I looked back at loveliness and sighed;

-  Yet at my hand an unrelenting hand

-  Tugged ever, and I passed. All my life long

-      Over my shoulder have I looked at peace

-      And now I fain would lie in this long grass

-      And close my eyes.

-                        Yet onward!

-                                  Cat-birds call

-  Through the long afternoon, and creeks at dusk

-  Are guttural. Whip-poor-wills wake and cry,

-  Drawing the twilight close about their throats.

-  Only my heart makes answer. Eager vines

-  Go up the rocks and wait; flushed apple-trees

-  Pause in their dance and break the ring for me;

-  Dim, shady wood-roads, redolent of fern

-  And bayberry, that through sweet bevies thread

-  Of round-faced roses, pink and petulant,

-  Look back and beckon ere they disappear.

-  Only my heart, only my heart responds.

-  Yet, ah, my path is sweet on either side

-  All through the dragging day,--sharp underfoot,

-  And hot, and like dead mist the dry dust hangs--

-  But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach,

-  And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling,

-  The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake,

-  Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road

-  A gateless garden, and an open path:

-  My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.

-

-

-

-

-_Sorrow_

-

-

-  Sorrow like a ceaseless rain

-    Beats upon my heart.

-  People twist and scream in pain,--

-  Dawn will find them still again;

-  This has neither wax nor wane,

-    Neither stop nor start.

-

-  People dress and go to town;

-    I sit in my chair.

-  All my thoughts are slow and brown:

-  Standing up or sitting down

-  Little matters, or what gown

-    Or what shoes I wear.

-

-

-

-

-_Tavern_

-

-

-  I’ll keep a little tavern

-    Below the high hill’s crest,

-  Wherein all grey-eyed people

-    May sit them down and rest.

-

-  There shall be plates a-plenty,

-    And mugs to melt the chill

-  Of all the grey-eyed people

-    Who happen up the hill.

-

-  There sound will sleep the traveller,

-    And dream his journey’s end,

-  But I will rouse at midnight

-    The falling fire to tend.

-

-  Aye, ’tis a curious fancy--

-    But all the good I know

-  Was taught me out of two grey eyes

-    A long time ago.

-

-

-

-

-_Ashes of Life_

-

-

-  Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;

-    Eat I must, and sleep I will,--and would that night were here!

-  But ah!--to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!

-    Would that it were day again!--with twilight near!

-

-  Love has gone and left me and I don’t know what to do;

-    This or that or what you will is all the same to me;

-  But all the things that I begin I leave before I’m through,--

-    There’s little use in anything as far as I can see.

-

-  Love has gone and left me,--and the neighbours knock and borrow,

-    And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse,--

-  And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow

-    There’s this little street and this little house.

-

-

-

-

-_The Little Ghost_

-

-

-  I knew her for a little ghost

-    That in my garden walked;

-  The wall is high--higher than most--

-    And the green gate was locked.

-

-  And yet I did not think of that

-    Till after she was gone--

-  I knew her by the broad white hat,

-    All ruffled, she had on.

-

-  By the dear ruffles round her feet,

-    By her small hands that hung

-  In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,

-    Her gown’s white folds among.

-

-  I watched to see if she would stay,

-    What she would do--and oh!

-  She looked as if she liked the way

-    I let my garden grow!

-

-  She bent above my favourite mint

-    With conscious garden grace,

-  She smiled and smiled--there was no hint

-    Of sadness in her face.

-

-  She held her gown on either side

-    To let her slippers show,

-  And up the walk she went with pride,

-    The way great ladies go.

-

-  And where the wall is built in new

-    And is of ivy bare

-  She paused--then opened and passed through

-    A gate that once was there.

-

-

-

-

-_Kin to Sorrow_

-

-

-    Am I kin to Sorrow,

-    That so oft

-  Falls the knocker of my door--

-    Neither loud nor soft,

-  But as long accustomed,

-    Under Sorrow’s hand?

-  Marigolds around the step

-    And rosemary stand,

-  And then comes Sorrow--

-    And what does Sorrow care

-  For the rosemary

-    Or the marigolds there?

-  Am I kin to Sorrow?

-    Are we kin?

-  That so oft upon my door--

-    _Oh, come in!_

-

-

-

-

-_Three Songs of Shattering_

-

-

-I

-

-  The first rose on my rose-tree

-    Budded, bloomed, and shattered,

-  During sad days when to me

-    Nothing mattered.

-

-  Grief of grief has drained me clean;

-    Still it seems a pity

-  No one saw,--it must have been

-      Very pretty.

-

-

-II

-

-  Let the little birds sing;

-    Let the little lambs play;

-  Spring is here; and so ’tis spring;--

-    But not in the old way!

-

-  I recall a place

-    Where a plum-tree grew;

-  There you lifted up your face,

-    And blossoms covered you.

-

-  If the little birds sing,

-    And the little lambs play,

-  Spring is here; and so ’tis spring--

-    But not in the old way!

-

-

-III

-

-  All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!

-    Ere spring was going--ah! spring is gone!

-  And there comes no summer to the like of you and me,--

-    Blossom time is early, but no fruit sets on.

-

-  All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree,

-    Browned at the edges, turned in a day;

-  And I would with all my heart they trimmed a mound for me,

-    And weeds were tall on all the paths that led that way!

-

-

-

-

-_The Shroud_

-

-

-  Death, I say, my heart is bowed

-    Unto thine,--O mother!

-  This red gown will make a shroud

-    Good as any other!

-

-  (I, that would not wait to wear

-    My own bridal things,

-  In a dress dark as my hair

-    Made my answerings.

-

-  I, to-night, that till he came

-    Could not, could not wait,

-  In a gown as bright as flame

-    Held for them the gate.)

-

-  Death, I say, my heart is bowed

-    Unto thine,--O mother!

-  This red gown will make a shroud

-    Good as any other!

-

-

-

-

-_The Dream_

-

-

-  Love, if I weep it will not matter,

-    And if you laugh I shall not care;

-  Foolish am I to think about it,

-    But it is good to feel you there.

-

-  Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,--

-    White and awful the moonlight reached

-  Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere,

-    There was a shutter loose,--it screeched!

-

-  Swung in the wind,--and no wind blowing!--

-    I was afraid, and turned to you,

-  Put out my hand to you for comfort,--

-    And you were gone! Cold, cold as dew,

-

-  Under my hand the moonlight lay!

-    Love, if you laugh I shall not care,

-  But if I weep it will not matter,--

-    Ah, it is good to feel you there!

-

-

-

-

-_Indifference_

-

-

-  I said,--for Love was laggard, O, Love was slow to come,--

-    “I’ll hear his step and know his step when I am warm in bed;

-  But I’ll never leave my pillow, though there be some

-    As would let him in--and take him in with tears!” I said.

-  I lay,--for Love was laggard, O, he came not until dawn,--

-  I lay and listened for his step and could not get to sleep;

-  And he found me at my window with my big cloak on,

-    All sorry with the tears some folks might weep!

-

-

-

-

-_Witch-Wife_

-

-

-  She is neither pink nor pale,

-    And she never will be all mine;

-  She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,

-    And her mouth on a valentine.

-

-  She has more hair than she needs;

-    In the sun ’tis a woe to me!

-  And her voice is a string of coloured beads,

-    Or steps leading into the sea.

-

-  She loves me all that she can,

-    And her ways to my ways resign;

-  But she was not made for any man,

-    And she never will be all mine.

-

-

-

-

-_Blight_

-

-

-  Hard seeds of hate I planted

-    That should by now be grown,--

-  Rough stalks, and from thick stamens

-    A poisonous pollen blown,

-  And odours rank, unbreathable,

-    From dark corollas thrown!

-

-  At dawn from my damp garden

-    I shook the chilly dew;

-  The thin boughs locked behind me

-    That sprang to let me through;

-  The blossoms slept,--I sought a place

-    Where nothing lovely grew.

-

-  And there, when day was breaking,

-    I knelt and looked around:

-  The light was near, the silence

-    Was palpitant with sound;

-  I drew my hate from out my breast

-    And thrust it in the ground.

-

-  Oh, ye so fiercely tended,

-    Ye little seeds of hate!

-  I bent above your growing

-    Early and noon and late,

-  Yet are ye drooped and pitiful,--

-    I cannot rear ye straight!

-

-  The sun seeks out my garden,

-    No nook is left in shade,

-  No mist nor mould nor mildew

-    Endures on any blade,

-  Sweet rain slants under every bough:

-    Ye falter, and ye fade.

-

-

-

-

-_When the Year Grows Old_

-

-  I cannot but remember

-    When the year grows old--

-  October--November--

-    How she disliked the cold!

-

-  She used to watch the swallows

-    Go down across the sky,

-  And turn from the window

-    With a little sharp sigh.

-

-  And often when the brown leaves

-    Were brittle on the ground,

-  And the wind in the chimney

-    Made a melancholy sound,

-

-  She had a look about her

-    That I wish I could forget--

-  The look of a scared thing

-    Sitting in a net!

-

-  Oh, beautiful at nightfall

-    The soft spitting snow!

-  And beautiful the bare boughs

-    Rubbing to and fro!

-

-  But the roaring of the fire,

-    And the warmth of fur,

-  And the boiling of the kettle

-    Were beautiful to her!

-

-  I cannot but remember

-    When the year grows old--

-  October--November--

-    How she disliked the cold!

-

-

-

-

-_Sonnets_

-

-

-I

-

-  Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,--no,

-  Nor honeysuckle; thou art not more fair

-  Than small white single poppies,--I can bear

-  Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though

-  From left to right, not knowing where to go,

-  I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there

-  Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear

-  So has it been with mist,--with moonlight so.

-  Like him who day by day unto his draught

-  Of delicate poison adds him one drop more

-  Till he may drink unharmed the death of ten,

-  Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed

-  Each hour more deeply than the hour before,

-  I drink--and live--what has destroyed some men.

-

-

-II

-

-  Time does not bring relief; you all have lied

-  Who told me time would ease me of my pain!

-  I miss him in the weeping of the rain;

-  I want him at the shrinking of the tide;

-  The old snows melt from every mountain-side,

-  And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;

-  But last year’s bitter loving must remain

-  Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!

-  There are a hundred places where I fear

-  To go,--so with his memory they brim!

-  And entering with relief some quiet place

-  Where never fell his foot or shone his face

-  I say, “There is no memory of him here!”

-  And so stand stricken, so remembering him!

-

-

-III

-

-  Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring

-  And all the flowers that in the springtime grow,

-  And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slow

-  Rising of the round moon, all throats that sing

-  The summer through, and each departing wing,

-  And all the nests that the bared branches show,

-  And all winds that in any weather blow,

-  And all the storms that the four seasons bring.

-  You go no more on your exultant feet

-  Up paths that only mist and morning knew,

-  Or watch the wind, or listen to the beat

-  Of a bird’s wings too high in air to view,--

-  But you were something more than young and sweet

-  And fair,--and the long year remembers you.

-

-

-IV

-

-  Not in this chamber only at my birth--

-  When the long hours of that mysterious night

-  Were over, and the morning was in sight--

-  I cried, but in strange places, steppe and firth

-  I have not seen, through alien grief and mirth;

-  And never shall one room contain me quite

-  Who in so many rooms first saw the light,

-  Child of all mothers, native of the earth.

-  So is no warmth for me at any fire

-  To-day, when the world’s fire has burned so low;

-  I kneel, spending my breath in vain desire,

-  At that cold hearth which one time roared so strong,

-  And straighten back in weariness, and long

-  To gather up my little gods and go.

-

-

-V

-

-  If I should learn, in some quite casual way,

-  That you were gone, not to return again--

-  Read from the back-page of a paper, say,

-  Held by a neighbour in a subway train,

-  How at the corner of this avenue

-  And such a street (so are the papers filled)

-  A hurrying man--who happened to be you--

-  At noon to-day had happened to be killed,

-  I should not cry aloud--I could not cry

-  Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place--

-  I should but watch the station lights rush by

-  With a more careful interest on my face,

-  Or raise my eyes and read with greater care

-  Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.

-

-

-VI

-

-_Bluebeard_

-

-  This door you might not open, and you did;

-  So enter now, and see for what slight thing

-  You are betrayed.... Here is no treasure hid,

-  No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring

-  The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain

-  For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,

-  But only what you see.... Look yet again--

-  An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.

-  Yet this alone out of my life I kept

-  Unto myself, lest any know me quite;

-  And you did so profane me when you crept

-  Unto the threshold of this room to-night

-  That I must never more behold your face.

-  This now is yours. I seek another place.

-

-

-

-

-SECTION TWO

-

-

-

-

-I

-

-

-  My candle burns at both ends;

-    It will not last the night;

-  But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--

-    It gives a lovely light!

-

-

-

-

-II

-

-

-  Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:

-  Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

-

-

-

-

-_Recuerdo_

-

-

-  We were very tired, we were very merry--

-  We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.

-  It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable--

-  But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,

-  We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;

-  And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.

-

-  We were very tired, we were very merry--

-  We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;

-  And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,

-  From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;

-  And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,

-  And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.

-

-  We were very tired, we were very merry,

-  We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.

-  We hailed, “Good morrow, mother!” to a shawl-covered head,

-  And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;

-  And she wept, “God bless you!” for the apples and pears,

-  And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.

-

-

-

-

-_Thursday_

-

-

-  And if I loved you Wednesday,

-    Well, what is that to you?

-  I do not love you Thursday--

-    So much is true.

-

-  And why you come complaining

-    Is more than I can see.

-  I loved you Wednesday,--yes--but what

-    Is that to me?

-

-

-

-

-_To the Not Impossible Him_

-

-  How shall I know, unless I go

-    To Cairo and Cathay,

-  Whether or not this blessed spot

-    Is blest in every way?

-

-  Now it may be, the flower for me

-    Is this beneath my nose;

-  How shall I tell, unless I smell

-    The Carthaginian rose?

-

-  The fabric of my faithful love

-    No power shall dim or ravel

-  Whilst I stay here,--but oh, my dear,

-    If I should ever travel!

-

-

-

-

-_The Singing-Woman from the Wood’s Edge_

-

-

-  What should I be but a prophet and a liar,

-  Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar?

-  Teethed on a crucifix and cradled under water,

-  What should I be but the fiend’s god-daughter?

-

-  And who should be my playmates but the adder and the frog,

-  That was got beneath a furze-bush and born in a bog?

-  And what should be my singing, that was christened at an altar,

-  But Aves and Credos and Psalms out of the Psalter?

-

-  You will see such webs on the wet grass, maybe,

-  As a pixie-mother weaves for her baby,

-  You will find such flame at the wave’s weedy ebb

-  As flashes in the meshes of a mer-mother’s web,

-

-  But there comes to birth no common spawn

-  From the love of a priest for a leprechaun,

-  And you never have seen and you never will see

-  Such things as the things that swaddled me!

-

-  After all’s said and after all’s done,

-  What should I be but a harlot and a nun?

-

-  In through the bushes, on any foggy day,

-  My dad would come a-swishing of the drops away,

-  With a prayer for my death and a groan for my birth,

-  A-mumbling of his beads for all that he was worth.

-

-  And there’d sit my ma, with her knees beneath her chin,

-  A-looking in his face and a-drinking of it in,

-  And a-marking in the moss some funny little saying

-  That would mean just the opposite of all that he was praying!

-

-  He taught me the holy-talk of Vesper and of Matin,

-  He heard me my Greek and he heard me my Latin,

-  He blessed me and crossed me to keep my soul from evil,

-  And we watched him out of sight, and we conjured up the devil!

-

-  Oh, the things I haven’t seen and the things I haven’t known,

-  What with hedges and ditches till after I was grown,

-  And yanked both ways by my mother and my father,

-  With a “Which would you better?” and a “Which would you rather?”

-

-  With him for a sire and her for a dam,

-  What should I be but just what I am?

-

-

-

-

-_Humoresque_

-

-

-  “Heaven bless the babe!” they said;

-  “What queer books she must have read!”

-  (Love, by whom I was beguiled,

-  Grant I may not bear a child.)

-

-  “Little does she guess to-day

-  What the world may be,” they say.

-  (Snow, drift deep and cover

-  Till the spring my murdered lover.)

-

-

-

-

-_She is Overheard Singing_

-

-

-  Oh, Prue she has a patient man,

-    And Joan a gentle lover,

-  And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,--

-    But my true love’s a rover!

-

-  Mig, her man’s as good as cheese

-    And honest as a briar,

-  Sue tells her love what he’s thinking of,--

-    But my dear lad’s a liar!

-

-  Oh, Sue and Prue and Agatha

-    Are thick with Mig and Joan!

-  They bite their threads and shake their heads

-    And gnaw my name like a bone;

-

-  And Prue says, “Mine’s a patient man,

-    As never snaps me up,”

-  And Agatha, “Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,

-    Could live content in a cup;”

-

-  Sue’s man’s mind is like good jell--

-    All one colour, and clear--

-  And Mig’s no call to think at all

-    What’s to come next year,

-

-  While Joan makes boast of a gentle lad,

-    That’s troubled with that and this;--

-  But they all would give the life they live

-    For a look from the man I kiss!

-

-  Cold he slants his eyes about,

-    And few enough’s his choice,--

-  Though he’d slip me clean for a nun, or a queen,

-    Or a beggar with knots in her voice,--

-

-  And Agatha will turn awake

-    When her good man sleeps sound,

-  And Mig and Sue and Joan and Prue

-    Will hear the clock strike round;

-

-  For Prue she has a patient man,

-    As asks not when or why,

-  And Mig and Sue have naught to do

-    But peep who’s passing by,

-

-  Joan is paired with a putterer

-    That bastes and tastes and salts,

-  And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,--

-    But my true love is false!

-

-

-

-

-_The Unexplorer_

-

-

-  There was a road ran past our house

-  Too lovely to explore.

-  I asked my mother once--she said

-  That if you followed where it led

-  It brought you to the milk-man’s door.

-  (That’s why I have not travelled more.)

-

-

-

-

-_Grown-Up_

-

-

-  Was it for this I uttered prayers,

-  And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,

-  That now, domestic as a plate,

-  I should retire at half-past eight?

-

-

-

-

-_The Penitent_

-

-

-  I had a little Sorrow,

-  Born of a little Sin,

-  I found a room all damp with gloom

-    And shut us all within;

-  And, “Little Sorrow, weep,” said I,

-  “And, Little Sin, pray God to die,

-  And I upon the floor will lie

-    And think how bad I’ve been!”

-

-  Alas for pious planning--

-    It mattered not a whit!

-  As far as gloom went in that room,

-    The lamp might have been lit!

-  My Little Sorrow would not weep,

-  My Little Sin would go to sleep--

-  To save my soul I could not keep

-    My graceless mind on it!

-

-  So up I got in anger,

-    And took a book I had,

-  And put a ribbon on my hair

-    To please a passing lad.

-  And, “One thing there’s no getting by--

-  I’ve been a wicked girl,” said I;

-  “But if I can’t be sorry, why,

-    I might as well be glad!”

-

-

-

-

-_Daphne_

-

-

-  Why do you follow me?--

-  Any moment I can be

-  Nothing but a laurel-tree.

-

-  Any moment of the chase

-  I can leave you in my place

-  A pink bough for your embrace.

-

-  Yet if over hill and hollow,

-  Still it is your will to follow,

-  I am off;--to heel, Apollo!

-

-

-

-

-_Portrait by a Neighbour_

-

-

-  Before she has her floor swept

-    Or her dishes done,

-  Any day you’ll find her

-    A-sunning in the sun!

-

-  It’s long after midnight

-    Her key’s in the lock,

-  And you never see her chimney smoke

-    Till past ten o’clock!

-

-  She digs in her garden

-    With a shovel and a spoon,

-  She weeds her lazy lettuce

-    By the light of the moon.

-

-  She walks up the walk

-    Like a woman in a dream,

-  She forgets she borrowed butter

-    And pays you back cream!

-

-  Her lawn looks like a meadow,

-    And if she mows the place

-  She leaves the clover standing

-    And the Queen Anne’s lace!

-

-

-

-

-_The Merry Maid_

-

-

-  Oh, I am grown so free from care

-    Since my heart broke!

-  I set my throat against the air,

-    I laugh at simple folk!

-

-  There’s little kind and little fair

-    Is worth its weight in smoke

-  To me, that’s grown so free from care

-    Since my heart broke!

-

-  Lass, if to sleep you would repair

-    As peaceful as you woke,

-  Best not besiege your lover there

-    For just the words he spoke

-  To me, that’s grown so free from care

-    Since my heart broke!

-

-

-

-

-_To S. M._

-

-

-    _If he should lie a-dying_

-

-  I am not willing you should go

-  Into the earth, where Helen went;

-  She is awake by now, I know.

-  Where Cleopatra’s anklets rust

-  You will not lie with my consent;

-  And Sappho is a roving dust;

-  Cressid could love again; Dido,

-  Rotted in state, is restless still;

-  You leave me much against my will.

-

-

-

-

-_The Philosopher_

-

-

-  And what are you that, wanting you,

-    I should be kept awake

-  As many nights as there are days

-    With weeping for your sake?

-

-  And what are you that, missing you,

-    As many days as crawl

-  I should be listening to the wind

-    And looking at the wall?

-

-  I know a man that’s a braver man

-    And twenty men as kind,

-  And what are you, that you should be

-    The one man in my mind?

-

-  Yet women’s ways are witless ways,

-    As any sage will tell,--

-  And what am I, that I should love

-    So wisely and so well?

-

-

-

-

-_Four Sonnets_

-

-

-I

-

-  Love, though for this you riddle me with darts,

-  And drag me at your chariot till I die,--

-  Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of hearts!--

-  Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lie

-  Who shout you mighty: thick about my hair,

-  Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr,

-  Who still am free, unto no querulous care

-  A fool, and in no temple worshipper!

-  I, that have bared me to your quiver’s fire,

-  Lifted my face into its puny rain,

-  Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke Desire

-  As you are Powerless to Elicit Pain!

-  (Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave,

-  Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!)

-

-

-II

-

-  I think I should have loved you presently,

-  And given in earnest words I flung in jest;

-  And lifted honest eyes for you to see,

-  And caught your hand against my cheek and breast;

-  And all my pretty follies flung aside

-  That won you to me, and beneath your gaze,

-  Naked of reticence and shorn of pride,

-  Spread like a chart my little wicked ways.

-  I, that had been to you, had you remained,

-  But one more waking from a recurrent dream,

-  Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained,

-  And walk your memory’s halls, austere, supreme,

-  A ghost in marble of a girl you knew

-  Who would have loved you in a day or two.

-

-

-III

-

-  Oh, think not I am faithful to a vow!

-  Faithless am I save to love’s self alone.

-  Were you not lovely I would leave you now:

-  After the feet of beauty fly my own.

-  Were you not still my hunger’s rarest food,

-  And water ever to my wildest thirst,

-  I would desert you--think not but I would!--

-  And seek another as I sought you first.

-  But you are mobile as the veering air,

-  And all your charms more changeful than the tide,

-  Wherefore to be inconstant is no care:

-  I have but to continue at your side.

-  So wanton, light and false, my love, are you,

-  I am most faithless when I most am true.

-

-

-IV

-

-  I shall forget you presently, my dear,

-  So make the most of this, your little day,

-  Your little month, your little half a year,

-  Ere I forget, or die, or move away,

-  And we are done forever; by and by

-  I shall forget you, as I said, but now,

-  If you entreat me with your loveliest lie

-  I will protest you with my favourite vow.

-  I would indeed that love were longer-lived,

-  And oaths were not so brittle as they are,

-  But so it is, and nature has contrived

-  To struggle on without a break thus far,--

-  Whether or not we find what we are seeking

-  Is idle, biologically speaking.

-

-

-

-

-SECTION THREE

-

-

-

-

-_Spring_

-

-

-  To what purpose, April, do you return again?

-  Beauty is not enough.

-  You can no longer quiet me with the redness

-  Of little leaves opening stickily.

-  I know what I know.

-  The sun is hot on my neck as I observe

-  The spikes of the crocus.

-  The smell of the earth is good.

-  It is apparent that there is no death.

-  But what does that signify?

-  Not only under ground are the brains of men

-  Eaten by maggots.

-  Life in itself

-  Is nothing,

-  An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.

-  It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,

-  April

-  Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

-

-

-

-

-_City Trees_

-

-

-  The trees along this city street,

-    Save for the traffic and the trains,

-  Would make a sound as thin and sweet

-    As trees in country lanes.

-

-  And people standing in their shade

-    Out of a shower, undoubtedly

-  Would hear such music as is made

-    Upon a country tree.

-

-  Oh, little leaves that are so dumb

-    Against the shrieking city air,

-  I watch you when the wind has come--

-    I know what sound is there.

-

-

-

-

-_The Blue-Flag in the Bog_

-

-

-  God had called us, and we came;

-    Our loved Earth to ashes left;

-  Heaven was a neighbour’s house,

-    Open flung to us, bereft.

-

-  Gay the lights of Heaven showed,

-    And ’twas God Who walked ahead;

-  Yet I wept along the road,

-    Wanting my own house instead.

-

-  Wept unseen, unheeded cried,

-    “All you things my eyes have kissed,

-  Fare you well! We meet no more,

-    Lovely, lovely tattered mist!

-

-    Weary wings that rise and fall

-  All day long above the fire!”--

-    Red with heat was every wall,

-  Rough with heat was every wire--

-

-  “Fare you well, you little winds

-    That the flying embers chase!

-  Fare you well, you shuddering day,

-    With your hands before your face!

-

-  And, ah, blackened by strange blight,

-    Or to a false sun unfurled,

-  Now for evermore good-bye,

-    All the gardens in the world!

-

-  On the windless hills of Heaven,

-    That I have no wish to see,

-  White, eternal lilies stand,

-    By a lake of ebony.

-

-  But the Earth forevermore

-    Is a place where nothing grows,--

-  Dawn will come, and no bud break;

-    Evening, and no blossom close.

-

-  Spring will come, and wander slow

-    Over an indifferent land,

-  Stand beside an empty creek,

-    Hold a dead seed in her hand.”

-

-  God had called us, and we came,

-    But the blessed road I trod

-  Was a bitter road to me,

-    And at heart I questioned God.

-

-  “Though in Heaven,” I said, “be all

-    That the heart would most desire,

-  Held Earth naught save souls of sinners

-    Worth the saving from a fire?

-

-  Withered grass,--the wasted growing!

-    Aimless ache of laden boughs!”

-  Little things God had forgotten

-    Called me, from my burning house.

-

-  “Though in Heaven,” I said, “be all

-    That the eye could ask to see,

-  All the things I ever knew

-    Are this blaze in back of me.”

-

-  “Though in Heaven,” I said, “be all

-    That the ear could think to lack,

-  All the things I ever knew

-    Are this roaring at my back.”

-

-  It was God Who walked ahead,

-    Like a shepherd to the fold;

-  In His footsteps fared the weak,

-    And the weary and the old,

-

-  Glad enough of gladness over,

-    Ready for the peace to be,--

-  But a thing God had forgotten

-    Was the growing bones of me.

-

-  And I drew a bit apart,

-    And I lagged a bit behind,

-  And I thought on Peace Eternal,

-    Lest He look into my mind;

-

-  And I gazed upon the sky,

-    And I thought of Heavenly Rest,--

-  And I slipped away like water

-    Through the fingers of the blest!

-

-  All their eyes were fixed on Glory,

-    Not a glance brushed over me;

-  “Alleluia! Alleluia!”

-    Up the road,--and I was free.

-

-  And my heart rose like a freshet,

-    And it swept me on before,

-  Giddy as a whirling stick,

-    Till I felt the earth once more.

-

-  All the Earth was charred and black,

-    had swept from pole to pole;

-  And the bottom of the sea

-    Was as brittle as a bowl;

-

-  And the timbered mountain-top

-    Was as naked as a skull,--

-  Nothing left, nothing left,

-    Of the Earth so beautiful!

-

-  “Earth,” I said, “how can I leave you?

-    “You are all I have,” I said;

-  “What is left to take my mind up,

-    Living always, and you dead?

-

-  “Speak!” I said, “Oh, tell me something!

-    Make a sign that I can see!

-  For a keepsake! To keep always!

-    Quick!--before God misses me!”

-

-  And I listened for a voice;--

-    But my heart was all I heard;

-  Not a screech-owl, not a loon,

-    Not a tree-toad said a word.

-

-  And I waited for a sign;--

-    Coals and cinders, nothing more;

-  And a little cloud of smoke

-    Floating on a valley floor.

-

-  And I peered into the smoke

-    Till it rotted, like a fog:--

-  There, encompassed round by fire,

-    Stood a blue-flag in a bog!

-

-  Little flames came wading out,

-    Straining, draining towards its stem,

-  But it was so blue and tall

-    That it scorned to think of them!

-

-  Red and thirsty were their tongues,

-    As the tongues of wolves must be,

-  But it was so blue and tall--

-    Oh, I laughed, I cried, to see!

-

-  All my heart became a tear,

-    All my soul became a tower,

-  Never loved I anything

-    As I loved that tall blue flower!

-

-  It was all the little boats

-    That had ever sailed the sea,

-  It was all the little books

-    That had gone to school with me;

-

-  On its roots like iron claws

-    Rearing up so blue and tall,--

-  It was all the gallant Earth

-    With its back against a wall!

-

-  In a breath, ere I had breathed,--

-    Oh, I laughed, I cried, to see!--

-  I was kneeling at its side,

-    And it leaned its head on me!

-

-  Crumbling stones and sliding sand

-    Is the road to Heaven now;

-  Icy at my straining knees

-    Drags the awful under-tow;

-

-  Soon but stepping-stones of dust

-    Will the road to Heaven be,--

-  Father, Son and Holy Ghost,

-    Reach a hand and rescue me!

-

-  “There--there, my blue-flag flower;

-    Hush--hush--go to sleep;

-  That is only God you hear,

-    Counting up His folded sheep!

-

-  Lullabye--lullabye--

-    That is only God that calls,

-  Missing me, seeking me,

-    Ere the road to nothing falls!

-

-  He will set His mighty feet

-    Firmly on the sliding sand;

-  Like a little frightened bird

-    I will creep into His hand;

-

-  I will tell Him all my grief,

-    I will tell Him all my sin;

-  He will give me half His robe

-    For a cloak to wrap you in.

-

-  Lullabye--lullabye--”

-    Rocks the burnt-out planet free!--

-  Father, Son and Holy Ghost,

-    Reach a hand and rescue me!

-

-  Ah, the voice of love at last!

-    Lo, at last the face of light!

-  And the whole of His white robe

-    For a cloak against the night!

-

-  And upon my heart asleep

-    All the things I ever knew!--

-  “Holds Heaven not some cranny, Lord,

-    For a flower so tall and blue?”

-

-  All’s well and all’s well!

-    Gay the lights of Heaven show!

-  In some moist and Heavenly place

-    We will set it out to grow.

-

-

-

-

-_Eel-Grass_

-

-

-  No matter what I say,

-    All that I really love

-  Is the rain that flattens on the bay,

-    And the eel-grass in the cove;

-  The jingle-shells that lie and bleach

-    At the tide-line, and the trace

-  Of higher tides along the beach:

-    Nothing in this place.

-

-

-

-

-_Elegy before Death_

-

-

-  There will be rose and rhododendron

-    When you are dead and under ground;

-  Still will be heard from white syringas

-    Heavy with bees, a sunny sound;

-

-  Still will the tamaracks be raining

-    After the rain has ceased, and still

-  Will there be robins in the stubble,

-    Brown sheep upon the warm green hill.

-

-  Spring will not ail nor autumn falter;

-    Nothing will know that you are gone,

-  Saving alone some sullen plough-land

-    None but yourself sets foot upon;

-

-  Saving the may-weed and the pig-weed

-    Nothing will know that you are dead,--

-  These, and perhaps a useless wagon

-    Standing beside some tumbled shed.

-

-  Oh, there will pass with your great passing

-    Little of beauty not your own,--

-  Only the light from common water,

-    Only the grace from simple stone!

-

-

-

-

-_The Bean-Stalk_

-

-

-  Ho, Giant! This is I!

-  I have built me a bean-stalk into your sky!

-  La,--but it’s lovely, up so high!

-

-  This is how I came,--I put

-  There my knee, here my foot,

-  Up and up, from shoot to shoot--

-  And the blessed bean-stalk thinning

-  Like the mischief all the time,

-  Till it took me rocking, spinning,

-  In a dizzy, sunny circle,

-  Making angles with the root,

-  Far and out above the cackle

-  Of the city I was born in,

-  Till the little dirty city

-  In the light so sheer and sunny

-  Shone as dazzling bright and pretty

-  As the money that you find

-  In a dream of finding money--

-  What a wind! What a morning!--

-

-  Till the tiny, shiny city,

-  When I shot a glance below,

-  Shaken with a giddy laughter,

-  Sick and blissfully afraid,

-  Was a dew-drop on a blade,

-  And a pair of moments after

-  Was the whirling guess I made,--

-  And the wind was like a whip

-  Cracking past my icy ears,

-  And my hair stood out behind,

-  And my eyes were full of tears,

-  Wide-open and cold,

-  More tears than they could hold,

-  The wind was blowing so,

-  And my teeth were in a row,

-  Dry and grinning,

-  And I felt my foot slip,

-  And I scratched the wind and whined,

-  And I clutched the stalk and jabbered,

-  With my eyes shut blind,--

-  What a wind! What a wind!

-

-  Your broad sky, Giant,

-  Is the shelf of a cupboard;

-  I make bean-stalks, I’m

-  A builder, like yourself,

-  But bean-stalks is my trade,

-  I couldn’t make a shelf,

-  Don’t know how they’re made,

-  Now, a bean-stalk is more pliant--

-  La, what a climb!

-

-

-

-

-_Weeds_

-

-

-  White with daisies and red with sorrel

-    And empty, empty under the sky!--

-  Life is a quest and love a quarrel--

-    Here is a place for me to lie.

-

-  Daisies spring from damnèd seeds,

-    And this red fire that here I see

-  Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,

-    Cursed by farmers thriftily.

-

-  But here, unhated for an hour,

-    The sorrel runs in ragged flame,

-  The daisy stands, a bastard flower,

-    Like flowers that bear an honest name.

-

-  And here a while, where no wind brings

-    The baying of a pack athirst,

-  May sleep the sleep of blessed things

-    The blood too bright, the brow accurst.

-

-

-

-

-_Passer Mortuus Est_

-

-

-  Death devours all lovely things;

-    Lesbia with her sparrow

-  Shares the darkness,--presently

-    Every bed is narrow.

-

-  Unremembered as old rain

-    Dries the sheer libation,

-  And the little petulant hand

-    Is an annotation.

-

-  After all, my erstwhile dear,

-    My no longer cherished,

-  Need we say it was not love,

-    Now that love is perished?

-

-

-

-

-_Pastoral_

-

-

-  If it were only still!--

-  With far away the shrill

-  Crying of a cock;

-  Or the shaken bell

-  From a cow’s throat

-  Moving through the bushes;

-  Or the soft shock

-  Of wizened apples falling

-  From an old tree

-  In a forgotten orchard

-  Upon the hilly rock!

-

-  Oh, grey hill,

-  Where the grazing herd

-  Licks the purple blossom,

-  Crops the spiky weed!

-  Oh, stony pasture,

-  Where the tall mullein

-  Stands up so sturdy

-  On its little seed!

-

-

-

-

-_Assault_

-

-

-I

-

-  I had forgotten how the frogs must sound

-  After a year of silence, else I think

-  I should not so have ventured forth alone

-  At dusk upon this unfrequented road.

-

-

-II

-

-  I am waylaid by Beauty. Who will walk

-  Between me and the crying of the frogs?

-  Oh, savage Beauty, suffer me to pass,

-  That am a timid woman, on her way

-  From one house to another!

-

-

-

-

-_Travel_

-

-

-  The railroad track is miles away,

-    And the day is loud with voices speaking,

-  Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day

-    But I hear its whistle shrieking.

-

-  All night there isn’t a train goes by,

-    Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,

-  But I see its cinders red on the sky,

-    And hear its engine steaming.

-

-  My heart is warm with the friends I make,

-    And better friends I’ll not be knowing,

-  Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,

-    No matter where it’s going.

-

-

-

-

-_Low-Tide_

-

-

-  These wet rocks where the tide has been,

-    Barnacled white and weeded brown

-  And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,

-    These wet rocks where the tide went down

-  Will show again when the tide is high

-    Faint and perilous, far from shore,

-  No place to dream, but a place to die,--

-    The bottom of the sea once more.

-  _There was a child that wandered through

-    A giant’s empty house all day,--

-  House full of wonderful things and new,

-    But no fit place for a child to play._

-

-

-

-

-_Song of a Second April_

-

-

-  April this year, not otherwise

-    Than April of a year ago,

-  Is full of whispers, full of sighs,

-    Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;

-    Hepaticas that pleased you so

-  Are here again, and butterflies.

-

-  There rings a hammering all day,

-    And shingles lie about the doors;

-  In orchards near and far away

-    The grey woodpecker taps and bores;

-    And men are merry at their chores,

-  And children earnest at their play.

-

-  The larger streams run still and deep,

-    Noisy and swift the small brooks run

-  Among the mullein stalks the sheep

-    Go up the hillside in the sun,

-    Pensively,--only you are gone,

-  You that alone I cared to keep.

-

-

-

-

-_The Poet and his Book_

-

-

-  _Down, you mongrel, Death!

-    Back into your kennel!

-  I have stolen breath

-    In a stalk of fennel!

-  You shall scratch and you shall whine

-    Many a night, and you shall worry

-    Many a bone, before you bury

-  One sweet bone of mine!_

-

-  When shall I be dead?

-    When my flesh is withered,

-  And above my head

-    Yellow pollen gathered

-  All the empty afternoon?

-    When sweet lovers pause and wonder

-    Who am I that lie thereunder,

-  Hidden from the moon?

-

-  This my personal death?--

-    That my lungs be failing

-  To inhale the breath

-    Others are exhaling?

-  This my subtle spirit’s end?--

-    Ah, when the thawed winter splashes

-    Over these chance dust and ashes,

-  Weep not me, my friend!

-

-  Me, by no means dead

-    In that hour, but surely

-  When this book, unread,

-    Rots to earth obscurely,

-  And no more to any breast,

-    Close against the clamorous swelling

-    Of the thing there is no telling,

-  Are these pages pressed!

-

-  When this book is mould,

-    And a book of many

-  Waiting to be sold

-    For a casual penny,

-  In a little open case,

-    In a street unclean and cluttered,

-    Where a heavy mud is spattered

-  From the passing drays,

-

-  Stranger, pause and look;

-    From the dust of ages

-  Lift this little book,

-    Turn the tattered pages,

-  Read me, do not let me die!

-    Search the fading letters, finding

-    Steadfast in the broken binding

-  All that once was I!

-

-  When these veins are weeds,

-    When these hollowed sockets

-  Watch the rooty seeds

-    Bursting down like rockets,

-  And surmise the spring again,

-    Or, remote in that black cupboard,

-    Watch the pink worms writhing upward

-  At the smell of rain,

-

-  Boys and girls that lie

-    Whispering in the hedges,

-  Do not let me die,

-    Mix me with your pledges;

-  Boys and girls that slowly walk

-    In the woods, and weep, and quarrel,

-    Staring past the pink wild laurel,

-  Mix me with your talk,

-

-  Do not let me die!

-    Farmers at your raking,

-  When the sun is high,

-    While the hay is making,

-  When, along the stubble strewn,

-    Withering on their stalks uneaten,

-    Strawberries turn dark and sweeten

-  In the lapse of noon;

-

-  Shepherds on the hills,

-    In the pastures, drowsing

-  To the tinkling bells

-    Of the brown sheep browsing;

-  Sailors crying through the storm;

-    Scholars at your study; hunters

-    Lost amid the whirling winter’s

-  Whiteness uniform;

-

-  Men that long for sleep;

-    Men that wake and revel;--

-  If an old song leap

-    To your senses’ level

-  At such moments, may it be

-    Sometimes, though a moment only,

-    Some forgotten, quaint and homely

-  Vehicle of me!

-

-  Women at your toil,

-    Women at your leisure

-  Till the kettle boil,

-    Snatch of me your pleasure,

-  Where the broom-straw marks the leaf;

-    Women quiet with your weeping

-    Lest you wake a workman sleeping,

-  Mix me with your grief!

-

-  Boys and girls that steal

-    From the shocking laughter

-  Of the old, to kneel

-    By a dripping rafter

-  Under the discoloured eaves,

-    Out of trunks with hingeless covers

-    Lifting tales of saints and lovers,

-  Travellers, goblins, thieves,

-

-  Suns that shine by night,

-    Mountains made from valleys,--

-  Bear me to the light,

-    Flat upon your bellies

-  By the webby window lie,

-    Where the little flies are crawling,--

-    Read me, margin me with scrawling,

-  Do not let me die!

-

-  _Sexton, ply your trade!

-    In a shower of gravel

-  Stamp upon your spade!

-    Many a rose shall ravel,

-  Many a metal wreath shall rust

-    In the rain, and I go singing

-    Through the lots where you are flinging

-  Yellow clay on dust!_

-

-

-

-

-_Alms_

-

-

-  My heart is what it was before,

-    A house where people come and go;

-  But it is winter with your love,

-    The sashes are beset with snow.

-

-  I light the lamp and lay the cloth,

-    I blow the coals to blaze again;

-  But it is winter with your love,

-    The frost is thick upon the pane.

-

-  I know a winter when it comes:

-    The leaves are listless on the boughs;

-  I watched your love a little while,

-    And brought my plants into the house.

-

-  I water them and turn them south,

-    I snap the dead brown from the stem;

-  But it is winter with your love,--

-    I only tend and water them.

-

-  There was a time I stood and watched

-    The small, ill-natured sparrows’ fray;

-  I loved the beggar that I fed,

-    I cared for what he had to say,

-

-  I stood and watched him out of sight;

-    To-day I reach around the door

-  And set a bowl upon the step;

-    My heart is what it was before,

-

-  But it is winter with your love;

-    I scatter crumbs upon the sill,

-  And close the window,--and the birds

-    May take or leave them, as they will.

-

-

-

-

-_Inland_

-

-

-  People that build their houses inland,

-    People that buy a plot of ground

-  Shaped like a house, and build a house there,

-    Far from the sea-board, far from the sound

-

-  Of water sucking the hollow ledges,

-    Tons of water striking the shore,--

-  What do they long for, as I long for

-    One salt smell of the sea once more?

-

-  People the waves have not awakened,

-    Spanking the boats at the harbour’s head,

-  What do they long for, as I long for,--

-    Starting up in my inland bed,

-

-  Beating the narrow walls, and finding

-    Neither a window nor a door,

-  Screaming to God for death by drowning,--

-    One salt taste of the sea once more?

-

-

-

-

-_To a Poet that Died Young_

-

-

-  Minstrel, what have you to do

-  With this man that, after you,

-  Sharing not your happy fate,

-  Sat as England’s Laureate?

-  Vainly, in these iron days,

-  Strives the poet in your praise,

-  Minstrel, by whose singing side

-  Beauty walked, until you died.

-

-  Still, though none should hark again,

-  Drones the blue-fly in the pane,

-  Thickly crusts the blackest moss,

-  Blows the rose its musk across,

-  Floats the boat that is forgot

-  None the less to Camelot.

-

-  Many a bard’s untimely death

-  Lends unto his verses breath;

-  Here’s a song was never sung:

-  Growing old is dying young.

-  Minstrel, what is this to you:

-  That a man you never knew,

-  When your grave was far and green,

-  Sat and gossipped with a queen?

-

-  Thalia knows how rare a thing

-  Is it, to grow old and sing;

-  When the brown and tepid tide

-  Closes in on every side.

-  Who shall say if Shelley’s gold

-  Had withstood it to grow old?

-

-

-

-

-_Wraith_

-

-

-  “Thin Rain, whom are you haunting,

-    That you haunt my door?”

-  --Surely it is not I she’s wanting;

-    Someone living here before--

-  “Nobody’s in the house but me:

-  You may come in if you like and see.”

-

-  Thin as thread, with exquisite fingers,--

-    Have you seen her, any of you?--

-  Grey shawl, and leaning on the wind,

-    And the garden showing through?

-

-  Glimmering eyes,--and silent, mostly,

-    Sort of a whisper, sort of a purr,

-  Asking something, asking it over,

-    If you get a sound from her.--

-

-  Ever see her, any of you?--

-    Strangest thing I’ve ever known,--

-  Every night since I moved in,

-    And I came to be alone.

-

-  “Thin Rain, hush with your knocking!

-    You may not come in!

-  This is I that you hear rocking;

-    Nobody’s with me, nor has been!”

-

-  Curious, how she tried the window,--

-    Odd, the way she tries the door,--

-  _Wonder just what sort of people

-    Could have had this house before...._

-

-

-

-

-_Ebb_

-

-

-  I know what my heart is like

-    Since your love died:

-  It is like a hollow ledge

-  Holding a little pool

-    Left there by the tide,

-    A little tepid pool,

-  Drying inward from the edge.

-

-

-

-

-_Elaine_

-

-

-  Oh, come again to Astolat!

-    I will not ask you to be kind.

-  And you may go when you will go,

-    And I will stay behind.

-

-  I will not say how dear you are,

-    Or ask you if you hold me dear,

-  Or trouble you with things for you

-    The way I did last year.

-

-  So still the orchard, Lancelot,

-    So very still the lake shall be,

-  You could not guess--though you should guess--

-    What is become of me.

-

-  So wide shall be the garden-walk,

-    The garden-seat so very wide,

-  You needs must think--if you should think--

-    The lily maid had died.

-

-  Save that, a little way away,

-    I’d watch you for a little while,

-  To see you speak, the way you speak,

-    And smile,--if you should smile.

-

-

-

-

-_Burial_

-

-

-  Mine is a body that should die at sea!

-    And have for a grave, instead of a grave

-  Six feet deep and the length of me,

-    All the water that is under the wave!

-

-  And terrible fishes to seize my flesh,

-    Such as a living man might fear,

-  And eat me while I am firm and fresh,--

-    Not wait till I’ve been dead for a year!

-

-

-

-

-_Mariposa_

-

-

-  Butterflies are white and blue

-  In this field we wander through.

-  Suffer me to take your hand.

-  Death comes in a day or two.

-

-  All the things we ever knew

-  Will be ashes in that hour.

-  Mark the transient butterfly,

-  How he hangs upon the flower.

-

-  Suffer me to take your hand.

-  Suffer me to cherish you

-  Till the dawn is in the sky.

-  Whether I be false or true,

-  Death comes in a day or two.

-

-

-

-

-_Doubt no more that Oberon_

-

-

-  Doubt no more that Oberon--

-  Never doubt that Pan

-  Lived, and played a reed, and ran

-  After nymphs in a dark forest

-  In the merry, credulous days,--

-  Lived, and led a fairy band

-  Over the indulgent land!

-  Ah, for in this dourest, sorest

-  Age man’s eye has looked upon,

-  Death to fauns and death to fays,

-  Still the dog-wood dares to raise--

-  Healthy tree, with trunk and root--

-  Ivory bowls that bear no fruit,

-  And the starlings and the jays--

-  Birds that cannot even sing--

-  Dare to come again in spring!

-

-

-

-

-_Lament_

-

-

-  Listen, children:

-  Your father is dead.

-  From his old coats

-  I’ll make you little jackets;

-  I’ll make you little trousers

-  From his old pants.

-  There’ll be in his pockets

-  Things he used to put there,

-  Keys and pennies

-  Covered with tobacco;

-  Dan shall have the pennies

-  To save in his bank;

-  Anne shall have the keys

-  To make a pretty noise with.

-  Life must go on,

-  And the dead be forgotten;

-  Life must go on,

-  Though good men die;

-  Anne, eat your breakfast;

-  Dan, take your medicine;

-  Life must go on;

-  I forget just why.

-

-

-

-

-_Exiled_

-

-

-  Searching my heart for its true sorrow,

-    This is the thing I find to be:

-  That I am weary of words and people,

-    Sick of the city, wanting the sea;

-

-  Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness

-    Of the strong wind and shattered spray;

-  Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound

-    Of the big surf that breaks all day.

-

-  Always before about my dooryard,

-    Marking the reach of the winter sea,

-  Rooted in sand and dragging drift-wood,

-    Straggled the purple wild sweet-pea;

-

-  Always I climbed the wave at morning,

-    Shook the sand from my shoes at night,

-  That now am caught beneath great buildings

-    Stricken with noise, confused with light.

-

-  If I could hear the green piles groaning

-    Under the windy wooden piers,

-  See once again the bobbing barrels,

-    And the black sticks that fence the weirs,

-

-  If I could see the weedy mussels

-    Crusting the wrecked and rotting hulls,

-  Hear once again the hungry crying

-    Overhead, of the wheeling gulls,

-

-  Feel once again the shanty straining

-    Under the turning of the tide,

-  Fear once again the rising freshet,

-    Dread the bell in the fog outside,--

-

-  I should be happy,--that was happy

-    All day long on the coast of Maine!

-  I have a need to hold and handle

-    Shells and anchors and ships again!

-

-  I should be happy, that am happy

-    Never at all since I came here.

-  I am too long away from water.

-    I have a need of water near.

-

-

-

-

-_The Death of Autumn_

-

-

-  When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,

-  And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind

-  Like agèd warriors westward, tragic, thinned

-  Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,

-  Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak,

-  Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek,--

-  Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushes

-  My heart. I know that Beauty must ail and die,

-  And will be born again,--but ah, to see

-  Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky!

-  Oh, Autumn! Autumn!--What is the Spring to me?

-

-

-

-

-_Ode to Silence_

-

-

-  Aye, but she?

-  Your other sister and my other soul,

-  Grave Silence, lovelier

-  Than the three loveliest maidens, what of her?

-  Clio, not you,

-  Not you, Calliope,

-  Nor all your wanton line,

-  Not Beauty’s perfect self shall comfort me

-  For Silence once departed,

-  For her the cool-tongued, her the tranquil-hearted,

-  Whom evermore I follow wilfully,

-  Wandering Heaven and Earth and Hell and the four seasons through;

-  Thalia, not you,

-  Not you, Melpomene,

-  Not your incomparable feet, O thin Terpsichore,

-  I seek in this great hall,

-  But one more pale, more pensive, most beloved of you all.

-  I seek her from afar.

-  I come from temples where her altars are,

-  From groves that bear her name,

-  Noisy with stricken victims now and sacrificial flame,

-  And cymbals struck on high and strident faces

-  Obstreperous in her praise

-  They neither love nor know,

-  A goddess of gone days,

-  Departed long ago,

-  Abandoning the invaded shrines and fanes

-  Of her old sanctuary,

-  A deity obscure and legendary,

-  Of whom there now remains,

-  For sages to decipher and priests to garble,

-  Only and for a little while her letters wedged in marble,

-  Which even now, behold, the friendly mumbling rain erases,

-  And the inarticulate snow,

-  Leaving at last of her least signs and traces

-  None whatsoever, nor whither she is vanished from these places.

-

-  “She will love well,” I said,

-  “If love be of that heart inhabiter,

-  The flowers of the dead;

-  The red anemone that with no sound

-  Moves in the wind, and from another wound

-  That sprang, the heavily-sweet blue hyacinth,

-  That blossoms underground,

-  And sallow poppies, will be dear to her.

-  And will not Silence know

-  In the black shade of what obsidian steep

-  Stiffens the white narcissus numb with sleep?

-  (Seed which Demeter’s daughter bore from home,

-  Uptorn by desperate fingers long ago,

-  Reluctant even as she,

-  Undone Persephone,

-  And even as she set out again to grow

-  In twilight, in perdition’s lean and inauspicious loam).

-  She will love well,” I said,

-  “The flowers of the dead;

-  Where dark Persephone the winter round,

-  Uncomforted for home, uncomforted,

-  Lacking a sunny southern slope in northern Sicily,

-  With sullen pupils focussed on a dream,

-  Stares on the stagnant stream

-  That moats the unequivocable battlements of Hell,

-  There, there will she be found,

-  She that is Beauty veiled from men and Music in a swound.”

-

-  “I long for Silence as they long for breath

-  Whose helpless nostrils drink the bitter sea;

-  What thing can be

-  So stout, what so redoubtable, in Death

-  What fury, what considerable rage, if only she,

-  Upon whose icy breast,

-  Unquestioned, uncaressed,

-  One time I lay,

-  And whom always I lack,

-  Even to this day,

-  Being by no means from that frigid bosom weaned away,

-  If only she therewith be given me back?”

-

-  I sought her down that dolorous labyrinth,

-  Wherein no shaft of sunlight ever fell,

-  And in among the bloodless everywhere

-  I sought her, but the air,

-  Breathed many times and spent,

-  Was fretful with a whispering discontent,

-  And questioning me, importuning me to tell

-  Some slightest tidings of the light of day they know no more,

-  Plucking my sleeve, the eager shades were with me where I went.

-  I paused at every grievous door,

-  And harked a moment, holding up my hand,--and for a space

-  A hush was on them, while they watched my face;

-  And then they fell a-whispering as before;

-  So that I smiled at them and left them, seeing she was not there.

-  I sought her, too,

-  Among the upper gods, although I knew

-  She was not like to be where feasting is,

-  Nor near to Heaven’s lord,

-  Being a thing abhorred

-  And shunned of him, although a child of his,

-  (Not yours, not yours; to you she owes not breath,

-  Mother of Song, being sown of Zeus upon a dream of Death).

-  Fearing to pass unvisited some place

-  And later learn, too late, how all the while,

-  With her still face,

-  She had been standing there and seen me pass, without a smile,

-  I sought her even to the sagging board whereat

-  The stout immortals sat;

-  But such a laughter shook the mighty hall

-  No one could hear me say:

-  Had she been seen upon the Hill that day?

-  And no one knew at all

-  How long I stood or when at last I sighed and went away.

-

-  There is a garden lying in a lull

-  Between the mountains and the mountainous sea,

-  I know not where, but which a dream diurnal

-  Paints on my lids a moment till the hull

-  Be lifted from the kernel

-  And Slumber fed to me.

-  Your foot-print is not there, Mnemosene,

-  Though it would seem a ruined place and after

-  Your lichenous heart, being full

-  Of broken columns, caryatides

-  Thrown to the earth and fallen forward on their jointless knees,

-  And urns funereal altered into dust

-  Minuter than the ashes of the dead,

-  And Psyche’s lamp out of the earth up-thrust,

-  Dripping itself in marble wax on what was once the bed

-  Of Love, and his young body asleep, but now is dust instead.

-

-  There twists the bitter-sweet, the white wisteria

-  Fastens its fingers in the strangling wall,

-  And the wide crannies quicken with bright weeds;

-  There dumbly like a worm all day the still white orchid feeds;

-  But never an echo of your daughters’ laughter

-  Is there, nor any sign of you at all

-  Swells fungous from the rotten bough, grey mother of Pieria!

-  Only her shadow once upon a stone

-  I saw,--and, lo, the shadow and the garden, too, were gone.

-

-  I tell you you have done her body an ill,

-  You chatterers, you noisy crew!

-  She is not anywhere!

-  I sought her in deep Hell;

-  And through the world as well;

-  I thought of Heaven and I sought her there;

-  Above nor underground

-  Is Silence to be found,

-  That was the very warp and woof of you,

-  Lovely before your songs began and after they were through!

-  Oh, say if on this hill

-  Somewhere your sister’s body lies in death,

-  So I may follow there, and make a wreath

-  Of my locked hands, that on her quiet breast

-  Shall lie till age has withered them!

-

-                          (Ah, sweetly from the rest

-  I see

-  Turn and consider me

-  Compassionate Euterpe!)

-  “There is a gate beyond the gate of Death,

-  Beyond the gate of everlasting Life,

-  Beyond the gates of Heaven and Hell,” she saith,

-  “Whereon but to believe is horror!

-  Whereon to meditate engendereth

-  Even in deathless spirits such as I

-  A tumult in the breath,

-  A chilling of the inexhaustible blood

-  Even in my veins that never will be dry,

-  And in the austere, divine monotony

-  That is my being, the madness of an unaccustomed mood.

-

-  This is her province whom you lack and seek;

-  And seek her not elsewhere.

-  Hell is a thoroughfare

-  For pilgrims,--Herakles,

-  And he that loved Euridice too well,

-  Have walked therein; and many more than these;

-  And witnessed the desire and the despair

-  Of souls that passed reluctantly and sicken for the air;

-  You, too, have entered Hell,

-  And issued thence; but thence whereof I speak

-  None has returned;--for thither fury brings

-  Only the driven ghosts of them that flee before all things.

-  Oblivion is the name of this abode: and she is there.”

-  Oh, radiant Song! Oh, gracious Memory!

-  Be long upon this height

-  I shall not climb again!

-  I know the way you mean,--the little night,

-  And the long empty day,--never to see

-  Again the angry light,

-  Or hear the hungry noises cry my brain!

-

-  Ah, but she,

-  Your other sister and my other soul,

-  She shall again be mine;

-  And I shall drink her from a silver bowl,

-  A chilly thin green wine,

-  Not bitter to the taste,

-  Not sweet,

-  Not of your press, oh, restless, clamorous nine,--

-  To foam beneath the frantic hoofs of mirth--

-  But savouring faintly of the acid earth,

-  And trod by pensive feet

-  From perfect clusters ripened without haste

-  Out of the urgent heat

-  In some clear glimmering vaulted twilight under the odorous vine.

-

-  Lift up your lyres! Sing on!

-  But as for me, I seek your sister whither she is gone.

-

-

-

-

-_Memorial to D. C._

-

-[VASSAR COLLEGE, 1918]

-

-

-  _Oh, loveliest throat of all sweet throats,

-    Where now no more the music is,

-  With hands that wrote you little notes

-    I write you little elegies!_

-

-

-

-

-I

-

-_Epitaph_

-

-

-  Heap not on this mound

-    Roses that she loved so well;

-  Why bewilder her with roses,

-    That she cannot see or smell?

-  She is happy where she lies

-  With the dust upon her eyes.

-

-

-

-

-II

-

-_Prayer to Persephone_

-

-

-  Be to her, Persephone,

-  All the things I might not be;

-  Take her head upon your knee.

-  She that was so proud and wild,

-  Flippant, arrogant and free,

-  She that had no need of me,

-  Is a little lonely child

-  Lost in Hell,--Persephone,

-  Take her head upon your knee;

-  Say to her, “My dear, my dear,

-  It is not so dreadful here.”

-

-

-

-

-III

-

-_Chorus_

-

-

-  Give away her gowns,

-  Give away her shoes;

-  She has no more use

-  For her fragrant gowns;

-  Take them all down,

-  Blue, green, blue,

-  Lilac, pink, blue,

-  From their padded hangers;

-  She will dance no more

-  In her narrow shoes;

-  Sweep her narrow shoes

-  From the closet floor.

-

-

-

-

-IV

-

-_Elegy_

-

-

-  Let them bury your big eyes

-  In the secret earth securely,

-  Your thin fingers, and your fair,

-  Soft, indefinite-coloured hair,--

-  All of these in some way, surely,

-  From the secret earth shall rise;

-  Not for these I sit and stare,

-  Broken and bereft completely;

-  Your young flesh that sat so neatly

-  On your little bones will sweetly

-  Blossom in the air.

-

-  But your voice,--never the rushing

-  Of a river underground,

-  Not the rising of the wind

-  In the trees before the rain,

-  Not the woodcock’s watery call,

-  Not the note the white-throat utters,

-  Not the feet of children pushing

-  Yellow leaves along the gutters

-  In the blue and bitter fall,

-  Shall content my musing mind

-  For the beauty of that sound

-  That in no new way at all

-  Ever will be heard again.

-  Sweetly through the sappy stalk

-  Of the vigorous weed,

-  Holding all it held before,

-  Cherished by the faithful sun,

-  On and on eternally

-  Shall your altered fluid run,

-  Bud and bloom and go to seed;

-  But your singing days are done;

-  But the music of your talk

-  Never shall the chemistry

-  Of the secret earth restore.

-  All your lovely words are spoken.

-  Once the ivory box is broken,

-  Beats the golden bird no more.

-

-

-

-

-V

-

-_Dirge_

-

-

-  Boys and girls that held her dear,

-    Do your weeping now;

-  All you loved of her lies here.

-

-  Brought to earth the arrogant brow,

-    And the withering tongue

-  Chastened; do your weeping now.

-

-  Sing whatever songs are sung,

-    Wind whatever wreath,

-  For a playmate perished young,

-

-  For a spirit spent in death.

-  Boys and girls that held her dear,

-  All you loved of her lies here.

-

-

-

-

-_Sonnets_

-

-

-I

-

-  We talk of taxes, and I call you friend;

-  Well, such you are,--but well enough we know

-  How thick about us root, how rankly grow

-  Those subtle weeds no man has need to tend,

-  That flourish through neglect, and soon must send

-  Perfume too sweet upon us and overthrow

-  Our steady senses; how such matters go

-  We are aware, and how such matters end.

-  Yet shall be told no meagre passion here;

-  With lovers such as we for evermore

-  Isolde drinks the draught, and Guinevere

-  Receives the Table’s ruin through her door,

-  Francesca, with the loud surf at her ear,

-  Lets fall the coloured book upon the floor.

-

-

-II

-

-  Into the golden vessel of great song

-  Let us pour all our passion; breast to breast

-  Let other lovers lie, in love and rest;

-  Not we,--articulate, so, but with the tongue

-  Of all the world: the churning blood, the long

-  Shuddering quiet, the desperate hot palms pressed

-  Sharply together upon the escaping guest,

-  The common soul, unguarded, and grown strong.

-  Longing alone is singer to the lute;

-  Let still on nettles in the open sigh

-  The minstrel, that in slumber is as mute

-  As any man, and love be far and high,

-  That else forsakes the topmost branch, a fruit

-  Found on the ground by every passer-by.

-

-

-III

-

-  Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter

-  We drenched the altars of Love’s sacred grove,

-  Shaking to earth green fruits, impatient after

-  The launching of the coloured moths of Love.

-  Love’s proper myrtle and his mother’s zone

-  We bound about our irreligious brows,

-  And fettered him with garlands of our own,

-  And spread a banquet in his frugal house.

-  Not yet the god has spoken; but I fear

-  Though we should break our bodies in his flame,

-  And pour our blood upon his altar, here

-  Henceforward is a grove without a name,

-  A pasture to the shaggy goats of Pan,

-  Whence flee forever a woman and a man.

-

-

-IV

-

-  Only until this cigarette is ended,

-  A little moment at the end of all,

-  While on the floor the quiet ashes fall,

-  And in the firelight to a lance extended,

-  Bizarrely with the jazzing music blended,

-  The broken shadow dances on the wall,

-  I will permit my memory to recall

-  The vision of you, by all my dreams attended.

-  And then adieu,--farewell!--the dream is done.

-  Yours is a face of which I can forget

-  The colour and the features, every one,

-  The words not ever, and the smiles not yet;

-  But in your day this moment is the sun

-  Upon a hill, after the sun has set.

-

-

-V

-

-  Once more into my arid days like dew,

-  Like wind from an oasis, or the sound

-  Of cold sweet water bubbling underground,

-  A treacherous messenger, the thought of you

-  Comes to destroy me; once more I renew

-  Firm faith in your abundance, whom I found

-  Long since to be but just one other mound

-  Of sand, whereon no green thing ever grew.

-  And once again, and wiser in no wise,

-  I chase your coloured phantom on the air,

-  And sob and curse and fall and weep and rise

-  And stumble pitifully on to where,

-  Miserable and lost, with stinging eyes,

-  Once more I clasp,--and there is nothing there.

-

-

-VI

-

-  No rose that in a garden ever grew,

-  In Homer’s or in Omar’s or in mine,

-  Though buried under centuries of fine

-  Dead dust of roses, shut from sun and dew

-  Forever, and forever lost from view,

-  But must again in fragrance rich as wine

-  The grey aisles of the air incarnadine

-  When the old summers surge into a new.

-  Thus when I swear, “I love with all my heart,”

-  ’Tis with the heart of Lilith that I swear,

-  ’Tis with the love of Lesbia and Lucrece;

-  And thus as well my love must lose some part

-  Of what it is, had Helen been less fair,

-  Or perished young, or stayed at home in Greece.

-

-

-VII

-

-  When I too long have looked upon your face,

-  Wherein for me a brightness unobscured

-  Save by the mists of brightness has its place,

-  And terrible beauty not to be endured,

-  I turn away reluctant from your light,

-  And stand irresolute, a mind undone,

-  A silly, dazzled thing deprived of sight

-  From having looked too long upon the sun.

-  Then is my daily life a narrow room

-  In which a little while, uncertainly,

-  Surrounded by impenetrable gloom,

-  Among familiar things grown strange to me

-  Making my way, I pause, and feel, and hark,

-  Till I become accustomed to the dark.

-

-

-VIII

-

-  And you as well must die, beloved dust,

-  And all your beauty stand you in no stead;

-  This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,

-  This body of flame and steel, before the gust

-  Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,

-  Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead

-  Than the first leaf that fell,--this wonder fled,

-  Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.

-  Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.

-  In spite of all my love, you will arise

-  Upon that day and wander down the air

-  Obscurely as the unattended flower,

-  It mattering not how beautiful you were,

-  Or how beloved above all else that dies.

-

-

-IX

-

-  Let you not say of me when I am old,

-  In pretty worship of my withered hands

-  Forgetting who I am, and how the sands

-  Of such a life as mine run red and gold

-  Even to the ultimate sifting dust, “Behold,

-  Here walketh passionless age!”--for there expands

-  A curious superstition in these lands,

-  And by its leave some weightless tales are told.

-  In me no lenten wicks watch out the night;

-  I am the booth where Folly holds her fair;

-  Impious no less in ruin than in strength,

-  When I lie crumbled to the earth at length,

-  Let you not say, “Upon this reverend site

-  The righteous groaned and beat their breasts in prayer.”

-

-

-X

-

-  Oh, my beloved, have you thought of this:

-  How in the years to come unscrupulous Time,

-  More cruel than Death, will tear you from my kiss,

-  And make you old, and leave me in my prime?

-  How you and I, who scale together yet

-  A little while the sweet, immortal height

-  No pilgrim may remember or forget,

-  As sure as the world turns, some granite night

-  Shall lie awake and know the gracious flame

-  Gone out forever on the mutual stone;

-  And call to mind how on the day you came

-  I was a child, and you a hero grown?--

-  And the night pass, and the strange morning break

-  Upon our anguish for each other’s sake!

-

-

-XI

-

-  As to some lovely temple, tenantless

-  Long since, that once was sweet with shivering brass,

-  Knowing well its altars ruined and the grass

-  Grown up between the stones, yet from excess

-  Of grief hard driven, or great loneliness,

-  The worshipper returns, and those who pass

-  Marvel him crying on a name that was,--

-  So is it now with me in my distress.

-  Your body was a temple to Delight;

-  Cold are its ashes whence the breath is fled,

-  Yet here one time your spirit was wont to move;

-  Here might I hope to find you day or night,

-  And here I come to look for you, my love,

-  Even now, foolishly, knowing you are dead.

-

-

-XII

-

-  Cherish you then the hope I shall forget

-  At length, my lord, Pieria?--put away

-  For your so passing sake, this mouth of clay,

-  These mortal bones against my body set,

-  For all the puny fever and frail sweat

-  Of human love,--renounce for these, I say,

-  The Singing Mountain’s memory, and betray

-  The silent lyre that hangs upon me yet?

-  Ah, but indeed, some day shall you awake,

-  Rather, from dreams of me, that at your side

-  So many nights, a lover and a bride,

-  But stern in my soul’s chastity, have lain,

-  To walk the world forever for my sake,

-  And in each chamber find me gone again!

-

-

-

-

-_Wild Swans_

-

-

-  I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over.

-  And what did I see I had not seen before?

-  Only a question less or a question more;

-  Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying.

-  Tiresome heart, forever living and dying,

-  House without air, I leave you and lock your door.

-  Wild swans, come over the town, come over

-  The town again, trailing your legs and crying!

-

-

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-Italic text is enclosed in _underscores_.

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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Edna St. Vincent Millay
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+Title: Poems
+
+Author: Edna St. Vincent Millay
+
+Release Date: March 31, 2019 [EBook #59167]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Tim Lindell, Charlie Howard, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Poems _by_ Edna St. Vincent Millay
+
+
+
+
+    Poems _by_
+    Edna St. Vincent Millay
+
+    ❦
+
+    London
+    Martin Secker
+    1923
+
+
+
+
+    _Printed in Great Britain_
+    _London: Martin Secker (Ltd.) 1923_
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+    _Section One_
+
+    Renascence,                                    13
+
+    God’s World,                                   22
+
+    Afternoon on a Hill,                           23
+
+    Journey,                                       24
+
+    Sorrow,                                        26
+
+    Tavern,                                        27
+
+    Ashes of Life,                                 28
+
+    The Little Ghost,                              29
+
+    Kin to Sorrow,                                 31
+
+    Three Songs of Shattering,                     32
+
+    The Shroud,                                    34
+
+    The Dream,                                     35
+
+    Indifference,                                  36
+
+    Witch-wife,                                    37
+
+    Blight,                                        38
+
+    When the Year Grows Old,                       40
+
+    Unnamed Sonnets, i-v,                          42
+
+    Sonnet vi (Bluebeard),                         47
+
+
+    _Section Two_
+
+    I,                                             51
+
+    II,                                            51
+
+    Recuerdo,                                      52
+
+    Thursday,                                      53
+
+    To the Not Impossible Him,                     54
+
+    The Singing-Woman from the Wood’s Edge,        55
+
+    Humoresque,                                    58
+
+    She is Overheard Singing,                      59
+
+    The Unexplorer,                                61
+
+    Grown-up,                                      62
+
+    The Penitent,                                  63
+
+    Daphne,                                        64
+
+    Portrait by a Neighbour,                       65
+
+    The Merry Maid,                                66
+
+    To S. M.,                                      67
+
+    The Philosopher,                               68
+
+    Sonnet--Love, Though for This,                 69
+
+    Sonnet--I Think I Should Have Loved You,       70
+
+    Sonnet--Oh, Think Not I am Faithful,           71
+
+    Sonnet--I Shall Forget You Presently,          72
+
+
+    _Section Three_
+
+    Spring,                                        75
+
+    City Trees,                                    76
+
+    The Blue-Flag in the Bog,                      77
+
+    Eel-Grass,                                     86
+
+    Elegy before Death,                            87
+
+    The Bean-Stalk,                                88
+
+    Weeds,                                         90
+
+    Passer Mortuus Est,                            91
+
+    Pastoral,                                      92
+
+    Assault,                                       93
+
+    Travel,                                        94
+
+    Low-Tide,                                      95
+
+    Song of a Second April,                        96
+
+    The Poet and his Book,                         97
+
+    Alms,                                         102
+
+    Inland,                                       104
+
+    To a Poet that Died Young,                    105
+
+    Wraith,                                       107
+
+    Ebb,                                          109
+
+    Elaine,                                       110
+
+    Burial,                                       111
+
+    Mariposa,                                     112
+
+    Doubt no more that Oberon,                    113
+
+    Lament,                                       114
+
+    Exiled,                                       115
+
+    The Death of Autumn,                          117
+
+    Ode to Silence,                               118
+
+    Memorial to D. C.,                            127
+
+    Unnamed Sonnets, i-xii,                       134
+
+    Wild Swans,                                   146
+
+
+
+
+SECTION ONE
+
+
+
+
+_Renascence_
+
+
+  All I could see from where I stood
+  Was three long mountains and a wood;
+  I turned and looked another way,
+  And saw three islands in a bay.
+  So with my eyes I traced the line
+  Of the horizon, thin and fine,
+  Straight around till I was come
+  Back to where I’d started from
+  And all I saw from where I stood
+  Was three long mountains and a wood.
+  Over these things I could not see:
+  These were the things that bounded me;
+  And I could touch them with my hand,
+  Almost, I thought, from where I stand.
+  And all at once things seemed so small
+  My breath came short, and scarce at all.
+  But, sure, the sky is big, I said;
+  Miles and miles above my head;
+  So here upon my back I’ll lie
+  And look my fill into the sky.
+  And so I looked, and, after all,
+  The sky was not so very tall.
+  The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,
+  And--sure enough!--I see the top!
+  The sky, I thought, is not so grand;
+  I ’most could touch it with my hand!
+  And reaching up my hand to try,
+  I screamed to feel it touch the sky.
+
+  I screamed, and--lo!--Infinity
+  Came down and settled over me;
+  Forced back my scream into my chest,
+  Bent back my arm upon my breast,
+  And, pressing of the Undefined
+  The definition on my mind,
+  Held up before my eyes a glass
+  Through which my shrinking sight did pass
+  Until it seemed I must behold
+  Immensity made manifold;
+  Whispered to me a word whose sound
+  Deafened the air for worlds around,
+  And brought unmuffled to my ears
+  The gossiping of friendly spheres,
+  The creaking of the tented sky,
+  The ticking of Eternity.
+  I saw and heard and knew at last
+  The How and Why of all things, past,
+  And present, and for evermore.
+  The Universe, cleft to the core,
+  Lay open to my probing sense
+  That, sick’ning, I would fain pluck thence
+  But could not,--nay! But needs must suck
+  At the great wound, and could not pluck
+  My lips away till I had drawn
+  All venom out.--Ah, fearful pawn!
+  For my omniscience paid I toll
+  In infinite remorse of soul.
+  All sin was of my sinning, all
+  Atoning mine, and mine the gall
+  Of all regret. Mine was the weight
+  Of every brooded wrong, the hate
+  That stood behind each envious thrust,
+  Mine every greed, mine every lust.
+  And all the while for every grief,
+  Each suffering, I craved relief
+  With individual desire,--
+  Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire
+  About a thousand people crawl;
+  Perished with each,--then mourned for all!
+  A man was starving in Capri;
+  He moved his eyes and looked at me;
+  I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,
+  And knew his hunger as my own.
+  I saw at sea a great fog bank
+  Between two ships that struck and sank;
+  A thousand screams the heavens smote;
+  And every scream tore through my throat.
+  No hurt I did not feel, no death
+  That was not mine; mine each last breath
+  That, crying, met an answering cry
+  From the compassion that was I.
+  All suffering mine, and mine its rod;
+  Mine, pity like the pity of God.
+  Ah, awful weight! Infinity
+  Pressed down upon the finite Me!
+  My anguished spirit, like a bird,
+  Beating against my lips I heard;
+  Yet lay the weight so close about
+  There was no room for it without.
+  And so beneath the weight lay I
+  And suffered death, but could not die.
+
+  Long had I lain thus, craving death,
+  When quietly the earth beneath
+  Gave way, and inch by inch, so great
+  At last had grown the crushing weight,
+  Into the earth I sank till I
+  Full six feet under ground did lie,
+  And sank no more,--there is no weight
+  Can follow here, however great.
+  From off my breast I felt it roll,
+  And as it went my tortured soul
+  Burst forth and fled in such a gust
+  That all about me swirled the dust.
+  Deep in the earth I rested now;
+  Cool is its hand upon the brow
+  And soft its breast beneath the head
+  Of one who is so gladly dead.
+  And all at once, and over all
+  The pitying rain began to fall;
+  I lay and heard each pattering hoof
+  Upon my lowly, thatchèd roof,
+  And seemed to love the sound far more
+  Than ever I had done before.
+  For rain it hath a friendly sound
+  To one who’s six feet under ground;
+  And scarce the friendly voice or face:
+  A grave is such a quiet place.
+
+  The rain, I said, is kind to come
+  And speak to me in my new home.
+  I would I were alive again
+  To kiss the fingers of the rain,
+  To drink into my eyes the shine
+  Of every slanting silver line,
+  To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze
+  From drenched and dripping apple-trees.
+  For soon the shower will be done,
+  And then the broad face of the sun
+  Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth
+  Until the world with answering mirth
+  Shakes joyously, and each round drop
+  Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.
+  How can I bear it, buried here,
+  While overhead the sky grows clear
+  And blue again after the storm?
+  O, multi-coloured, multiform,
+  Beloved beauty over me,
+  That I shall never, never see
+  Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,
+  That I shall never more behold!
+  Sleeping your myriad magics through,
+  Close-sepulchred away from you!
+  O God, I cried, give me new birth,
+  And put me back upon the earth!
+  Upset each cloud’s gigantic gourd
+  And let the heavy rain, down-poured
+  In one big torrent, set me free,
+  Washing my grave away from me!
+
+  I ceased; and through the breathless hush
+  That answered me, the far-off rush
+  Of herald wings came whispering
+  Like music down the vibrant string
+  Of my ascending prayer, and--crash!
+  Before the wild wind’s whistling lash
+  The startled storm-clouds reared on high
+  And plunged in terror down the sky,
+  And the big rain in one black wave
+  Fell from the sky and struck my grave.
+  I know not how such things can be;
+  I only know there came to me
+  A fragrance such as never clings
+  To aught save happy living things;
+  A sound as of some joyous elf
+  Singing sweet songs to please himself,
+  And, through and over everything,
+  A sense of glad awakening.
+  The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,
+  Whispering to me I could hear;
+  I felt the rain’s cool finger-tips
+  Brushed tenderly across my lips,
+  Laid gently on my sealèd sight,
+  And all at once the heavy night
+  Fell from my eyes and I could see,--
+  A drenched and dripping apple-tree,
+  A last long line of silver rain,
+  A sky grown clear and blue again.
+  And as I looked a quickening gust
+  Of wind blew up to me and thrust
+  Into my face a miracle
+  Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,--
+  I know not how such things can be!--
+  I breathed my soul back into me.
+
+  Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I
+  And hailed the earth with such a cry
+  As is not heard save from a man
+  Who has been dead, and lives again.
+  About the trees my arms I wound;
+  Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;
+  I raised my quivering arms on high;
+  I laughed and laughed into the sky,
+  Till at my throat a strangling sob
+  Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb
+  Sent instant tears into my eyes;
+  O God, I cried, no dark disguise
+  Can e’er hereafter hide from me
+  Thy radiant identity!
+  Thou canst not move across the grass
+  But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,
+  Nor speak, however silently,
+  But my hushed voice will answer Thee.
+  I know the path that tells Thy way
+  Through the cool eve of every day;
+  God, I can push the grass apart
+  And lay my finger on Thy heart!
+
+  The world stands out on either side
+  No wider than the heart is wide;
+  Above the world is stretched the sky,--
+  No higher than the soul is high.
+  The heart can push the sea and land
+  Farther away on either hand;
+  The soul can split the sky in two,
+  And let the face of God shine through.
+  But East and West will pinch the heart
+  That cannot keep them pushed apart;
+  And he whose soul is flat--the sky
+  Will cave in on him by and by.
+
+
+
+
+_God’s World_
+
+
+  O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
+        Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
+        Thy mists, that roll and rise!
+  Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
+  And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
+  To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
+  World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!
+
+  Long have I known a glory in it all,
+        But never knew I this;
+        Here such a passion is
+  As stretcheth me apart,--Lord, I do fear
+  Thou’st made the world too beautiful this year;
+  My soul is all but out of me,--let fall
+  No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.
+
+
+
+
+_Afternoon on a Hill_
+
+
+  I will be the gladdest thing
+    Under the sun!
+  I will touch a hundred flowers
+    And not pick one.
+
+  I will look at cliffs and clouds
+    With quiet eyes,
+  Watch the wind bow down the grass,
+    And the grass rise.
+
+  And when lights begin to show
+    Up from the town,
+  I will mark which must be mine,
+    And then start down.
+
+
+
+
+_Journey_
+
+
+  Ah, could I lay me down in this long grass
+  And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind
+  Blow over me,--I am so tired, so tired
+  Of passing pleasant places! All my life,
+  Following Care along the dusty road,
+  Have I looked back at loveliness and sighed;
+  Yet at my hand an unrelenting hand
+  Tugged ever, and I passed. All my life long
+      Over my shoulder have I looked at peace
+      And now I fain would lie in this long grass
+      And close my eyes.
+                        Yet onward!
+                                  Cat-birds call
+  Through the long afternoon, and creeks at dusk
+  Are guttural. Whip-poor-wills wake and cry,
+  Drawing the twilight close about their throats.
+  Only my heart makes answer. Eager vines
+  Go up the rocks and wait; flushed apple-trees
+  Pause in their dance and break the ring for me;
+  Dim, shady wood-roads, redolent of fern
+  And bayberry, that through sweet bevies thread
+  Of round-faced roses, pink and petulant,
+  Look back and beckon ere they disappear.
+  Only my heart, only my heart responds.
+  Yet, ah, my path is sweet on either side
+  All through the dragging day,--sharp underfoot,
+  And hot, and like dead mist the dry dust hangs--
+  But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach,
+  And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling,
+  The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake,
+  Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road
+  A gateless garden, and an open path:
+  My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.
+
+
+
+
+_Sorrow_
+
+
+  Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
+    Beats upon my heart.
+  People twist and scream in pain,--
+  Dawn will find them still again;
+  This has neither wax nor wane,
+    Neither stop nor start.
+
+  People dress and go to town;
+    I sit in my chair.
+  All my thoughts are slow and brown:
+  Standing up or sitting down
+  Little matters, or what gown
+    Or what shoes I wear.
+
+
+
+
+_Tavern_
+
+
+  I’ll keep a little tavern
+    Below the high hill’s crest,
+  Wherein all grey-eyed people
+    May sit them down and rest.
+
+  There shall be plates a-plenty,
+    And mugs to melt the chill
+  Of all the grey-eyed people
+    Who happen up the hill.
+
+  There sound will sleep the traveller,
+    And dream his journey’s end,
+  But I will rouse at midnight
+    The falling fire to tend.
+
+  Aye, ’tis a curious fancy--
+    But all the good I know
+  Was taught me out of two grey eyes
+    A long time ago.
+
+
+
+
+_Ashes of Life_
+
+
+  Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
+    Eat I must, and sleep I will,--and would that night were here!
+  But ah!--to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!
+    Would that it were day again!--with twilight near!
+
+  Love has gone and left me and I don’t know what to do;
+    This or that or what you will is all the same to me;
+  But all the things that I begin I leave before I’m through,--
+    There’s little use in anything as far as I can see.
+
+  Love has gone and left me,--and the neighbours knock and borrow,
+    And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse,--
+  And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow
+    There’s this little street and this little house.
+
+
+
+
+_The Little Ghost_
+
+
+  I knew her for a little ghost
+    That in my garden walked;
+  The wall is high--higher than most--
+    And the green gate was locked.
+
+  And yet I did not think of that
+    Till after she was gone--
+  I knew her by the broad white hat,
+    All ruffled, she had on.
+
+  By the dear ruffles round her feet,
+    By her small hands that hung
+  In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,
+    Her gown’s white folds among.
+
+  I watched to see if she would stay,
+    What she would do--and oh!
+  She looked as if she liked the way
+    I let my garden grow!
+
+  She bent above my favourite mint
+    With conscious garden grace,
+  She smiled and smiled--there was no hint
+    Of sadness in her face.
+
+  She held her gown on either side
+    To let her slippers show,
+  And up the walk she went with pride,
+    The way great ladies go.
+
+  And where the wall is built in new
+    And is of ivy bare
+  She paused--then opened and passed through
+    A gate that once was there.
+
+
+
+
+_Kin to Sorrow_
+
+
+    Am I kin to Sorrow,
+    That so oft
+  Falls the knocker of my door--
+    Neither loud nor soft,
+  But as long accustomed,
+    Under Sorrow’s hand?
+  Marigolds around the step
+    And rosemary stand,
+  And then comes Sorrow--
+    And what does Sorrow care
+  For the rosemary
+    Or the marigolds there?
+  Am I kin to Sorrow?
+    Are we kin?
+  That so oft upon my door--
+    _Oh, come in!_
+
+
+
+
+_Three Songs of Shattering_
+
+
+I
+
+  The first rose on my rose-tree
+    Budded, bloomed, and shattered,
+  During sad days when to me
+    Nothing mattered.
+
+  Grief of grief has drained me clean;
+    Still it seems a pity
+  No one saw,--it must have been
+      Very pretty.
+
+
+II
+
+  Let the little birds sing;
+    Let the little lambs play;
+  Spring is here; and so ’tis spring;--
+    But not in the old way!
+
+  I recall a place
+    Where a plum-tree grew;
+  There you lifted up your face,
+    And blossoms covered you.
+
+  If the little birds sing,
+    And the little lambs play,
+  Spring is here; and so ’tis spring--
+    But not in the old way!
+
+
+III
+
+  All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!
+    Ere spring was going--ah! spring is gone!
+  And there comes no summer to the like of you and me,--
+    Blossom time is early, but no fruit sets on.
+
+  All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree,
+    Browned at the edges, turned in a day;
+  And I would with all my heart they trimmed a mound for me,
+    And weeds were tall on all the paths that led that way!
+
+
+
+
+_The Shroud_
+
+
+  Death, I say, my heart is bowed
+    Unto thine,--O mother!
+  This red gown will make a shroud
+    Good as any other!
+
+  (I, that would not wait to wear
+    My own bridal things,
+  In a dress dark as my hair
+    Made my answerings.
+
+  I, to-night, that till he came
+    Could not, could not wait,
+  In a gown as bright as flame
+    Held for them the gate.)
+
+  Death, I say, my heart is bowed
+    Unto thine,--O mother!
+  This red gown will make a shroud
+    Good as any other!
+
+
+
+
+_The Dream_
+
+
+  Love, if I weep it will not matter,
+    And if you laugh I shall not care;
+  Foolish am I to think about it,
+    But it is good to feel you there.
+
+  Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,--
+    White and awful the moonlight reached
+  Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere,
+    There was a shutter loose,--it screeched!
+
+  Swung in the wind,--and no wind blowing!--
+    I was afraid, and turned to you,
+  Put out my hand to you for comfort,--
+    And you were gone! Cold, cold as dew,
+
+  Under my hand the moonlight lay!
+    Love, if you laugh I shall not care,
+  But if I weep it will not matter,--
+    Ah, it is good to feel you there!
+
+
+
+
+_Indifference_
+
+
+  I said,--for Love was laggard, O, Love was slow to come,--
+    “I’ll hear his step and know his step when I am warm in bed;
+  But I’ll never leave my pillow, though there be some
+    As would let him in--and take him in with tears!” I said.
+  I lay,--for Love was laggard, O, he came not until dawn,--
+  I lay and listened for his step and could not get to sleep;
+  And he found me at my window with my big cloak on,
+    All sorry with the tears some folks might weep!
+
+
+
+
+_Witch-Wife_
+
+
+  She is neither pink nor pale,
+    And she never will be all mine;
+  She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
+    And her mouth on a valentine.
+
+  She has more hair than she needs;
+    In the sun ’tis a woe to me!
+  And her voice is a string of coloured beads,
+    Or steps leading into the sea.
+
+  She loves me all that she can,
+    And her ways to my ways resign;
+  But she was not made for any man,
+    And she never will be all mine.
+
+
+
+
+_Blight_
+
+
+  Hard seeds of hate I planted
+    That should by now be grown,--
+  Rough stalks, and from thick stamens
+    A poisonous pollen blown,
+  And odours rank, unbreathable,
+    From dark corollas thrown!
+
+  At dawn from my damp garden
+    I shook the chilly dew;
+  The thin boughs locked behind me
+    That sprang to let me through;
+  The blossoms slept,--I sought a place
+    Where nothing lovely grew.
+
+  And there, when day was breaking,
+    I knelt and looked around:
+  The light was near, the silence
+    Was palpitant with sound;
+  I drew my hate from out my breast
+    And thrust it in the ground.
+
+  Oh, ye so fiercely tended,
+    Ye little seeds of hate!
+  I bent above your growing
+    Early and noon and late,
+  Yet are ye drooped and pitiful,--
+    I cannot rear ye straight!
+
+  The sun seeks out my garden,
+    No nook is left in shade,
+  No mist nor mould nor mildew
+    Endures on any blade,
+  Sweet rain slants under every bough:
+    Ye falter, and ye fade.
+
+
+
+
+_When the Year Grows Old_
+
+  I cannot but remember
+    When the year grows old--
+  October--November--
+    How she disliked the cold!
+
+  She used to watch the swallows
+    Go down across the sky,
+  And turn from the window
+    With a little sharp sigh.
+
+  And often when the brown leaves
+    Were brittle on the ground,
+  And the wind in the chimney
+    Made a melancholy sound,
+
+  She had a look about her
+    That I wish I could forget--
+  The look of a scared thing
+    Sitting in a net!
+
+  Oh, beautiful at nightfall
+    The soft spitting snow!
+  And beautiful the bare boughs
+    Rubbing to and fro!
+
+  But the roaring of the fire,
+    And the warmth of fur,
+  And the boiling of the kettle
+    Were beautiful to her!
+
+  I cannot but remember
+    When the year grows old--
+  October--November--
+    How she disliked the cold!
+
+
+
+
+_Sonnets_
+
+
+I
+
+  Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,--no,
+  Nor honeysuckle; thou art not more fair
+  Than small white single poppies,--I can bear
+  Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though
+  From left to right, not knowing where to go,
+  I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there
+  Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear
+  So has it been with mist,--with moonlight so.
+  Like him who day by day unto his draught
+  Of delicate poison adds him one drop more
+  Till he may drink unharmed the death of ten,
+  Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed
+  Each hour more deeply than the hour before,
+  I drink--and live--what has destroyed some men.
+
+
+II
+
+  Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
+  Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
+  I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
+  I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
+  The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
+  And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;
+  But last year’s bitter loving must remain
+  Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!
+  There are a hundred places where I fear
+  To go,--so with his memory they brim!
+  And entering with relief some quiet place
+  Where never fell his foot or shone his face
+  I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
+  And so stand stricken, so remembering him!
+
+
+III
+
+  Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring
+  And all the flowers that in the springtime grow,
+  And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slow
+  Rising of the round moon, all throats that sing
+  The summer through, and each departing wing,
+  And all the nests that the bared branches show,
+  And all winds that in any weather blow,
+  And all the storms that the four seasons bring.
+  You go no more on your exultant feet
+  Up paths that only mist and morning knew,
+  Or watch the wind, or listen to the beat
+  Of a bird’s wings too high in air to view,--
+  But you were something more than young and sweet
+  And fair,--and the long year remembers you.
+
+
+IV
+
+  Not in this chamber only at my birth--
+  When the long hours of that mysterious night
+  Were over, and the morning was in sight--
+  I cried, but in strange places, steppe and firth
+  I have not seen, through alien grief and mirth;
+  And never shall one room contain me quite
+  Who in so many rooms first saw the light,
+  Child of all mothers, native of the earth.
+  So is no warmth for me at any fire
+  To-day, when the world’s fire has burned so low;
+  I kneel, spending my breath in vain desire,
+  At that cold hearth which one time roared so strong,
+  And straighten back in weariness, and long
+  To gather up my little gods and go.
+
+
+V
+
+  If I should learn, in some quite casual way,
+  That you were gone, not to return again--
+  Read from the back-page of a paper, say,
+  Held by a neighbour in a subway train,
+  How at the corner of this avenue
+  And such a street (so are the papers filled)
+  A hurrying man--who happened to be you--
+  At noon to-day had happened to be killed,
+  I should not cry aloud--I could not cry
+  Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place--
+  I should but watch the station lights rush by
+  With a more careful interest on my face,
+  Or raise my eyes and read with greater care
+  Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.
+
+
+VI
+
+_Bluebeard_
+
+  This door you might not open, and you did;
+  So enter now, and see for what slight thing
+  You are betrayed.... Here is no treasure hid,
+  No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring
+  The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain
+  For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,
+  But only what you see.... Look yet again--
+  An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.
+  Yet this alone out of my life I kept
+  Unto myself, lest any know me quite;
+  And you did so profane me when you crept
+  Unto the threshold of this room to-night
+  That I must never more behold your face.
+  This now is yours. I seek another place.
+
+
+
+
+SECTION TWO
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+  My candle burns at both ends;
+    It will not last the night;
+  But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
+    It gives a lovely light!
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+  Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
+  Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!
+
+
+
+
+_Recuerdo_
+
+
+  We were very tired, we were very merry--
+  We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
+  It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable--
+  But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
+  We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;
+  And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.
+
+  We were very tired, we were very merry--
+  We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
+  And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
+  From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
+  And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,
+  And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.
+
+  We were very tired, we were very merry,
+  We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
+  We hailed, “Good morrow, mother!” to a shawl-covered head,
+  And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
+  And she wept, “God bless you!” for the apples and pears,
+  And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.
+
+
+
+
+_Thursday_
+
+
+  And if I loved you Wednesday,
+    Well, what is that to you?
+  I do not love you Thursday--
+    So much is true.
+
+  And why you come complaining
+    Is more than I can see.
+  I loved you Wednesday,--yes--but what
+    Is that to me?
+
+
+
+
+_To the Not Impossible Him_
+
+  How shall I know, unless I go
+    To Cairo and Cathay,
+  Whether or not this blessed spot
+    Is blest in every way?
+
+  Now it may be, the flower for me
+    Is this beneath my nose;
+  How shall I tell, unless I smell
+    The Carthaginian rose?
+
+  The fabric of my faithful love
+    No power shall dim or ravel
+  Whilst I stay here,--but oh, my dear,
+    If I should ever travel!
+
+
+
+
+_The Singing-Woman from the Wood’s Edge_
+
+
+  What should I be but a prophet and a liar,
+  Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar?
+  Teethed on a crucifix and cradled under water,
+  What should I be but the fiend’s god-daughter?
+
+  And who should be my playmates but the adder and the frog,
+  That was got beneath a furze-bush and born in a bog?
+  And what should be my singing, that was christened at an altar,
+  But Aves and Credos and Psalms out of the Psalter?
+
+  You will see such webs on the wet grass, maybe,
+  As a pixie-mother weaves for her baby,
+  You will find such flame at the wave’s weedy ebb
+  As flashes in the meshes of a mer-mother’s web,
+
+  But there comes to birth no common spawn
+  From the love of a priest for a leprechaun,
+  And you never have seen and you never will see
+  Such things as the things that swaddled me!
+
+  After all’s said and after all’s done,
+  What should I be but a harlot and a nun?
+
+  In through the bushes, on any foggy day,
+  My dad would come a-swishing of the drops away,
+  With a prayer for my death and a groan for my birth,
+  A-mumbling of his beads for all that he was worth.
+
+  And there’d sit my ma, with her knees beneath her chin,
+  A-looking in his face and a-drinking of it in,
+  And a-marking in the moss some funny little saying
+  That would mean just the opposite of all that he was praying!
+
+  He taught me the holy-talk of Vesper and of Matin,
+  He heard me my Greek and he heard me my Latin,
+  He blessed me and crossed me to keep my soul from evil,
+  And we watched him out of sight, and we conjured up the devil!
+
+  Oh, the things I haven’t seen and the things I haven’t known,
+  What with hedges and ditches till after I was grown,
+  And yanked both ways by my mother and my father,
+  With a “Which would you better?” and a “Which would you rather?”
+
+  With him for a sire and her for a dam,
+  What should I be but just what I am?
+
+
+
+
+_Humoresque_
+
+
+  “Heaven bless the babe!” they said;
+  “What queer books she must have read!”
+  (Love, by whom I was beguiled,
+  Grant I may not bear a child.)
+
+  “Little does she guess to-day
+  What the world may be,” they say.
+  (Snow, drift deep and cover
+  Till the spring my murdered lover.)
+
+
+
+
+_She is Overheard Singing_
+
+
+  Oh, Prue she has a patient man,
+    And Joan a gentle lover,
+  And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,--
+    But my true love’s a rover!
+
+  Mig, her man’s as good as cheese
+    And honest as a briar,
+  Sue tells her love what he’s thinking of,--
+    But my dear lad’s a liar!
+
+  Oh, Sue and Prue and Agatha
+    Are thick with Mig and Joan!
+  They bite their threads and shake their heads
+    And gnaw my name like a bone;
+
+  And Prue says, “Mine’s a patient man,
+    As never snaps me up,”
+  And Agatha, “Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,
+    Could live content in a cup;”
+
+  Sue’s man’s mind is like good jell--
+    All one colour, and clear--
+  And Mig’s no call to think at all
+    What’s to come next year,
+
+  While Joan makes boast of a gentle lad,
+    That’s troubled with that and this;--
+  But they all would give the life they live
+    For a look from the man I kiss!
+
+  Cold he slants his eyes about,
+    And few enough’s his choice,--
+  Though he’d slip me clean for a nun, or a queen,
+    Or a beggar with knots in her voice,--
+
+  And Agatha will turn awake
+    When her good man sleeps sound,
+  And Mig and Sue and Joan and Prue
+    Will hear the clock strike round;
+
+  For Prue she has a patient man,
+    As asks not when or why,
+  And Mig and Sue have naught to do
+    But peep who’s passing by,
+
+  Joan is paired with a putterer
+    That bastes and tastes and salts,
+  And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,--
+    But my true love is false!
+
+
+
+
+_The Unexplorer_
+
+
+  There was a road ran past our house
+  Too lovely to explore.
+  I asked my mother once--she said
+  That if you followed where it led
+  It brought you to the milk-man’s door.
+  (That’s why I have not travelled more.)
+
+
+
+
+_Grown-Up_
+
+
+  Was it for this I uttered prayers,
+  And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
+  That now, domestic as a plate,
+  I should retire at half-past eight?
+
+
+
+
+_The Penitent_
+
+
+  I had a little Sorrow,
+  Born of a little Sin,
+  I found a room all damp with gloom
+    And shut us all within;
+  And, “Little Sorrow, weep,” said I,
+  “And, Little Sin, pray God to die,
+  And I upon the floor will lie
+    And think how bad I’ve been!”
+
+  Alas for pious planning--
+    It mattered not a whit!
+  As far as gloom went in that room,
+    The lamp might have been lit!
+  My Little Sorrow would not weep,
+  My Little Sin would go to sleep--
+  To save my soul I could not keep
+    My graceless mind on it!
+
+  So up I got in anger,
+    And took a book I had,
+  And put a ribbon on my hair
+    To please a passing lad.
+  And, “One thing there’s no getting by--
+  I’ve been a wicked girl,” said I;
+  “But if I can’t be sorry, why,
+    I might as well be glad!”
+
+
+
+
+_Daphne_
+
+
+  Why do you follow me?--
+  Any moment I can be
+  Nothing but a laurel-tree.
+
+  Any moment of the chase
+  I can leave you in my place
+  A pink bough for your embrace.
+
+  Yet if over hill and hollow,
+  Still it is your will to follow,
+  I am off;--to heel, Apollo!
+
+
+
+
+_Portrait by a Neighbour_
+
+
+  Before she has her floor swept
+    Or her dishes done,
+  Any day you’ll find her
+    A-sunning in the sun!
+
+  It’s long after midnight
+    Her key’s in the lock,
+  And you never see her chimney smoke
+    Till past ten o’clock!
+
+  She digs in her garden
+    With a shovel and a spoon,
+  She weeds her lazy lettuce
+    By the light of the moon.
+
+  She walks up the walk
+    Like a woman in a dream,
+  She forgets she borrowed butter
+    And pays you back cream!
+
+  Her lawn looks like a meadow,
+    And if she mows the place
+  She leaves the clover standing
+    And the Queen Anne’s lace!
+
+
+
+
+_The Merry Maid_
+
+
+  Oh, I am grown so free from care
+    Since my heart broke!
+  I set my throat against the air,
+    I laugh at simple folk!
+
+  There’s little kind and little fair
+    Is worth its weight in smoke
+  To me, that’s grown so free from care
+    Since my heart broke!
+
+  Lass, if to sleep you would repair
+    As peaceful as you woke,
+  Best not besiege your lover there
+    For just the words he spoke
+  To me, that’s grown so free from care
+    Since my heart broke!
+
+
+
+
+_To S. M._
+
+
+    _If he should lie a-dying_
+
+  I am not willing you should go
+  Into the earth, where Helen went;
+  She is awake by now, I know.
+  Where Cleopatra’s anklets rust
+  You will not lie with my consent;
+  And Sappho is a roving dust;
+  Cressid could love again; Dido,
+  Rotted in state, is restless still;
+  You leave me much against my will.
+
+
+
+
+_The Philosopher_
+
+
+  And what are you that, wanting you,
+    I should be kept awake
+  As many nights as there are days
+    With weeping for your sake?
+
+  And what are you that, missing you,
+    As many days as crawl
+  I should be listening to the wind
+    And looking at the wall?
+
+  I know a man that’s a braver man
+    And twenty men as kind,
+  And what are you, that you should be
+    The one man in my mind?
+
+  Yet women’s ways are witless ways,
+    As any sage will tell,--
+  And what am I, that I should love
+    So wisely and so well?
+
+
+
+
+_Four Sonnets_
+
+
+I
+
+  Love, though for this you riddle me with darts,
+  And drag me at your chariot till I die,--
+  Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of hearts!--
+  Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lie
+  Who shout you mighty: thick about my hair,
+  Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr,
+  Who still am free, unto no querulous care
+  A fool, and in no temple worshipper!
+  I, that have bared me to your quiver’s fire,
+  Lifted my face into its puny rain,
+  Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke Desire
+  As you are Powerless to Elicit Pain!
+  (Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave,
+  Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!)
+
+
+II
+
+  I think I should have loved you presently,
+  And given in earnest words I flung in jest;
+  And lifted honest eyes for you to see,
+  And caught your hand against my cheek and breast;
+  And all my pretty follies flung aside
+  That won you to me, and beneath your gaze,
+  Naked of reticence and shorn of pride,
+  Spread like a chart my little wicked ways.
+  I, that had been to you, had you remained,
+  But one more waking from a recurrent dream,
+  Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained,
+  And walk your memory’s halls, austere, supreme,
+  A ghost in marble of a girl you knew
+  Who would have loved you in a day or two.
+
+
+III
+
+  Oh, think not I am faithful to a vow!
+  Faithless am I save to love’s self alone.
+  Were you not lovely I would leave you now:
+  After the feet of beauty fly my own.
+  Were you not still my hunger’s rarest food,
+  And water ever to my wildest thirst,
+  I would desert you--think not but I would!--
+  And seek another as I sought you first.
+  But you are mobile as the veering air,
+  And all your charms more changeful than the tide,
+  Wherefore to be inconstant is no care:
+  I have but to continue at your side.
+  So wanton, light and false, my love, are you,
+  I am most faithless when I most am true.
+
+
+IV
+
+  I shall forget you presently, my dear,
+  So make the most of this, your little day,
+  Your little month, your little half a year,
+  Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
+  And we are done forever; by and by
+  I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
+  If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
+  I will protest you with my favourite vow.
+  I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
+  And oaths were not so brittle as they are,
+  But so it is, and nature has contrived
+  To struggle on without a break thus far,--
+  Whether or not we find what we are seeking
+  Is idle, biologically speaking.
+
+
+
+
+SECTION THREE
+
+
+
+
+_Spring_
+
+
+  To what purpose, April, do you return again?
+  Beauty is not enough.
+  You can no longer quiet me with the redness
+  Of little leaves opening stickily.
+  I know what I know.
+  The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
+  The spikes of the crocus.
+  The smell of the earth is good.
+  It is apparent that there is no death.
+  But what does that signify?
+  Not only under ground are the brains of men
+  Eaten by maggots.
+  Life in itself
+  Is nothing,
+  An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
+  It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
+  April
+  Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
+
+
+
+
+_City Trees_
+
+
+  The trees along this city street,
+    Save for the traffic and the trains,
+  Would make a sound as thin and sweet
+    As trees in country lanes.
+
+  And people standing in their shade
+    Out of a shower, undoubtedly
+  Would hear such music as is made
+    Upon a country tree.
+
+  Oh, little leaves that are so dumb
+    Against the shrieking city air,
+  I watch you when the wind has come--
+    I know what sound is there.
+
+
+
+
+_The Blue-Flag in the Bog_
+
+
+  God had called us, and we came;
+    Our loved Earth to ashes left;
+  Heaven was a neighbour’s house,
+    Open flung to us, bereft.
+
+  Gay the lights of Heaven showed,
+    And ’twas God Who walked ahead;
+  Yet I wept along the road,
+    Wanting my own house instead.
+
+  Wept unseen, unheeded cried,
+    “All you things my eyes have kissed,
+  Fare you well! We meet no more,
+    Lovely, lovely tattered mist!
+
+    Weary wings that rise and fall
+  All day long above the fire!”--
+    Red with heat was every wall,
+  Rough with heat was every wire--
+
+  “Fare you well, you little winds
+    That the flying embers chase!
+  Fare you well, you shuddering day,
+    With your hands before your face!
+
+  And, ah, blackened by strange blight,
+    Or to a false sun unfurled,
+  Now for evermore good-bye,
+    All the gardens in the world!
+
+  On the windless hills of Heaven,
+    That I have no wish to see,
+  White, eternal lilies stand,
+    By a lake of ebony.
+
+  But the Earth forevermore
+    Is a place where nothing grows,--
+  Dawn will come, and no bud break;
+    Evening, and no blossom close.
+
+  Spring will come, and wander slow
+    Over an indifferent land,
+  Stand beside an empty creek,
+    Hold a dead seed in her hand.”
+
+  God had called us, and we came,
+    But the blessed road I trod
+  Was a bitter road to me,
+    And at heart I questioned God.
+
+  “Though in Heaven,” I said, “be all
+    That the heart would most desire,
+  Held Earth naught save souls of sinners
+    Worth the saving from a fire?
+
+  Withered grass,--the wasted growing!
+    Aimless ache of laden boughs!”
+  Little things God had forgotten
+    Called me, from my burning house.
+
+  “Though in Heaven,” I said, “be all
+    That the eye could ask to see,
+  All the things I ever knew
+    Are this blaze in back of me.”
+
+  “Though in Heaven,” I said, “be all
+    That the ear could think to lack,
+  All the things I ever knew
+    Are this roaring at my back.”
+
+  It was God Who walked ahead,
+    Like a shepherd to the fold;
+  In His footsteps fared the weak,
+    And the weary and the old,
+
+  Glad enough of gladness over,
+    Ready for the peace to be,--
+  But a thing God had forgotten
+    Was the growing bones of me.
+
+  And I drew a bit apart,
+    And I lagged a bit behind,
+  And I thought on Peace Eternal,
+    Lest He look into my mind;
+
+  And I gazed upon the sky,
+    And I thought of Heavenly Rest,--
+  And I slipped away like water
+    Through the fingers of the blest!
+
+  All their eyes were fixed on Glory,
+    Not a glance brushed over me;
+  “Alleluia! Alleluia!”
+    Up the road,--and I was free.
+
+  And my heart rose like a freshet,
+    And it swept me on before,
+  Giddy as a whirling stick,
+    Till I felt the earth once more.
+
+  All the Earth was charred and black,
+    had swept from pole to pole;
+  And the bottom of the sea
+    Was as brittle as a bowl;
+
+  And the timbered mountain-top
+    Was as naked as a skull,--
+  Nothing left, nothing left,
+    Of the Earth so beautiful!
+
+  “Earth,” I said, “how can I leave you?
+    “You are all I have,” I said;
+  “What is left to take my mind up,
+    Living always, and you dead?
+
+  “Speak!” I said, “Oh, tell me something!
+    Make a sign that I can see!
+  For a keepsake! To keep always!
+    Quick!--before God misses me!”
+
+  And I listened for a voice;--
+    But my heart was all I heard;
+  Not a screech-owl, not a loon,
+    Not a tree-toad said a word.
+
+  And I waited for a sign;--
+    Coals and cinders, nothing more;
+  And a little cloud of smoke
+    Floating on a valley floor.
+
+  And I peered into the smoke
+    Till it rotted, like a fog:--
+  There, encompassed round by fire,
+    Stood a blue-flag in a bog!
+
+  Little flames came wading out,
+    Straining, draining towards its stem,
+  But it was so blue and tall
+    That it scorned to think of them!
+
+  Red and thirsty were their tongues,
+    As the tongues of wolves must be,
+  But it was so blue and tall--
+    Oh, I laughed, I cried, to see!
+
+  All my heart became a tear,
+    All my soul became a tower,
+  Never loved I anything
+    As I loved that tall blue flower!
+
+  It was all the little boats
+    That had ever sailed the sea,
+  It was all the little books
+    That had gone to school with me;
+
+  On its roots like iron claws
+    Rearing up so blue and tall,--
+  It was all the gallant Earth
+    With its back against a wall!
+
+  In a breath, ere I had breathed,--
+    Oh, I laughed, I cried, to see!--
+  I was kneeling at its side,
+    And it leaned its head on me!
+
+  Crumbling stones and sliding sand
+    Is the road to Heaven now;
+  Icy at my straining knees
+    Drags the awful under-tow;
+
+  Soon but stepping-stones of dust
+    Will the road to Heaven be,--
+  Father, Son and Holy Ghost,
+    Reach a hand and rescue me!
+
+  “There--there, my blue-flag flower;
+    Hush--hush--go to sleep;
+  That is only God you hear,
+    Counting up His folded sheep!
+
+  Lullabye--lullabye--
+    That is only God that calls,
+  Missing me, seeking me,
+    Ere the road to nothing falls!
+
+  He will set His mighty feet
+    Firmly on the sliding sand;
+  Like a little frightened bird
+    I will creep into His hand;
+
+  I will tell Him all my grief,
+    I will tell Him all my sin;
+  He will give me half His robe
+    For a cloak to wrap you in.
+
+  Lullabye--lullabye--”
+    Rocks the burnt-out planet free!--
+  Father, Son and Holy Ghost,
+    Reach a hand and rescue me!
+
+  Ah, the voice of love at last!
+    Lo, at last the face of light!
+  And the whole of His white robe
+    For a cloak against the night!
+
+  And upon my heart asleep
+    All the things I ever knew!--
+  “Holds Heaven not some cranny, Lord,
+    For a flower so tall and blue?”
+
+  All’s well and all’s well!
+    Gay the lights of Heaven show!
+  In some moist and Heavenly place
+    We will set it out to grow.
+
+
+
+
+_Eel-Grass_
+
+
+  No matter what I say,
+    All that I really love
+  Is the rain that flattens on the bay,
+    And the eel-grass in the cove;
+  The jingle-shells that lie and bleach
+    At the tide-line, and the trace
+  Of higher tides along the beach:
+    Nothing in this place.
+
+
+
+
+_Elegy before Death_
+
+
+  There will be rose and rhododendron
+    When you are dead and under ground;
+  Still will be heard from white syringas
+    Heavy with bees, a sunny sound;
+
+  Still will the tamaracks be raining
+    After the rain has ceased, and still
+  Will there be robins in the stubble,
+    Brown sheep upon the warm green hill.
+
+  Spring will not ail nor autumn falter;
+    Nothing will know that you are gone,
+  Saving alone some sullen plough-land
+    None but yourself sets foot upon;
+
+  Saving the may-weed and the pig-weed
+    Nothing will know that you are dead,--
+  These, and perhaps a useless wagon
+    Standing beside some tumbled shed.
+
+  Oh, there will pass with your great passing
+    Little of beauty not your own,--
+  Only the light from common water,
+    Only the grace from simple stone!
+
+
+
+
+_The Bean-Stalk_
+
+
+  Ho, Giant! This is I!
+  I have built me a bean-stalk into your sky!
+  La,--but it’s lovely, up so high!
+
+  This is how I came,--I put
+  There my knee, here my foot,
+  Up and up, from shoot to shoot--
+  And the blessed bean-stalk thinning
+  Like the mischief all the time,
+  Till it took me rocking, spinning,
+  In a dizzy, sunny circle,
+  Making angles with the root,
+  Far and out above the cackle
+  Of the city I was born in,
+  Till the little dirty city
+  In the light so sheer and sunny
+  Shone as dazzling bright and pretty
+  As the money that you find
+  In a dream of finding money--
+  What a wind! What a morning!--
+
+  Till the tiny, shiny city,
+  When I shot a glance below,
+  Shaken with a giddy laughter,
+  Sick and blissfully afraid,
+  Was a dew-drop on a blade,
+  And a pair of moments after
+  Was the whirling guess I made,--
+  And the wind was like a whip
+  Cracking past my icy ears,
+  And my hair stood out behind,
+  And my eyes were full of tears,
+  Wide-open and cold,
+  More tears than they could hold,
+  The wind was blowing so,
+  And my teeth were in a row,
+  Dry and grinning,
+  And I felt my foot slip,
+  And I scratched the wind and whined,
+  And I clutched the stalk and jabbered,
+  With my eyes shut blind,--
+  What a wind! What a wind!
+
+  Your broad sky, Giant,
+  Is the shelf of a cupboard;
+  I make bean-stalks, I’m
+  A builder, like yourself,
+  But bean-stalks is my trade,
+  I couldn’t make a shelf,
+  Don’t know how they’re made,
+  Now, a bean-stalk is more pliant--
+  La, what a climb!
+
+
+
+
+_Weeds_
+
+
+  White with daisies and red with sorrel
+    And empty, empty under the sky!--
+  Life is a quest and love a quarrel--
+    Here is a place for me to lie.
+
+  Daisies spring from damnèd seeds,
+    And this red fire that here I see
+  Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,
+    Cursed by farmers thriftily.
+
+  But here, unhated for an hour,
+    The sorrel runs in ragged flame,
+  The daisy stands, a bastard flower,
+    Like flowers that bear an honest name.
+
+  And here a while, where no wind brings
+    The baying of a pack athirst,
+  May sleep the sleep of blessed things
+    The blood too bright, the brow accurst.
+
+
+
+
+_Passer Mortuus Est_
+
+
+  Death devours all lovely things;
+    Lesbia with her sparrow
+  Shares the darkness,--presently
+    Every bed is narrow.
+
+  Unremembered as old rain
+    Dries the sheer libation,
+  And the little petulant hand
+    Is an annotation.
+
+  After all, my erstwhile dear,
+    My no longer cherished,
+  Need we say it was not love,
+    Now that love is perished?
+
+
+
+
+_Pastoral_
+
+
+  If it were only still!--
+  With far away the shrill
+  Crying of a cock;
+  Or the shaken bell
+  From a cow’s throat
+  Moving through the bushes;
+  Or the soft shock
+  Of wizened apples falling
+  From an old tree
+  In a forgotten orchard
+  Upon the hilly rock!
+
+  Oh, grey hill,
+  Where the grazing herd
+  Licks the purple blossom,
+  Crops the spiky weed!
+  Oh, stony pasture,
+  Where the tall mullein
+  Stands up so sturdy
+  On its little seed!
+
+
+
+
+_Assault_
+
+
+I
+
+  I had forgotten how the frogs must sound
+  After a year of silence, else I think
+  I should not so have ventured forth alone
+  At dusk upon this unfrequented road.
+
+
+II
+
+  I am waylaid by Beauty. Who will walk
+  Between me and the crying of the frogs?
+  Oh, savage Beauty, suffer me to pass,
+  That am a timid woman, on her way
+  From one house to another!
+
+
+
+
+_Travel_
+
+
+  The railroad track is miles away,
+    And the day is loud with voices speaking,
+  Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day
+    But I hear its whistle shrieking.
+
+  All night there isn’t a train goes by,
+    Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,
+  But I see its cinders red on the sky,
+    And hear its engine steaming.
+
+  My heart is warm with the friends I make,
+    And better friends I’ll not be knowing,
+  Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,
+    No matter where it’s going.
+
+
+
+
+_Low-Tide_
+
+
+  These wet rocks where the tide has been,
+    Barnacled white and weeded brown
+  And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,
+    These wet rocks where the tide went down
+  Will show again when the tide is high
+    Faint and perilous, far from shore,
+  No place to dream, but a place to die,--
+    The bottom of the sea once more.
+  _There was a child that wandered through
+    A giant’s empty house all day,--
+  House full of wonderful things and new,
+    But no fit place for a child to play._
+
+
+
+
+_Song of a Second April_
+
+
+  April this year, not otherwise
+    Than April of a year ago,
+  Is full of whispers, full of sighs,
+    Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;
+    Hepaticas that pleased you so
+  Are here again, and butterflies.
+
+  There rings a hammering all day,
+    And shingles lie about the doors;
+  In orchards near and far away
+    The grey woodpecker taps and bores;
+    And men are merry at their chores,
+  And children earnest at their play.
+
+  The larger streams run still and deep,
+    Noisy and swift the small brooks run
+  Among the mullein stalks the sheep
+    Go up the hillside in the sun,
+    Pensively,--only you are gone,
+  You that alone I cared to keep.
+
+
+
+
+_The Poet and his Book_
+
+
+  _Down, you mongrel, Death!
+    Back into your kennel!
+  I have stolen breath
+    In a stalk of fennel!
+  You shall scratch and you shall whine
+    Many a night, and you shall worry
+    Many a bone, before you bury
+  One sweet bone of mine!_
+
+  When shall I be dead?
+    When my flesh is withered,
+  And above my head
+    Yellow pollen gathered
+  All the empty afternoon?
+    When sweet lovers pause and wonder
+    Who am I that lie thereunder,
+  Hidden from the moon?
+
+  This my personal death?--
+    That my lungs be failing
+  To inhale the breath
+    Others are exhaling?
+  This my subtle spirit’s end?--
+    Ah, when the thawed winter splashes
+    Over these chance dust and ashes,
+  Weep not me, my friend!
+
+  Me, by no means dead
+    In that hour, but surely
+  When this book, unread,
+    Rots to earth obscurely,
+  And no more to any breast,
+    Close against the clamorous swelling
+    Of the thing there is no telling,
+  Are these pages pressed!
+
+  When this book is mould,
+    And a book of many
+  Waiting to be sold
+    For a casual penny,
+  In a little open case,
+    In a street unclean and cluttered,
+    Where a heavy mud is spattered
+  From the passing drays,
+
+  Stranger, pause and look;
+    From the dust of ages
+  Lift this little book,
+    Turn the tattered pages,
+  Read me, do not let me die!
+    Search the fading letters, finding
+    Steadfast in the broken binding
+  All that once was I!
+
+  When these veins are weeds,
+    When these hollowed sockets
+  Watch the rooty seeds
+    Bursting down like rockets,
+  And surmise the spring again,
+    Or, remote in that black cupboard,
+    Watch the pink worms writhing upward
+  At the smell of rain,
+
+  Boys and girls that lie
+    Whispering in the hedges,
+  Do not let me die,
+    Mix me with your pledges;
+  Boys and girls that slowly walk
+    In the woods, and weep, and quarrel,
+    Staring past the pink wild laurel,
+  Mix me with your talk,
+
+  Do not let me die!
+    Farmers at your raking,
+  When the sun is high,
+    While the hay is making,
+  When, along the stubble strewn,
+    Withering on their stalks uneaten,
+    Strawberries turn dark and sweeten
+  In the lapse of noon;
+
+  Shepherds on the hills,
+    In the pastures, drowsing
+  To the tinkling bells
+    Of the brown sheep browsing;
+  Sailors crying through the storm;
+    Scholars at your study; hunters
+    Lost amid the whirling winter’s
+  Whiteness uniform;
+
+  Men that long for sleep;
+    Men that wake and revel;--
+  If an old song leap
+    To your senses’ level
+  At such moments, may it be
+    Sometimes, though a moment only,
+    Some forgotten, quaint and homely
+  Vehicle of me!
+
+  Women at your toil,
+    Women at your leisure
+  Till the kettle boil,
+    Snatch of me your pleasure,
+  Where the broom-straw marks the leaf;
+    Women quiet with your weeping
+    Lest you wake a workman sleeping,
+  Mix me with your grief!
+
+  Boys and girls that steal
+    From the shocking laughter
+  Of the old, to kneel
+    By a dripping rafter
+  Under the discoloured eaves,
+    Out of trunks with hingeless covers
+    Lifting tales of saints and lovers,
+  Travellers, goblins, thieves,
+
+  Suns that shine by night,
+    Mountains made from valleys,--
+  Bear me to the light,
+    Flat upon your bellies
+  By the webby window lie,
+    Where the little flies are crawling,--
+    Read me, margin me with scrawling,
+  Do not let me die!
+
+  _Sexton, ply your trade!
+    In a shower of gravel
+  Stamp upon your spade!
+    Many a rose shall ravel,
+  Many a metal wreath shall rust
+    In the rain, and I go singing
+    Through the lots where you are flinging
+  Yellow clay on dust!_
+
+
+
+
+_Alms_
+
+
+  My heart is what it was before,
+    A house where people come and go;
+  But it is winter with your love,
+    The sashes are beset with snow.
+
+  I light the lamp and lay the cloth,
+    I blow the coals to blaze again;
+  But it is winter with your love,
+    The frost is thick upon the pane.
+
+  I know a winter when it comes:
+    The leaves are listless on the boughs;
+  I watched your love a little while,
+    And brought my plants into the house.
+
+  I water them and turn them south,
+    I snap the dead brown from the stem;
+  But it is winter with your love,--
+    I only tend and water them.
+
+  There was a time I stood and watched
+    The small, ill-natured sparrows’ fray;
+  I loved the beggar that I fed,
+    I cared for what he had to say,
+
+  I stood and watched him out of sight;
+    To-day I reach around the door
+  And set a bowl upon the step;
+    My heart is what it was before,
+
+  But it is winter with your love;
+    I scatter crumbs upon the sill,
+  And close the window,--and the birds
+    May take or leave them, as they will.
+
+
+
+
+_Inland_
+
+
+  People that build their houses inland,
+    People that buy a plot of ground
+  Shaped like a house, and build a house there,
+    Far from the sea-board, far from the sound
+
+  Of water sucking the hollow ledges,
+    Tons of water striking the shore,--
+  What do they long for, as I long for
+    One salt smell of the sea once more?
+
+  People the waves have not awakened,
+    Spanking the boats at the harbour’s head,
+  What do they long for, as I long for,--
+    Starting up in my inland bed,
+
+  Beating the narrow walls, and finding
+    Neither a window nor a door,
+  Screaming to God for death by drowning,--
+    One salt taste of the sea once more?
+
+
+
+
+_To a Poet that Died Young_
+
+
+  Minstrel, what have you to do
+  With this man that, after you,
+  Sharing not your happy fate,
+  Sat as England’s Laureate?
+  Vainly, in these iron days,
+  Strives the poet in your praise,
+  Minstrel, by whose singing side
+  Beauty walked, until you died.
+
+  Still, though none should hark again,
+  Drones the blue-fly in the pane,
+  Thickly crusts the blackest moss,
+  Blows the rose its musk across,
+  Floats the boat that is forgot
+  None the less to Camelot.
+
+  Many a bard’s untimely death
+  Lends unto his verses breath;
+  Here’s a song was never sung:
+  Growing old is dying young.
+  Minstrel, what is this to you:
+  That a man you never knew,
+  When your grave was far and green,
+  Sat and gossipped with a queen?
+
+  Thalia knows how rare a thing
+  Is it, to grow old and sing;
+  When the brown and tepid tide
+  Closes in on every side.
+  Who shall say if Shelley’s gold
+  Had withstood it to grow old?
+
+
+
+
+_Wraith_
+
+
+  “Thin Rain, whom are you haunting,
+    That you haunt my door?”
+  --Surely it is not I she’s wanting;
+    Someone living here before--
+  “Nobody’s in the house but me:
+  You may come in if you like and see.”
+
+  Thin as thread, with exquisite fingers,--
+    Have you seen her, any of you?--
+  Grey shawl, and leaning on the wind,
+    And the garden showing through?
+
+  Glimmering eyes,--and silent, mostly,
+    Sort of a whisper, sort of a purr,
+  Asking something, asking it over,
+    If you get a sound from her.--
+
+  Ever see her, any of you?--
+    Strangest thing I’ve ever known,--
+  Every night since I moved in,
+    And I came to be alone.
+
+  “Thin Rain, hush with your knocking!
+    You may not come in!
+  This is I that you hear rocking;
+    Nobody’s with me, nor has been!”
+
+  Curious, how she tried the window,--
+    Odd, the way she tries the door,--
+  _Wonder just what sort of people
+    Could have had this house before...._
+
+
+
+
+_Ebb_
+
+
+  I know what my heart is like
+    Since your love died:
+  It is like a hollow ledge
+  Holding a little pool
+    Left there by the tide,
+    A little tepid pool,
+  Drying inward from the edge.
+
+
+
+
+_Elaine_
+
+
+  Oh, come again to Astolat!
+    I will not ask you to be kind.
+  And you may go when you will go,
+    And I will stay behind.
+
+  I will not say how dear you are,
+    Or ask you if you hold me dear,
+  Or trouble you with things for you
+    The way I did last year.
+
+  So still the orchard, Lancelot,
+    So very still the lake shall be,
+  You could not guess--though you should guess--
+    What is become of me.
+
+  So wide shall be the garden-walk,
+    The garden-seat so very wide,
+  You needs must think--if you should think--
+    The lily maid had died.
+
+  Save that, a little way away,
+    I’d watch you for a little while,
+  To see you speak, the way you speak,
+    And smile,--if you should smile.
+
+
+
+
+_Burial_
+
+
+  Mine is a body that should die at sea!
+    And have for a grave, instead of a grave
+  Six feet deep and the length of me,
+    All the water that is under the wave!
+
+  And terrible fishes to seize my flesh,
+    Such as a living man might fear,
+  And eat me while I am firm and fresh,--
+    Not wait till I’ve been dead for a year!
+
+
+
+
+_Mariposa_
+
+
+  Butterflies are white and blue
+  In this field we wander through.
+  Suffer me to take your hand.
+  Death comes in a day or two.
+
+  All the things we ever knew
+  Will be ashes in that hour.
+  Mark the transient butterfly,
+  How he hangs upon the flower.
+
+  Suffer me to take your hand.
+  Suffer me to cherish you
+  Till the dawn is in the sky.
+  Whether I be false or true,
+  Death comes in a day or two.
+
+
+
+
+_Doubt no more that Oberon_
+
+
+  Doubt no more that Oberon--
+  Never doubt that Pan
+  Lived, and played a reed, and ran
+  After nymphs in a dark forest
+  In the merry, credulous days,--
+  Lived, and led a fairy band
+  Over the indulgent land!
+  Ah, for in this dourest, sorest
+  Age man’s eye has looked upon,
+  Death to fauns and death to fays,
+  Still the dog-wood dares to raise--
+  Healthy tree, with trunk and root--
+  Ivory bowls that bear no fruit,
+  And the starlings and the jays--
+  Birds that cannot even sing--
+  Dare to come again in spring!
+
+
+
+
+_Lament_
+
+
+  Listen, children:
+  Your father is dead.
+  From his old coats
+  I’ll make you little jackets;
+  I’ll make you little trousers
+  From his old pants.
+  There’ll be in his pockets
+  Things he used to put there,
+  Keys and pennies
+  Covered with tobacco;
+  Dan shall have the pennies
+  To save in his bank;
+  Anne shall have the keys
+  To make a pretty noise with.
+  Life must go on,
+  And the dead be forgotten;
+  Life must go on,
+  Though good men die;
+  Anne, eat your breakfast;
+  Dan, take your medicine;
+  Life must go on;
+  I forget just why.
+
+
+
+
+_Exiled_
+
+
+  Searching my heart for its true sorrow,
+    This is the thing I find to be:
+  That I am weary of words and people,
+    Sick of the city, wanting the sea;
+
+  Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness
+    Of the strong wind and shattered spray;
+  Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound
+    Of the big surf that breaks all day.
+
+  Always before about my dooryard,
+    Marking the reach of the winter sea,
+  Rooted in sand and dragging drift-wood,
+    Straggled the purple wild sweet-pea;
+
+  Always I climbed the wave at morning,
+    Shook the sand from my shoes at night,
+  That now am caught beneath great buildings
+    Stricken with noise, confused with light.
+
+  If I could hear the green piles groaning
+    Under the windy wooden piers,
+  See once again the bobbing barrels,
+    And the black sticks that fence the weirs,
+
+  If I could see the weedy mussels
+    Crusting the wrecked and rotting hulls,
+  Hear once again the hungry crying
+    Overhead, of the wheeling gulls,
+
+  Feel once again the shanty straining
+    Under the turning of the tide,
+  Fear once again the rising freshet,
+    Dread the bell in the fog outside,--
+
+  I should be happy,--that was happy
+    All day long on the coast of Maine!
+  I have a need to hold and handle
+    Shells and anchors and ships again!
+
+  I should be happy, that am happy
+    Never at all since I came here.
+  I am too long away from water.
+    I have a need of water near.
+
+
+
+
+_The Death of Autumn_
+
+
+  When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,
+  And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind
+  Like agèd warriors westward, tragic, thinned
+  Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,
+  Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak,
+  Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek,--
+  Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushes
+  My heart. I know that Beauty must ail and die,
+  And will be born again,--but ah, to see
+  Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky!
+  Oh, Autumn! Autumn!--What is the Spring to me?
+
+
+
+
+_Ode to Silence_
+
+
+  Aye, but she?
+  Your other sister and my other soul,
+  Grave Silence, lovelier
+  Than the three loveliest maidens, what of her?
+  Clio, not you,
+  Not you, Calliope,
+  Nor all your wanton line,
+  Not Beauty’s perfect self shall comfort me
+  For Silence once departed,
+  For her the cool-tongued, her the tranquil-hearted,
+  Whom evermore I follow wilfully,
+  Wandering Heaven and Earth and Hell and the four seasons through;
+  Thalia, not you,
+  Not you, Melpomene,
+  Not your incomparable feet, O thin Terpsichore,
+  I seek in this great hall,
+  But one more pale, more pensive, most beloved of you all.
+  I seek her from afar.
+  I come from temples where her altars are,
+  From groves that bear her name,
+  Noisy with stricken victims now and sacrificial flame,
+  And cymbals struck on high and strident faces
+  Obstreperous in her praise
+  They neither love nor know,
+  A goddess of gone days,
+  Departed long ago,
+  Abandoning the invaded shrines and fanes
+  Of her old sanctuary,
+  A deity obscure and legendary,
+  Of whom there now remains,
+  For sages to decipher and priests to garble,
+  Only and for a little while her letters wedged in marble,
+  Which even now, behold, the friendly mumbling rain erases,
+  And the inarticulate snow,
+  Leaving at last of her least signs and traces
+  None whatsoever, nor whither she is vanished from these places.
+
+  “She will love well,” I said,
+  “If love be of that heart inhabiter,
+  The flowers of the dead;
+  The red anemone that with no sound
+  Moves in the wind, and from another wound
+  That sprang, the heavily-sweet blue hyacinth,
+  That blossoms underground,
+  And sallow poppies, will be dear to her.
+  And will not Silence know
+  In the black shade of what obsidian steep
+  Stiffens the white narcissus numb with sleep?
+  (Seed which Demeter’s daughter bore from home,
+  Uptorn by desperate fingers long ago,
+  Reluctant even as she,
+  Undone Persephone,
+  And even as she set out again to grow
+  In twilight, in perdition’s lean and inauspicious loam).
+  She will love well,” I said,
+  “The flowers of the dead;
+  Where dark Persephone the winter round,
+  Uncomforted for home, uncomforted,
+  Lacking a sunny southern slope in northern Sicily,
+  With sullen pupils focussed on a dream,
+  Stares on the stagnant stream
+  That moats the unequivocable battlements of Hell,
+  There, there will she be found,
+  She that is Beauty veiled from men and Music in a swound.”
+
+  “I long for Silence as they long for breath
+  Whose helpless nostrils drink the bitter sea;
+  What thing can be
+  So stout, what so redoubtable, in Death
+  What fury, what considerable rage, if only she,
+  Upon whose icy breast,
+  Unquestioned, uncaressed,
+  One time I lay,
+  And whom always I lack,
+  Even to this day,
+  Being by no means from that frigid bosom weaned away,
+  If only she therewith be given me back?”
+
+  I sought her down that dolorous labyrinth,
+  Wherein no shaft of sunlight ever fell,
+  And in among the bloodless everywhere
+  I sought her, but the air,
+  Breathed many times and spent,
+  Was fretful with a whispering discontent,
+  And questioning me, importuning me to tell
+  Some slightest tidings of the light of day they know no more,
+  Plucking my sleeve, the eager shades were with me where I went.
+  I paused at every grievous door,
+  And harked a moment, holding up my hand,--and for a space
+  A hush was on them, while they watched my face;
+  And then they fell a-whispering as before;
+  So that I smiled at them and left them, seeing she was not there.
+  I sought her, too,
+  Among the upper gods, although I knew
+  She was not like to be where feasting is,
+  Nor near to Heaven’s lord,
+  Being a thing abhorred
+  And shunned of him, although a child of his,
+  (Not yours, not yours; to you she owes not breath,
+  Mother of Song, being sown of Zeus upon a dream of Death).
+  Fearing to pass unvisited some place
+  And later learn, too late, how all the while,
+  With her still face,
+  She had been standing there and seen me pass, without a smile,
+  I sought her even to the sagging board whereat
+  The stout immortals sat;
+  But such a laughter shook the mighty hall
+  No one could hear me say:
+  Had she been seen upon the Hill that day?
+  And no one knew at all
+  How long I stood or when at last I sighed and went away.
+
+  There is a garden lying in a lull
+  Between the mountains and the mountainous sea,
+  I know not where, but which a dream diurnal
+  Paints on my lids a moment till the hull
+  Be lifted from the kernel
+  And Slumber fed to me.
+  Your foot-print is not there, Mnemosene,
+  Though it would seem a ruined place and after
+  Your lichenous heart, being full
+  Of broken columns, caryatides
+  Thrown to the earth and fallen forward on their jointless knees,
+  And urns funereal altered into dust
+  Minuter than the ashes of the dead,
+  And Psyche’s lamp out of the earth up-thrust,
+  Dripping itself in marble wax on what was once the bed
+  Of Love, and his young body asleep, but now is dust instead.
+
+  There twists the bitter-sweet, the white wisteria
+  Fastens its fingers in the strangling wall,
+  And the wide crannies quicken with bright weeds;
+  There dumbly like a worm all day the still white orchid feeds;
+  But never an echo of your daughters’ laughter
+  Is there, nor any sign of you at all
+  Swells fungous from the rotten bough, grey mother of Pieria!
+  Only her shadow once upon a stone
+  I saw,--and, lo, the shadow and the garden, too, were gone.
+
+  I tell you you have done her body an ill,
+  You chatterers, you noisy crew!
+  She is not anywhere!
+  I sought her in deep Hell;
+  And through the world as well;
+  I thought of Heaven and I sought her there;
+  Above nor underground
+  Is Silence to be found,
+  That was the very warp and woof of you,
+  Lovely before your songs began and after they were through!
+  Oh, say if on this hill
+  Somewhere your sister’s body lies in death,
+  So I may follow there, and make a wreath
+  Of my locked hands, that on her quiet breast
+  Shall lie till age has withered them!
+
+                          (Ah, sweetly from the rest
+  I see
+  Turn and consider me
+  Compassionate Euterpe!)
+  “There is a gate beyond the gate of Death,
+  Beyond the gate of everlasting Life,
+  Beyond the gates of Heaven and Hell,” she saith,
+  “Whereon but to believe is horror!
+  Whereon to meditate engendereth
+  Even in deathless spirits such as I
+  A tumult in the breath,
+  A chilling of the inexhaustible blood
+  Even in my veins that never will be dry,
+  And in the austere, divine monotony
+  That is my being, the madness of an unaccustomed mood.
+
+  This is her province whom you lack and seek;
+  And seek her not elsewhere.
+  Hell is a thoroughfare
+  For pilgrims,--Herakles,
+  And he that loved Euridice too well,
+  Have walked therein; and many more than these;
+  And witnessed the desire and the despair
+  Of souls that passed reluctantly and sicken for the air;
+  You, too, have entered Hell,
+  And issued thence; but thence whereof I speak
+  None has returned;--for thither fury brings
+  Only the driven ghosts of them that flee before all things.
+  Oblivion is the name of this abode: and she is there.”
+  Oh, radiant Song! Oh, gracious Memory!
+  Be long upon this height
+  I shall not climb again!
+  I know the way you mean,--the little night,
+  And the long empty day,--never to see
+  Again the angry light,
+  Or hear the hungry noises cry my brain!
+
+  Ah, but she,
+  Your other sister and my other soul,
+  She shall again be mine;
+  And I shall drink her from a silver bowl,
+  A chilly thin green wine,
+  Not bitter to the taste,
+  Not sweet,
+  Not of your press, oh, restless, clamorous nine,--
+  To foam beneath the frantic hoofs of mirth--
+  But savouring faintly of the acid earth,
+  And trod by pensive feet
+  From perfect clusters ripened without haste
+  Out of the urgent heat
+  In some clear glimmering vaulted twilight under the odorous vine.
+
+  Lift up your lyres! Sing on!
+  But as for me, I seek your sister whither she is gone.
+
+
+
+
+_Memorial to D. C._
+
+[VASSAR COLLEGE, 1918]
+
+
+  _Oh, loveliest throat of all sweet throats,
+    Where now no more the music is,
+  With hands that wrote you little notes
+    I write you little elegies!_
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+_Epitaph_
+
+
+  Heap not on this mound
+    Roses that she loved so well;
+  Why bewilder her with roses,
+    That she cannot see or smell?
+  She is happy where she lies
+  With the dust upon her eyes.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+_Prayer to Persephone_
+
+
+  Be to her, Persephone,
+  All the things I might not be;
+  Take her head upon your knee.
+  She that was so proud and wild,
+  Flippant, arrogant and free,
+  She that had no need of me,
+  Is a little lonely child
+  Lost in Hell,--Persephone,
+  Take her head upon your knee;
+  Say to her, “My dear, my dear,
+  It is not so dreadful here.”
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+_Chorus_
+
+
+  Give away her gowns,
+  Give away her shoes;
+  She has no more use
+  For her fragrant gowns;
+  Take them all down,
+  Blue, green, blue,
+  Lilac, pink, blue,
+  From their padded hangers;
+  She will dance no more
+  In her narrow shoes;
+  Sweep her narrow shoes
+  From the closet floor.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+_Elegy_
+
+
+  Let them bury your big eyes
+  In the secret earth securely,
+  Your thin fingers, and your fair,
+  Soft, indefinite-coloured hair,--
+  All of these in some way, surely,
+  From the secret earth shall rise;
+  Not for these I sit and stare,
+  Broken and bereft completely;
+  Your young flesh that sat so neatly
+  On your little bones will sweetly
+  Blossom in the air.
+
+  But your voice,--never the rushing
+  Of a river underground,
+  Not the rising of the wind
+  In the trees before the rain,
+  Not the woodcock’s watery call,
+  Not the note the white-throat utters,
+  Not the feet of children pushing
+  Yellow leaves along the gutters
+  In the blue and bitter fall,
+  Shall content my musing mind
+  For the beauty of that sound
+  That in no new way at all
+  Ever will be heard again.
+  Sweetly through the sappy stalk
+  Of the vigorous weed,
+  Holding all it held before,
+  Cherished by the faithful sun,
+  On and on eternally
+  Shall your altered fluid run,
+  Bud and bloom and go to seed;
+  But your singing days are done;
+  But the music of your talk
+  Never shall the chemistry
+  Of the secret earth restore.
+  All your lovely words are spoken.
+  Once the ivory box is broken,
+  Beats the golden bird no more.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+_Dirge_
+
+
+  Boys and girls that held her dear,
+    Do your weeping now;
+  All you loved of her lies here.
+
+  Brought to earth the arrogant brow,
+    And the withering tongue
+  Chastened; do your weeping now.
+
+  Sing whatever songs are sung,
+    Wind whatever wreath,
+  For a playmate perished young,
+
+  For a spirit spent in death.
+  Boys and girls that held her dear,
+  All you loved of her lies here.
+
+
+
+
+_Sonnets_
+
+
+I
+
+  We talk of taxes, and I call you friend;
+  Well, such you are,--but well enough we know
+  How thick about us root, how rankly grow
+  Those subtle weeds no man has need to tend,
+  That flourish through neglect, and soon must send
+  Perfume too sweet upon us and overthrow
+  Our steady senses; how such matters go
+  We are aware, and how such matters end.
+  Yet shall be told no meagre passion here;
+  With lovers such as we for evermore
+  Isolde drinks the draught, and Guinevere
+  Receives the Table’s ruin through her door,
+  Francesca, with the loud surf at her ear,
+  Lets fall the coloured book upon the floor.
+
+
+II
+
+  Into the golden vessel of great song
+  Let us pour all our passion; breast to breast
+  Let other lovers lie, in love and rest;
+  Not we,--articulate, so, but with the tongue
+  Of all the world: the churning blood, the long
+  Shuddering quiet, the desperate hot palms pressed
+  Sharply together upon the escaping guest,
+  The common soul, unguarded, and grown strong.
+  Longing alone is singer to the lute;
+  Let still on nettles in the open sigh
+  The minstrel, that in slumber is as mute
+  As any man, and love be far and high,
+  That else forsakes the topmost branch, a fruit
+  Found on the ground by every passer-by.
+
+
+III
+
+  Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter
+  We drenched the altars of Love’s sacred grove,
+  Shaking to earth green fruits, impatient after
+  The launching of the coloured moths of Love.
+  Love’s proper myrtle and his mother’s zone
+  We bound about our irreligious brows,
+  And fettered him with garlands of our own,
+  And spread a banquet in his frugal house.
+  Not yet the god has spoken; but I fear
+  Though we should break our bodies in his flame,
+  And pour our blood upon his altar, here
+  Henceforward is a grove without a name,
+  A pasture to the shaggy goats of Pan,
+  Whence flee forever a woman and a man.
+
+
+IV
+
+  Only until this cigarette is ended,
+  A little moment at the end of all,
+  While on the floor the quiet ashes fall,
+  And in the firelight to a lance extended,
+  Bizarrely with the jazzing music blended,
+  The broken shadow dances on the wall,
+  I will permit my memory to recall
+  The vision of you, by all my dreams attended.
+  And then adieu,--farewell!--the dream is done.
+  Yours is a face of which I can forget
+  The colour and the features, every one,
+  The words not ever, and the smiles not yet;
+  But in your day this moment is the sun
+  Upon a hill, after the sun has set.
+
+
+V
+
+  Once more into my arid days like dew,
+  Like wind from an oasis, or the sound
+  Of cold sweet water bubbling underground,
+  A treacherous messenger, the thought of you
+  Comes to destroy me; once more I renew
+  Firm faith in your abundance, whom I found
+  Long since to be but just one other mound
+  Of sand, whereon no green thing ever grew.
+  And once again, and wiser in no wise,
+  I chase your coloured phantom on the air,
+  And sob and curse and fall and weep and rise
+  And stumble pitifully on to where,
+  Miserable and lost, with stinging eyes,
+  Once more I clasp,--and there is nothing there.
+
+
+VI
+
+  No rose that in a garden ever grew,
+  In Homer’s or in Omar’s or in mine,
+  Though buried under centuries of fine
+  Dead dust of roses, shut from sun and dew
+  Forever, and forever lost from view,
+  But must again in fragrance rich as wine
+  The grey aisles of the air incarnadine
+  When the old summers surge into a new.
+  Thus when I swear, “I love with all my heart,”
+  ’Tis with the heart of Lilith that I swear,
+  ’Tis with the love of Lesbia and Lucrece;
+  And thus as well my love must lose some part
+  Of what it is, had Helen been less fair,
+  Or perished young, or stayed at home in Greece.
+
+
+VII
+
+  When I too long have looked upon your face,
+  Wherein for me a brightness unobscured
+  Save by the mists of brightness has its place,
+  And terrible beauty not to be endured,
+  I turn away reluctant from your light,
+  And stand irresolute, a mind undone,
+  A silly, dazzled thing deprived of sight
+  From having looked too long upon the sun.
+  Then is my daily life a narrow room
+  In which a little while, uncertainly,
+  Surrounded by impenetrable gloom,
+  Among familiar things grown strange to me
+  Making my way, I pause, and feel, and hark,
+  Till I become accustomed to the dark.
+
+
+VIII
+
+  And you as well must die, beloved dust,
+  And all your beauty stand you in no stead;
+  This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,
+  This body of flame and steel, before the gust
+  Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,
+  Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead
+  Than the first leaf that fell,--this wonder fled,
+  Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.
+  Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.
+  In spite of all my love, you will arise
+  Upon that day and wander down the air
+  Obscurely as the unattended flower,
+  It mattering not how beautiful you were,
+  Or how beloved above all else that dies.
+
+
+IX
+
+  Let you not say of me when I am old,
+  In pretty worship of my withered hands
+  Forgetting who I am, and how the sands
+  Of such a life as mine run red and gold
+  Even to the ultimate sifting dust, “Behold,
+  Here walketh passionless age!”--for there expands
+  A curious superstition in these lands,
+  And by its leave some weightless tales are told.
+  In me no lenten wicks watch out the night;
+  I am the booth where Folly holds her fair;
+  Impious no less in ruin than in strength,
+  When I lie crumbled to the earth at length,
+  Let you not say, “Upon this reverend site
+  The righteous groaned and beat their breasts in prayer.”
+
+
+X
+
+  Oh, my beloved, have you thought of this:
+  How in the years to come unscrupulous Time,
+  More cruel than Death, will tear you from my kiss,
+  And make you old, and leave me in my prime?
+  How you and I, who scale together yet
+  A little while the sweet, immortal height
+  No pilgrim may remember or forget,
+  As sure as the world turns, some granite night
+  Shall lie awake and know the gracious flame
+  Gone out forever on the mutual stone;
+  And call to mind how on the day you came
+  I was a child, and you a hero grown?--
+  And the night pass, and the strange morning break
+  Upon our anguish for each other’s sake!
+
+
+XI
+
+  As to some lovely temple, tenantless
+  Long since, that once was sweet with shivering brass,
+  Knowing well its altars ruined and the grass
+  Grown up between the stones, yet from excess
+  Of grief hard driven, or great loneliness,
+  The worshipper returns, and those who pass
+  Marvel him crying on a name that was,--
+  So is it now with me in my distress.
+  Your body was a temple to Delight;
+  Cold are its ashes whence the breath is fled,
+  Yet here one time your spirit was wont to move;
+  Here might I hope to find you day or night,
+  And here I come to look for you, my love,
+  Even now, foolishly, knowing you are dead.
+
+
+XII
+
+  Cherish you then the hope I shall forget
+  At length, my lord, Pieria?--put away
+  For your so passing sake, this mouth of clay,
+  These mortal bones against my body set,
+  For all the puny fever and frail sweat
+  Of human love,--renounce for these, I say,
+  The Singing Mountain’s memory, and betray
+  The silent lyre that hangs upon me yet?
+  Ah, but indeed, some day shall you awake,
+  Rather, from dreams of me, that at your side
+  So many nights, a lover and a bride,
+  But stern in my soul’s chastity, have lain,
+  To walk the world forever for my sake,
+  And in each chamber find me gone again!
+
+
+
+
+_Wild Swans_
+
+
+  I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over.
+  And what did I see I had not seen before?
+  Only a question less or a question more;
+  Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying.
+  Tiresome heart, forever living and dying,
+  House without air, I leave you and lock your door.
+  Wild swans, come over the town, come over
+  The town again, trailing your legs and crying!
+
+
+_Printed in Great Britain by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and
+Aylesbury_.
+
+
+
+
+  Works by
+  D. H. Lawrence
+
+  ❧
+
+    The Lost Girl, 9s.
+    Women in Love, 9s.
+    Aaron’s Rod, 7s. 6d.
+    The Ladybird, 7s. 6d.
+    Kangaroo, 7s. 6d.
+    New Poems, 5s.
+    Birds, Beasts and Flowers, 6s.
+    Sea and Sardinia, 21s.
+
+
+
+
+  Works by
+  Compton Mackenzie
+
+  ❧
+
+    The Passionate Elopement, 7s. 6d.
+    Carnival, 7s. 6d.
+    Sinister Street, Vol. I, 7s. 6d.
+    Sinister Street, Vol. II, 7s. 6d.
+    Guy and Pauline, 7s. 6d.
+    Sylvia Scarlett, 8s.
+    Sylvia and Michael, 8s.
+    Poor Relations, 7s. 6d.
+    Rich Relatives, 9s.
+    The Seven Ages of Woman, 7s. 6d.
+    Kensington Rhymes, 5s.
+
+
+
+
+  Works by
+  Maurice Baring
+
+  ❧
+
+    Dead Letters, 6s.
+    Diminutive Dramas, 5s.
+    Poems: 1914–1919, 6s.
+    Passing By, 7s. 6d.
+
+
+
+
+  Works by
+  Norman Douglas
+
+  ❧
+
+    South Wind, 7s. 6d.
+    Old Calabria, 10s. 6d.
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+    Siren Land, 7s. 6d.
+
+
+
+
+  Works by
+  Arthur Machen
+
+  ❧
+
+    The Hill of Dreams, 7s. 6d.
+    The Secret Glory, 7s. 6d.
+    Far Off Things, 7s. 6d.
+    Things Near and Far, 7s. 6d.
+    Hieroglyphics, 7s. 6d.
+    The Caerleon Edition, £9 9s.
+
+
+
+
+  Works by
+  Lascelles Abercrombie
+
+  ❧
+
+    Four Short Plays, 6s.
+    Towards a Theory of Art, 5s.
+    Principles of English Prosody, 5s.
+    The Epic: An Essay, 5s.
+    Speculative Dialogues, 5s.
+    Thomas Hardy: A Critical Study, 3s. 6d.
+
+
+Martin Secker
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s Notes
+
+
+Italic text is enclosed in _underscores_.
+
+Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling inconsistencies were not changed.
+
+Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation marks
+were remedied by examining other copies of the same poems.
+
+Transcriber added a missing exclamation mark at the end of “Burial.”
+
+Decorative floral bullets are similar, but not identical, to the ones
+in the original.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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-<pre>

-

-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Edna St. Vincent Millay

-

-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most

-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions

-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of

-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at

-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have

-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.

-

-Title: Poems

-

-Author: Edna St. Vincent Millay

-

-Release Date: March 31, 2019 [EBook #59167]

-

-Language: English

-

-Character set encoding: UTF-8

-

-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***

-

-

-

-

-Produced by Tim Lindell, Charlie Howard, and the Online

-Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This

-file was produced from images generously made available

-by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)

-

-

-

-

-

-

-</pre>

-

-

-<div class="transnote covernote center vspace">Transcriber’s Note<br />

-Cover created by Transcriber and placed in the Public Domain.</div>

-

-<h1>Poems <i>by</i> Edna St. Vincent Millay</h1>

-

-<hr />

-

-<p class="newpage p4 center xlarge vspace">Poems <i>by</i><br />

-Edna St. Vincent Millay</p>

-

-<p class="p2 center xxlarge center">❦</p>

-

-<p class="p4 center vspace large">London<br />

-Martin Secker<br />

-1923

-</p>

-

-<hr />

-

-<p class="newpage p4 center smaller">

-<i>Printed in Great Britain</i><br />

-<i>London: Martin Secker (Ltd.) 1923</i>

-</p>

-

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2>

-</div>

-

-<table id="toc" summary="Contents">

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><i><a href="#SECTION_ONE">Section One</a></i></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Renascence,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_1">13</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">God’s World,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_2">22</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Afternoon on a Hill,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_3">23</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Journey,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_4">24</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Sorrow,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_5">26</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Tavern,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_6">27</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Ashes of Life,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_7">28</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">The Little Ghost,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_8">29</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Kin to Sorrow,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_9">31</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Three Songs of Shattering,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_10">32</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">The Shroud,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_11">34</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">The Dream,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_12">35</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Indifference,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_13">36</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Witch-wife,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_14">37</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Blight,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_15">38</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">When the Year Grows Old,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_16">40</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Unnamed Sonnets, i-v,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_17">42</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Sonnet vi (Bluebeard),</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_18">47</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><i><a href="#SECTION_TWO">Section Two</a></i><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">I,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_19">51</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">II,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_20">51</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Recuerdo,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_21">52</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Thursday,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_22">53</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">To the Not Impossible Him,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_23">54</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">The Singing-Woman from the Wood’s Edge,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_24">55</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Humoresque,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_25">58</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">She is Overheard Singing,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_26">59</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">The Unexplorer,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_27">61</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Grown-up,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_28">62</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">The Penitent,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_29">63</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Daphne,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_30">64</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Portrait by a Neighbour,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_31">65</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">The Merry Maid,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_32">66</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">To S. M.,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_33">67</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">The Philosopher,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_34">68</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Sonnet—Love, Though for This,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_35">69</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Sonnet—I Think I Should Have Loved You,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_36">70</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Sonnet—Oh, Think Not I am Faithful,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_37">71</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Sonnet—I Shall Forget You Presently,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_38">72</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><i><a href="#SECTION_THREE">Section Three</a></i><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Spring,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_39">75</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">City Trees,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_40">76</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">The Blue-Flag in the Bog,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_41">77</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Eel-Grass,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_42">86</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Elegy before Death,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_43">87</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">The Bean-Stalk,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_44">88</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Weeds,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_45">90</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Passer Mortuus Est,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_46">91</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Pastoral,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_47">92</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Assault,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_48">93</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Travel,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_49">94</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Low-Tide,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_50">95</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Song of a Second April,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_51">96</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">The Poet and his Book,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_52">97</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Alms,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_53">102</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Inland,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_54">104</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">To a Poet that Died Young,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_55">105</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Wraith,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_56">107</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Ebb,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_57">109</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Elaine,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_58">110</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Burial,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_59">111</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Mariposa,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_60">112</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Doubt no more that Oberon,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_61">113</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Lament,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_62">114</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Exiled,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_63">115</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">The Death of Autumn,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_64">117</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Ode to Silence,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_65">118</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Memorial to D. C.,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_66">127</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Unnamed Sonnets, i-xii,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_67">134</a></td></tr>

-  <tr>

-    <td class="tdl">Wild Swans,</td>

-    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_68">146</a></td></tr>

-</table>

-

-<hr class="wide" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span></p>

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 id="SECTION_ONE"><span class="larger">SECTION ONE</span></h2>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="wide" />

-

-<div id="p_1" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Renascence"><i>Renascence</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">All</span> I could see from where I stood<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Was three long mountains and a wood;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I turned and looked another way,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And saw three islands in a bay.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">So with my eyes I traced the line<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of the horizon, thin and fine,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Straight around till I was come<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Back to where I’d started from<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And all I saw from where I stood<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Was three long mountains and a wood.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Over these things I could not see:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">These were the things that bounded me;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And I could touch them with my hand,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Almost, I thought, from where I stand.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And all at once things seemed so small<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">My breath came short, and scarce at all.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But, sure, the sky is big, I said;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Miles and miles above my head;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">So here upon my back I’ll lie<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And look my fill into the sky.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And so I looked, and, after all,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The sky was not so very tall.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And—sure enough!—I see the top!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The sky, I thought, is not so grand;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I ’most could touch it with my hand!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And reaching up my hand to try,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I screamed to feel it touch the sky.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I screamed, and—lo!—Infinity<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Came down and settled over me;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Forced back my scream into my chest,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Bent back my arm upon my breast,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And, pressing of the Undefined<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The definition on my mind,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Held up before my eyes a glass<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Through which my shrinking sight did pass<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Until it seemed I must behold<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Immensity made manifold;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Whispered to me a word whose sound<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Deafened the air for worlds around,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And brought unmuffled to my ears<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The gossiping of friendly spheres,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The creaking of the tented sky,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The ticking of Eternity.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I saw and heard and knew at last<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The How and Why of all things, past,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And present, and for evermore.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The Universe, cleft to the core,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Lay open to my probing sense<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That, sick’ning, I would fain pluck thence<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But could not,—nay! But needs must suck<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">At the great wound, and could not pluck<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">My lips away till I had drawn<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All venom out.—Ah, fearful pawn!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For my omniscience paid I toll<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In infinite remorse of soul.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All sin was of my sinning, all<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Atoning mine, and mine the gall<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of all regret. Mine was the weight<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of every brooded wrong, the hate<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That stood behind each envious thrust,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Mine every greed, mine every lust.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And all the while for every grief,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Each suffering, I craved relief<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">With individual desire,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">About a thousand people crawl;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Perished with each,—then mourned for all!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A man was starving in Capri;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">He moved his eyes and looked at me;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And knew his hunger as my own.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I saw at sea a great fog bank<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Between two ships that struck and sank;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A thousand screams the heavens smote;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And every scream tore through my throat.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">No hurt I did not feel, no death<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That was not mine; mine each last breath<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That, crying, met an answering cry<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From the compassion that was I.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All suffering mine, and mine its rod;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Mine, pity like the pity of God.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Ah, awful weight! Infinity<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Pressed down upon the finite Me!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">My anguished spirit, like a bird,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Beating against my lips I heard;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Yet lay the weight so close about<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">There was no room for it without.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And so beneath the weight lay I<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And suffered death, but could not die.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Long had I lain thus, craving death,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">When quietly the earth beneath<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Gave way, and inch by inch, so great<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">At last had grown the crushing weight,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Into the earth I sank till I<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Full six feet under ground did lie,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And sank no more,—there is no weight<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Can follow here, however great.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From off my breast I felt it roll,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And as it went my tortured soul<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Burst forth and fled in such a gust<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That all about me swirled the dust.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Deep in the earth I rested now;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Cool is its hand upon the brow<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And soft its breast beneath the head<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of one who is so gladly dead.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And all at once, and over all<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The pitying rain began to fall;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I lay and heard each pattering hoof<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Upon my lowly, thatchèd roof,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And seemed to love the sound far more<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Than ever I had done before.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For rain it hath a friendly sound<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To one who’s six feet under ground;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And scarce the friendly voice or face:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A grave is such a quiet place.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">The rain, I said, is kind to come<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And speak to me in my new home.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I would I were alive again<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To kiss the fingers of the rain,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To drink into my eyes the shine<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of every slanting silver line,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From drenched and dripping apple-trees.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For soon the shower will be done,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And then the broad face of the sun<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Until the world with answering mirth<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Shakes joyously, and each round drop<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">How can I bear it, buried here,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">While overhead the sky grows clear<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And blue again after the storm?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">O, multi-coloured, multiform,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Beloved beauty over me,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That I shall never, never see<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That I shall never more behold!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Sleeping your myriad magics through,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Close-sepulchred away from you!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">O God, I cried, give me new birth,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And put me back upon the earth!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Upset each cloud’s gigantic gourd<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And let the heavy rain, down-poured<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In one big torrent, set me free,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Washing my grave away from me!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I ceased; and through the breathless hush<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That answered me, the far-off rush<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of herald wings came whispering<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Like music down the vibrant string<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of my ascending prayer, and—crash!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Before the wild wind’s whistling lash<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The startled storm-clouds reared on high<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And plunged in terror down the sky,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the big rain in one black wave<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Fell from the sky and struck my grave.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I know not how such things can be;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I only know there came to me<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A fragrance such as never clings<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To aught save happy living things;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A sound as of some joyous elf<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Singing sweet songs to please himself,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And, through and over everything,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A sense of glad awakening.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Whispering to me I could hear;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I felt the rain’s cool finger-tips<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Brushed tenderly across my lips,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Laid gently on my sealèd sight,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And all at once the heavy night<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Fell from my eyes and I could see,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A drenched and dripping apple-tree,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A last long line of silver rain,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A sky grown clear and blue again.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And as I looked a quickening gust<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of wind blew up to me and thrust<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Into my face a miracle<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I know not how such things can be!—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I breathed my soul back into me.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And hailed the earth with such a cry<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">As is not heard save from a man<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Who has been dead, and lives again.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">About the trees my arms I wound;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I raised my quivering arms on high;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I laughed and laughed into the sky,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Till at my throat a strangling sob<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Sent instant tears into my eyes;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">O God, I cried, no dark disguise<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Can e’er hereafter hide from me<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Thy radiant identity!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Thou canst not move across the grass<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Nor speak, however silently,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But my hushed voice will answer Thee.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I know the path that tells Thy way<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Through the cool eve of every day;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">God, I can push the grass apart<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And lay my finger on Thy heart!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">The world stands out on either side<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">No wider than the heart is wide;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Above the world is stretched the sky,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">No higher than the soul is high.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The heart can push the sea and land<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Farther away on either hand;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The soul can split the sky in two,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And let the face of God shine through.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But East and West will pinch the heart<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That cannot keep them pushed apart;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And he whose soul is flat—the sky<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Will cave in on him by and by.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_2" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Gods_World"><i>God’s World</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">O world,</span> I cannot hold thee close enough!<br /></span>

-<span class="i6">Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!<br /></span>

-<span class="i6">Thy mists, that roll and rise!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Long have I known a glory in it all,<br /></span>

-<span class="i6">But never knew I this;<br /></span>

-<span class="i6">Here such a passion is<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">As stretcheth me apart,—Lord, I do fear<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Thou’st made the world too beautiful this year;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">My soul is all but out of me,—let fall<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_3" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Afternoon_on_a_Hill"><i>Afternoon on a Hill</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">I will</span> be the gladdest thing<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Under the sun!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I will touch a hundred flowers<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And not pick one.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I will look at cliffs and clouds<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">With quiet eyes,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Watch the wind bow down the grass,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And the grass rise.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And when lights begin to show<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Up from the town,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I will mark which must be mine,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And then start down.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_4" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Journey"><i>Journey</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span></p><div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Ah,</span> could I lay me down in this long grass<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Blow over me,—I am so tired, so tired<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of passing pleasant places! All my life,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Following Care along the dusty road,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Have I looked back at loveliness and sighed;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Yet at my hand an unrelenting hand<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Tugged ever, and I passed. All my life long<br /></span>

-<span class="i4">Over my shoulder have I looked at peace<br /></span>

-<span class="i4">And now I fain would lie in this long grass<br /></span>

-<span class="i4">And close my eyes.<br /></span>

-<span class="i22">Yet onward!<br /></span>

-<span class="i32">Cat-birds call<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Through the long afternoon, and creeks at dusk<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Are guttural. Whip-poor-wills wake and cry,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Drawing the twilight close about their throats.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Only my heart makes answer. Eager vines<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Go up the rocks and wait; flushed apple-trees<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Pause in their dance and break the ring for me;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Dim, shady wood-roads, redolent of fern<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And bayberry, that through sweet bevies thread<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of round-faced roses, pink and petulant,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Look back and beckon ere they disappear.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Only my heart, only my heart responds.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Yet, ah, my path is sweet on either side<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All through the dragging day,—sharp underfoot,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And hot, and like dead mist the dry dust hangs—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A gateless garden, and an open path:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_5" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Sorrow"><i>Sorrow</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Sorrow</span> like a ceaseless rain<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Beats upon my heart.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">People twist and scream in pain,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Dawn will find them still again;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">This has neither wax nor wane,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Neither stop nor start.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">People dress and go to town;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I sit in my chair.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All my thoughts are slow and brown:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Standing up or sitting down<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Little matters, or what gown<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Or what shoes I wear.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_6" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Tavern"><i>Tavern</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">I’ll</span> keep a little tavern<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Below the high hill’s crest,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Wherein all grey-eyed people<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">May sit them down and rest.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">There shall be plates a-plenty,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And mugs to melt the chill<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of all the grey-eyed people<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Who happen up the hill.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">There sound will sleep the traveller,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And dream his journey’s end,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But I will rouse at midnight<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The falling fire to tend.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Aye, ’tis a curious fancy—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">But all the good I know<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Was taught me out of two grey eyes<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">A long time ago.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_7" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Ashes_of_Life"><i>Ashes of Life</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Love</span> has gone and left me and the days are all alike;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Eat I must, and sleep I will,—and would that night were here!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But ah!—to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Would that it were day again!—with twilight near!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Love has gone and left me and I don’t know what to do;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">This or that or what you will is all the same to me;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But all the things that I begin I leave before I’m through,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">There’s little use in anything as far as I can see.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Love has gone and left me,—and the neighbours knock and borrow,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">There’s this little street and this little house.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_8" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="The_Little_Ghost"><i>The Little Ghost</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span></p><div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">I knew</span> her for a little ghost<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That in my garden walked;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The wall is high—higher than most—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And the green gate was locked.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And yet I did not think of that<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Till after she was gone—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I knew her by the broad white hat,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">All ruffled, she had on.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">By the dear ruffles round her feet,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">By her small hands that hung<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Her gown’s white folds among.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I watched to see if she would stay,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">What she would do—and oh!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She looked as if she liked the way<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I let my garden grow!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">She bent above my favourite mint<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">With conscious garden grace,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She smiled and smiled—there was no hint<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Of sadness in her face.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">She held her gown on either side<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">To let her slippers show,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And up the walk she went with pride,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The way great ladies go.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And where the wall is built in new<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And is of ivy bare<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She paused—then opened and passed through<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">A gate that once was there.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_9" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Kin_to_Sorrow"><i>Kin to Sorrow</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i2"><span class="first">Am</span> I kin to Sorrow,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That so oft<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Falls the knocker of my door—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Neither loud nor soft,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But as long accustomed,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Under Sorrow’s hand?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Marigolds around the step<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And rosemary stand,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And then comes Sorrow—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And what does Sorrow care<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For the rosemary<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Or the marigolds there?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Am I kin to Sorrow?<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Are we kin?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That so oft upon my door—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2"><em>Oh, come in!</em><br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_10" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Three_Songs_of_Shattering"><i>Three Songs of Shattering</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<h3>I</h3>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">The</span> first rose on my rose-tree<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Budded, bloomed, and shattered,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">During sad days when to me<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Nothing mattered.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Grief of grief has drained me clean;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Still it seems a pity<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">No one saw,—it must have been<br /></span>

-<span class="i4">Very pretty.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-

-<h3>II</h3>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span></p><div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Let</span> the little birds sing;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Let the little lambs play;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Spring is here; and so ’tis spring;—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">But not in the old way!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I recall a place<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Where a plum-tree grew;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">There you lifted up your face,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And blossoms covered you.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">If the little birds sing,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And the little lambs play,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Spring is here; and so ’tis spring—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">But not in the old way!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-

-<h3>III</h3>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">All</span> the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Ere spring was going—ah! spring is gone!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And there comes no summer to the like of you and me,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Blossom time is early, but no fruit sets on.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Browned at the edges, turned in a day;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And I would with all my heart they trimmed a mound for me,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And weeds were tall on all the paths that led that way!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_11" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="The_Shroud"><i>The Shroud</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Death,</span> I say, my heart is bowed<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Unto thine,—O mother!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">This red gown will make a shroud<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Good as any other!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">(I, that would not wait to wear<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">My own bridal things,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In a dress dark as my hair<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Made my answerings.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I, to-night, that till he came<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Could not, could not wait,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In a gown as bright as flame<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Held for them the gate.)<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Death, I say, my heart is bowed<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Unto thine,—O mother!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">This red gown will make a shroud<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Good as any other!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_12" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="The_Dream"><i>The Dream</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Love,</span> if I weep it will not matter,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And if you laugh I shall not care;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Foolish am I to think about it,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">But it is good to feel you there.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">White and awful the moonlight reached<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">There was a shutter loose,—it screeched!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Swung in the wind,—and no wind blowing!—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I was afraid, and turned to you,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Put out my hand to you for comfort,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And you were gone! Cold, cold as dew,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Under my hand the moonlight lay!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Love, if you laugh I shall not care,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But if I weep it will not matter,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Ah, it is good to feel you there!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_13" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Indifference"><i>Indifference</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">I said,—for</span> Love was laggard, O, Love was slow to come,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">“I’ll hear his step and know his step when I am warm in bed;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But I’ll never leave my pillow, though there be some<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">As would let him in—and take him in with tears!” I said.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I lay,—for Love was laggard, O, he came not until dawn,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I lay and listened for his step and could not get to sleep;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And he found me at my window with my big cloak on,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">All sorry with the tears some folks might weep!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_14" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Witch-Wife"><i>Witch-Wife</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">She</span> is neither pink nor pale,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And she never will be all mine;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And her mouth on a valentine.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">She has more hair than she needs;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">In the sun ’tis a woe to me!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And her voice is a string of coloured beads,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Or steps leading into the sea.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">She loves me all that she can,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And her ways to my ways resign;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But she was not made for any man,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And she never will be all mine.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_15" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Blight"><i>Blight</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span></p><div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Hard</span> seeds of hate I planted<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That should by now be grown,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Rough stalks, and from thick stamens<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">A poisonous pollen blown,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And odours rank, unbreathable,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">From dark corollas thrown!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">At dawn from my damp garden<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I shook the chilly dew;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The thin boughs locked behind me<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That sprang to let me through;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The blossoms slept,—I sought a place<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Where nothing lovely grew.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And there, when day was breaking,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I knelt and looked around:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The light was near, the silence<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Was palpitant with sound;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I drew my hate from out my breast<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And thrust it in the ground.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Oh, ye so fiercely tended,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Ye little seeds of hate!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I bent above your growing<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Early and noon and late,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Yet are ye drooped and pitiful,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I cannot rear ye straight!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">The sun seeks out my garden,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">No nook is left in shade,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">No mist nor mould nor mildew<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Endures on any blade,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Sweet rain slants under every bough:<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Ye falter, and ye fade.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_16" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="When_the_Year_Grows_Old"><i>When the Year Grows Old</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span></p><div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">I cannot</span> but remember<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">When the year grows old—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">October—November—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">How she disliked the cold!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">She used to watch the swallows<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Go down across the sky,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And turn from the window<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">With a little sharp sigh.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And often when the brown leaves<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Were brittle on the ground,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the wind in the chimney<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Made a melancholy sound,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">She had a look about her<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That I wish I could forget—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The look of a scared thing<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Sitting in a net!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Oh, beautiful at nightfall<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The soft spitting snow!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And beautiful the bare boughs<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Rubbing to and fro!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">But the roaring of the fire,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And the warmth of fur,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the boiling of the kettle<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Were beautiful to her!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I cannot but remember<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">When the year grows old—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">October—November—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">How she disliked the cold!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_17" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Sonnets"><i>Sonnets</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<h3>I</h3>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Thou</span> art not lovelier than lilacs,—no,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Nor honeysuckle; thou art not more fair<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Than small white single poppies,—I can bear<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From left to right, not knowing where to go,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">So has it been with mist,—with moonlight so.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Like him who day by day unto his draught<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of delicate poison adds him one drop more<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Till he may drink unharmed the death of ten,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Each hour more deeply than the hour before,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I drink—and live—what has destroyed some men.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>II</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Time</span> does not bring relief; you all have lied<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Who told me time would ease me of my pain!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I miss him in the weeping of the rain;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I want him at the shrinking of the tide;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The old snows melt from every mountain-side,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But last year’s bitter loving must remain<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">There are a hundred places where I fear<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To go,—so with his memory they brim!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And entering with relief some quiet place<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Where never fell his foot or shone his face<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I say, “There is no memory of him here!”<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And so stand stricken, so remembering him!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>III</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Mindful</span> of you the sodden earth in spring<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And all the flowers that in the springtime grow,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slow<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Rising of the round moon, all throats that sing<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The summer through, and each departing wing,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And all the nests that the bared branches show,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And all winds that in any weather blow,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And all the storms that the four seasons bring.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">You go no more on your exultant feet<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Up paths that only mist and morning knew,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Or watch the wind, or listen to the beat<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of a bird’s wings too high in air to view,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But you were something more than young and sweet<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And fair,—and the long year remembers you.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>IV</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Not</span> in this chamber only at my birth—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">When the long hours of that mysterious night<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Were over, and the morning was in sight—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I cried, but in strange places, steppe and firth<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I have not seen, through alien grief and mirth;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And never shall one room contain me quite<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Who in so many rooms first saw the light,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Child of all mothers, native of the earth.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">So is no warmth for me at any fire<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To-day, when the world’s fire has burned so low;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I kneel, spending my breath in vain desire,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">At that cold hearth which one time roared so strong,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And straighten back in weariness, and long<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To gather up my little gods and go.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>V</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">If</span> I should learn, in some quite casual way,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That you were gone, not to return again—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Read from the back-page of a paper, say,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Held by a neighbour in a subway train,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">How at the corner of this avenue<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And such a street (so are the papers filled)<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A hurrying man—who happened to be you—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">At noon to-day had happened to be killed,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I should not cry aloud—I could not cry<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I should but watch the station lights rush by<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">With a more careful interest on my face,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Or raise my eyes and read with greater care<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_18" class="chapter">

-<h3><a id="Bluebeard"></a>VI<br />

-

-<span class="subhead"><i>Bluebeard</i></span></h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">This</span> door you might not open, and you did;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">So enter now, and see for what slight thing<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">You are betrayed.... Here is no treasure hid,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But only what you see.... Look yet again—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Yet this alone out of my life I kept<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Unto myself, lest any know me quite;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And you did so profane me when you crept<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Unto the threshold of this room to-night<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That I must never more behold your face.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">This now is yours. I seek another place.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="wide" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span></p>

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 id="SECTION_TWO"><span class="larger">SECTION TWO</span></h2>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="wide" />

-

-<div id="p_19" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="I">I</h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">My</span> candle burns at both ends;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">It will not last the night;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">It gives a lovely light!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-

-<hr />

-<div id="p_20">

-<h2 id="II" class="nobreak">II</h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Safe</span> upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_21" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Recuerdo"><i>Recuerdo</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">We</span> were very tired, we were very merry—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">We were very tired, we were very merry—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">We were very tired, we were very merry,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">We hailed, “Good morrow, mother!” to a shawl-covered head,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And she wept, “God bless you!” for the apples and pears,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_22" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Thursday"><i>Thursday</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">And</span> if I loved you Wednesday,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Well, what is that to you?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I do not love you Thursday—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">So much is true.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And why you come complaining<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Is more than I can see.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I loved you Wednesday,—yes—but what<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Is that to me?<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_23" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="To_the_Not_Impossible_Him"><i>To the Not Impossible Him</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">How</span> shall I know, unless I go<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">To Cairo and Cathay,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Whether or not this blessed spot<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Is blest in every way?<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Now it may be, the flower for me<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Is this beneath my nose;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">How shall I tell, unless I smell<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The Carthaginian rose?<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">The fabric of my faithful love<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">No power shall dim or ravel<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Whilst I stay here,—but oh, my dear,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">If I should ever travel!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_24" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="The_Singing-Woman_from_the"><i>The Singing-Woman from the

-Wood’s Edge</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">What</span> should I be but a prophet and a liar,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Teethed on a crucifix and cradled under water,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">What should I be but the fiend’s god-daughter?<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And who should be my playmates but the adder and the frog,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That was got beneath a furze-bush and born in a bog?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And what should be my singing, that was christened at an altar,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But Aves and Credos and Psalms out of the Psalter?<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">You will see such webs on the wet grass, maybe,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">As a pixie-mother weaves for her baby,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">You will find such flame at the wave’s weedy ebb<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">As flashes in the meshes of a mer-mother’s web,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">But there comes to birth no common spawn<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From the love of a priest for a leprechaun,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And you never have seen and you never will see<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Such things as the things that swaddled me!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">After all’s said and after all’s done,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">What should I be but a harlot and a nun?<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">In through the bushes, on any foggy day,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">My dad would come a-swishing of the drops away,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">With a prayer for my death and a groan for my birth,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A-mumbling of his beads for all that he was worth.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And there’d sit my ma, with her knees beneath her chin,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A-looking in his face and a-drinking of it in,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And a-marking in the moss some funny little saying<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That would mean just the opposite of all that he was praying!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">He taught me the holy-talk of Vesper and of Matin,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">He heard me my Greek and he heard me my Latin,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">He blessed me and crossed me to keep my soul from evil,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And we watched him out of sight, and we conjured up the devil!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Oh, the things I haven’t seen and the things I haven’t known,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">What with hedges and ditches till after I was grown,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And yanked both ways by my mother and my father,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">With a “Which would you better?” and a “Which would you rather?”<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">With him for a sire and her for a dam,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">What should I be but just what I am?<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_25" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Humoresque"><i>Humoresque</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">“Heaven</span> bless the babe!” they said;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">“What queer books she must have read!”<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">(Love, by whom I was beguiled,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Grant I may not bear a child.)<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">“Little does she guess to-day<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">What the world may be,” they say.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">(Snow, drift deep and cover<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Till the spring my murdered lover.)<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_26" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="She_is_Overheard_Singing"><i>She is Overheard Singing</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span></p><div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Oh,</span> Prue she has a patient man,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And Joan a gentle lover,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">But my true love’s a rover!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Mig, her man’s as good as cheese<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And honest as a briar,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Sue tells her love what he’s thinking of,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">But my dear lad’s a liar!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Oh, Sue and Prue and Agatha<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Are thick with Mig and Joan!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">They bite their threads and shake their heads<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And gnaw my name like a bone;<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And Prue says, “Mine’s a patient man,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">As never snaps me up,”<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And Agatha, “Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Could live content in a cup;”<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Sue’s man’s mind is like good jell—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">All one colour, and clear—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And Mig’s no call to think at all<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">What’s to come next year,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">While Joan makes boast of a gentle lad,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That’s troubled with that and this;—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But they all would give the life they live<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">For a look from the man I kiss!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Cold he slants his eyes about,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And few enough’s his choice,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Though he’d slip me clean for a nun, or a queen,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Or a beggar with knots in her voice,—<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And Agatha will turn awake<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">When her good man sleeps sound,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And Mig and Sue and Joan and Prue<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Will hear the clock strike round;<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">For Prue she has a patient man,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">As asks not when or why,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And Mig and Sue have naught to do<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">But peep who’s passing by,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Joan is paired with a putterer<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That bastes and tastes and salts,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">But my true love is false!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_27" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="The_Unexplorer"><i>The Unexplorer</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">There</span> was a road ran past our house<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Too lovely to explore.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I asked my mother once—she said<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That if you followed where it led<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">It brought you to the milk-man’s door.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">(That’s why I have not travelled more.)<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_28" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Grown-Up"><i>Grown-Up</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Was</span> it for this I uttered prayers,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That now, domestic as a plate,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I should retire at half-past eight?<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_29" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="The_Penitent"><i>The Penitent</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">I had</span> a little Sorrow,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Born of a little Sin,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I found a room all damp with gloom<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And shut us all within;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And, “Little Sorrow, weep,” said I,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">“And, Little Sin, pray God to die,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And I upon the floor will lie<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And think how bad I’ve been!”<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Alas for pious planning—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">It mattered not a whit!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">As far as gloom went in that room,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The lamp might have been lit!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">My Little Sorrow would not weep,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">My Little Sin would go to sleep—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To save my soul I could not keep<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">My graceless mind on it!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">So up I got in anger,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And took a book I had,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And put a ribbon on my hair<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">To please a passing lad.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And, “One thing there’s no getting by—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I’ve been a wicked girl,” said I;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">“But if I can’t be sorry, why,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I might as well be glad!”<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_30" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Daphne"><i>Daphne</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Why</span> do you follow me?—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Any moment I can be<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Nothing but a laurel-tree.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Any moment of the chase<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I can leave you in my place<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A pink bough for your embrace.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Yet if over hill and hollow,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Still it is your will to follow,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I am off;—to heel, Apollo!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_31" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Portrait_by_a_Neighbour"><i>Portrait by a Neighbour</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Before</span> she has her floor swept<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Or her dishes done,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Any day you’ll find her<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">A-sunning in the sun!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">It’s long after midnight<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Her key’s in the lock,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And you never see her chimney smoke<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Till past ten o’clock!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">She digs in her garden<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">With a shovel and a spoon,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She weeds her lazy lettuce<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">By the light of the moon.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">She walks up the walk<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Like a woman in a dream,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She forgets she borrowed butter<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And pays you back cream!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Her lawn looks like a meadow,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And if she mows the place<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She leaves the clover standing<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And the Queen Anne’s lace!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_32" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="The_Merry_Maid"><i>The Merry Maid</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Oh,</span> I am grown so free from care<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Since my heart broke!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I set my throat against the air,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I laugh at simple folk!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">There’s little kind and little fair<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Is worth its weight in smoke<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To me, that’s grown so free from care<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Since my heart broke!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Lass, if to sleep you would repair<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">As peaceful as you woke,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Best not besiege your lover there<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">For just the words he spoke<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To me, that’s grown so free from care<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Since my heart broke!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_33" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="To_S_M"><i>To S. M.</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<p class="in0"><i>If he should lie a-dying</i></p>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">I am</span> not willing you should go<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Into the earth, where Helen went;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She is awake by now, I know.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Where Cleopatra’s anklets rust<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">You will not lie with my consent;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And Sappho is a roving dust;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Cressid could love again; Dido,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Rotted in state, is restless still;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">You leave me much against my will.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_34" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="The_Philosopher"><i>The Philosopher</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">And</span> what are you that, wanting you,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I should be kept awake<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">As many nights as there are days<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">With weeping for your sake?<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And what are you that, missing you,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">As many days as crawl<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I should be listening to the wind<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And looking at the wall?<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I know a man that’s a braver man<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And twenty men as kind,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And what are you, that you should be<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The one man in my mind?<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Yet women’s ways are witless ways,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">As any sage will tell,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And what am I, that I should love<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">So wisely and so well?<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Four_Sonnets"><i>Four Sonnets</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<h3 id="p_35">I</h3>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Love,</span> though for this you riddle me with darts,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And drag me at your chariot till I die,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of hearts!—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lie<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Who shout you mighty: thick about my hair,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Who still am free, unto no querulous care<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A fool, and in no temple worshipper!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I, that have bared me to your quiver’s fire,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Lifted my face into its puny rain,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke Desire<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">As you are Powerless to Elicit Pain!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">(Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!)<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span></p>

-

-<h3 id="p_36" class="newpage">II</h3>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">I think</span> I should have loved you presently,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And given in earnest words I flung in jest;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And lifted honest eyes for you to see,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And caught your hand against my cheek and breast;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And all my pretty follies flung aside<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That won you to me, and beneath your gaze,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Naked of reticence and shorn of pride,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Spread like a chart my little wicked ways.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I, that had been to you, had you remained,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But one more waking from a recurrent dream,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And walk your memory’s halls, austere, supreme,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A ghost in marble of a girl you knew<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Who would have loved you in a day or two.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span></p>

-

-<h3 id="p_37" class="newpage">III</h3>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Oh,</span> think not I am faithful to a vow!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Faithless am I save to love’s self alone.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Were you not lovely I would leave you now:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">After the feet of beauty fly my own.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Were you not still my hunger’s rarest food,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And water ever to my wildest thirst,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I would desert you—think not but I would!—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And seek another as I sought you first.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But you are mobile as the veering air,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And all your charms more changeful than the tide,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Wherefore to be inconstant is no care:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I have but to continue at your side.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">So wanton, light and false, my love, are you,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I am most faithless when I most am true.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span></p>

-

-<h3 id="p_38" class="newpage">IV</h3>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">I shall</span> forget you presently, my dear,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">So make the most of this, your little day,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Your little month, your little half a year,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Ere I forget, or die, or move away,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And we are done forever; by and by<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I shall forget you, as I said, but now,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">If you entreat me with your loveliest lie<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I will protest you with my favourite vow.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I would indeed that love were longer-lived,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And oaths were not so brittle as they are,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But so it is, and nature has contrived<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To struggle on without a break thus far,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Whether or not we find what we are seeking<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Is idle, biologically speaking.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="wide" />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span></p>

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 id="SECTION_THREE"><span class="larger">SECTION THREE</span></h2>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="wide" />

-

-<div id="p_39" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Spring"><i>Spring</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">To</span> what purpose, April, do you return again?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Beauty is not enough.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">You can no longer quiet me with the redness<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of little leaves opening stickily.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I know what I know.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The sun is hot on my neck as I observe<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The spikes of the crocus.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The smell of the earth is good.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">It is apparent that there is no death.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But what does that signify?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not only under ground are the brains of men<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Eaten by maggots.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Life in itself<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Is nothing,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">April<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_40" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="City_Trees"><i>City Trees</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">The</span> trees along this city street,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Save for the traffic and the trains,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Would make a sound as thin and sweet<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">As trees in country lanes.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And people standing in their shade<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Out of a shower, undoubtedly<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Would hear such music as is made<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Upon a country tree.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Oh, little leaves that are so dumb<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Against the shrieking city air,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I watch you when the wind has come—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I know what sound is there.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_41" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="The_Blue-Flag_in_the_Bog"><i>The Blue-Flag in the Bog</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">God</span> had called us, and we came;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Our loved Earth to ashes left;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Heaven was a neighbour’s house,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Open flung to us, bereft.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Gay the lights of Heaven showed,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And ’twas God Who walked ahead;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Yet I wept along the road,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Wanting my own house instead.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Wept unseen, unheeded cried,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">“All you things my eyes have kissed,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Fare you well! We meet no more,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Lovely, lovely tattered mist!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i2">Weary wings that rise and fall<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All day long above the fire!”—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Red with heat was every wall,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Rough with heat was every wire—<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">“Fare you well, you little winds<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That the flying embers chase!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Fare you well, you shuddering day,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">With your hands before your face!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And, ah, blackened by strange blight,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Or to a false sun unfurled,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Now for evermore good-bye,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">All the gardens in the world!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">On the windless hills of Heaven,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That I have no wish to see,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">White, eternal lilies stand,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">By a lake of ebony.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">But the Earth forevermore<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Is a place where nothing grows,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Dawn will come, and no bud break;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Evening, and no blossom close.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Spring will come, and wander slow<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Over an indifferent land,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Stand beside an empty creek,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Hold a dead seed in her hand.”<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">God had called us, and we came,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">But the blessed road I trod<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Was a bitter road to me,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And at heart I questioned God.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">“Though in Heaven,” I said, “be all<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That the heart would most desire,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Held Earth naught save souls of sinners<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Worth the saving from a fire?<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Withered grass,—the wasted growing!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Aimless ache of laden boughs!”<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Little things God had forgotten<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Called me, from my burning house.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">“Though in Heaven,” I said, “be all<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That the eye could ask to see,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All the things I ever knew<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Are this blaze in back of me.”<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">“Though in Heaven,” I said, “be all<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That the ear could think to lack,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All the things I ever knew<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Are this roaring at my back.”<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">It was God Who walked ahead,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Like a shepherd to the fold;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In His footsteps fared the weak,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And the weary and the old,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Glad enough of gladness over,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Ready for the peace to be,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But a thing God had forgotten<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Was the growing bones of me.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And I drew a bit apart,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And I lagged a bit behind,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And I thought on Peace Eternal,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Lest He look into my mind;<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And I gazed upon the sky,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And I thought of Heavenly Rest,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And I slipped away like water<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Through the fingers of the blest!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">All their eyes were fixed on Glory,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Not a glance brushed over me;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">“Alleluia! Alleluia!”<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Up the road,—and I was free.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And my heart rose like a freshet,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And it swept me on before,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Giddy as a whirling stick,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Till I felt the earth once more.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">All the Earth was charred and black,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">had swept from pole to pole;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the bottom of the sea<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Was as brittle as a bowl;<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And the timbered mountain-top<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Was as naked as a skull,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Nothing left, nothing left,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Of the Earth so beautiful!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">“Earth,” I said, “how can I leave you?<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">“You are all I have,” I said;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">“What is left to take my mind up,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Living always, and you dead?<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">“Speak!” I said, “Oh, tell me something!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Make a sign that I can see!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For a keepsake! To keep always!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Quick!—before God misses me!”<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And I listened for a voice;—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">But my heart was all I heard;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not a screech-owl, not a loon,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Not a tree-toad said a word.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And I waited for a sign;—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Coals and cinders, nothing more;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And a little cloud of smoke<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Floating on a valley floor.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And I peered into the smoke<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Till it rotted, like a fog:—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">There, encompassed round by fire,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Stood a blue-flag in a bog!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Little flames came wading out,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Straining, draining towards its stem,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But it was so blue and tall<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That it scorned to think of them!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Red and thirsty were their tongues,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">As the tongues of wolves must be,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But it was so blue and tall—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Oh, I laughed, I cried, to see!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">All my heart became a tear,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">All my soul became a tower,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Never loved I anything<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">As I loved that tall blue flower!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">It was all the little boats<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That had ever sailed the sea,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">It was all the little books<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That had gone to school with me;<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">On its roots like iron claws<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Rearing up so blue and tall,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">It was all the gallant Earth<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">With its back against a wall!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">In a breath, ere I had breathed,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Oh, I laughed, I cried, to see!—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I was kneeling at its side,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And it leaned its head on me!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Crumbling stones and sliding sand<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Is the road to Heaven now;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Icy at my straining knees<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Drags the awful under-tow;<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Soon but stepping-stones of dust<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Will the road to Heaven be,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Father, Son and Holy Ghost,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Reach a hand and rescue me!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">“There—there, my blue-flag flower;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Hush—hush—go to sleep;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That is only God you hear,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Counting up His folded sheep!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Lullabye—lullabye—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That is only God that calls,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Missing me, seeking me,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Ere the road to nothing falls!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">He will set His mighty feet<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Firmly on the sliding sand;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Like a little frightened bird<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I will creep into His hand;<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I will tell Him all my grief,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I will tell Him all my sin;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">He will give me half His robe<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">For a cloak to wrap you in.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Lullabye—lullabye—”<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Rocks the burnt-out planet free!—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Father, Son and Holy Ghost,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Reach a hand and rescue me!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Ah, the voice of love at last!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Lo, at last the face of light!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the whole of His white robe<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">For a cloak against the night!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And upon my heart asleep<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">All the things I ever knew!—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">“Holds Heaven not some cranny, Lord,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">For a flower so tall and blue?”<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">All’s well and all’s well!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Gay the lights of Heaven show!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In some moist and Heavenly place<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">We will set it out to grow.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_42" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Eel-Grass"><i>Eel-Grass</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">No</span> matter what I say,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">All that I really love<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Is the rain that flattens on the bay,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And the eel-grass in the cove;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The jingle-shells that lie and bleach<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">At the tide-line, and the trace<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of higher tides along the beach:<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Nothing in this place.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_43" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Elegy_before_Death"><i>Elegy before Death</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">There</span> will be rose and rhododendron<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">When you are dead and under ground;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Still will be heard from white syringas<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Heavy with bees, a sunny sound;<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Still will the tamaracks be raining<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">After the rain has ceased, and still<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Will there be robins in the stubble,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Brown sheep upon the warm green hill.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Spring will not ail nor autumn falter;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Nothing will know that you are gone,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Saving alone some sullen plough-land<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">None but yourself sets foot upon;<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Saving the may-weed and the pig-weed<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Nothing will know that you are dead,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">These, and perhaps a useless wagon<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Standing beside some tumbled shed.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Oh, there will pass with your great passing<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Little of beauty not your own,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Only the light from common water,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Only the grace from simple stone!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_44" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="The_Bean-Stalk"><i>The Bean-Stalk</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span></p><div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Ho,</span> Giant! This is I!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I have built me a bean-stalk into your sky!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">La,—but it’s lovely, up so high!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">This is how I came,—I put<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">There my knee, here my foot,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Up and up, from shoot to shoot—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the blessed bean-stalk thinning<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Like the mischief all the time,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Till it took me rocking, spinning,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In a dizzy, sunny circle,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Making angles with the root,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Far and out above the cackle<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of the city I was born in,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Till the little dirty city<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In the light so sheer and sunny<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Shone as dazzling bright and pretty<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">As the money that you find<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In a dream of finding money—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">What a wind! What a morning!—<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Till the tiny, shiny city,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">When I shot a glance below,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Shaken with a giddy laughter,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Sick and blissfully afraid,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Was a dew-drop on a blade,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And a pair of moments after<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Was the whirling guess I made,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the wind was like a whip<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Cracking past my icy ears,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And my hair stood out behind,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And my eyes were full of tears,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Wide-open and cold,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">More tears than they could hold,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The wind was blowing so,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And my teeth were in a row,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Dry and grinning,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And I felt my foot slip,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And I scratched the wind and whined,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And I clutched the stalk and jabbered,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">With my eyes shut blind,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">What a wind! What a wind!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Your broad sky, Giant,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Is the shelf of a cupboard;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I make bean-stalks, I’m<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A builder, like yourself,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But bean-stalks is my trade,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I couldn’t make a shelf,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Don’t know how they’re made,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Now, a bean-stalk is more pliant—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">La, what a climb!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_45" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Weeds"><i>Weeds</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">White</span> with daisies and red with sorrel<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And empty, empty under the sky!—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Life is a quest and love a quarrel—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Here is a place for me to lie.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Daisies spring from damnèd seeds,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And this red fire that here I see<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Cursed by farmers thriftily.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">But here, unhated for an hour,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The sorrel runs in ragged flame,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The daisy stands, a bastard flower,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Like flowers that bear an honest name.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And here a while, where no wind brings<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The baying of a pack athirst,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">May sleep the sleep of blessed things<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The blood too bright, the brow accurst.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_46" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Passer_Mortuus_Est"><i>Passer Mortuus Est</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Death</span> devours all lovely things;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Lesbia with her sparrow<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Shares the darkness,—presently<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Every bed is narrow.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Unremembered as old rain<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Dries the sheer libation,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the little petulant hand<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Is an annotation.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">After all, my erstwhile dear,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">My no longer cherished,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Need we say it was not love,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Now that love is perished?<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_47" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Pastoral"><i>Pastoral</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">If</span> it were only still!—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">With far away the shrill<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Crying of a cock;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Or the shaken bell<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From a cow’s throat<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Moving through the bushes;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Or the soft shock<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of wizened apples falling<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From an old tree<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In a forgotten orchard<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Upon the hilly rock!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Oh, grey hill,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Where the grazing herd<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Licks the purple blossom,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Crops the spiky weed!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Oh, stony pasture,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Where the tall mullein<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Stands up so sturdy<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">On its little seed!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_48" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Assault"><i>Assault</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<h3>I</h3>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">I had</span> forgotten how the frogs must sound<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">After a year of silence, else I think<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I should not so have ventured forth alone<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">At dusk upon this unfrequented road.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-

-<h3>II</h3>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I am waylaid by Beauty. Who will walk<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Between me and the crying of the frogs?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Oh, savage Beauty, suffer me to pass,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That am a timid woman, on her way<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From one house to another!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_49" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Travel"><i>Travel</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">The</span> railroad track is miles away,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And the day is loud with voices speaking,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">But I hear its whistle shrieking.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">All night there isn’t a train goes by,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But I see its cinders red on the sky,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And hear its engine steaming.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">My heart is warm with the friends I make,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And better friends I’ll not be knowing,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">No matter where it’s going.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_50" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Low-Tide"><i>Low-Tide</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">These</span> wet rocks where the tide has been,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Barnacled white and weeded brown<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">These wet rocks where the tide went down<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Will show again when the tide is high<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Faint and perilous, far from shore,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">No place to dream, but a place to die,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The bottom of the sea once more.<br /></span>

-<em><span class="i0">There was a child that wandered through<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">A giant’s empty house all day,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">House full of wonderful things and new,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">But no fit place for a child to play.<br /></span></em>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_51" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Song_of_a_Second_April"><i>Song of a Second April</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">April</span> this year, not otherwise<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Than April of a year ago,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Is full of whispers, full of sighs,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Hepaticas that pleased you so<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Are here again, and butterflies.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">There rings a hammering all day,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And shingles lie about the doors;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In orchards near and far away<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The grey woodpecker taps and bores;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And men are merry at their chores,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And children earnest at their play.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">The larger streams run still and deep,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Noisy and swift the small brooks run<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Among the mullein stalks the sheep<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Go up the hillside in the sun,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Pensively,—only you are gone,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">You that alone I cared to keep.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_52" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="The_Poet_and_his_Book"><i>The Poet and his Book</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<em><span class="i0">Down, you mongrel, Death!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Back into your kennel!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I have stolen breath<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">In a stalk of fennel!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">You shall scratch and you shall whine<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Many a night, and you shall worry<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Many a bone, before you bury<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">One sweet bone of mine!<br /></span></em>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">When shall I be dead?<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">When my flesh is withered,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And above my head<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Yellow pollen gathered<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All the empty afternoon?<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">When sweet lovers pause and wonder<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Who am I that lie thereunder,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Hidden from the moon?<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">This my personal death?—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That my lungs be failing<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To inhale the breath<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Others are exhaling?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">This my subtle spirit’s end?—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Ah, when the thawed winter splashes<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Over these chance dust and ashes,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Weep not me, my friend!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Me, by no means dead<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">In that hour, but surely<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">When this book, unread,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Rots to earth obscurely,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And no more to any breast,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Close against the clamorous swelling<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Of the thing there is no telling,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Are these pages pressed!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">When this book is mould,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And a book of many<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Waiting to be sold<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">For a casual penny,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In a little open case,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">In a street unclean and cluttered,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Where a heavy mud is spattered<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From the passing drays,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Stranger, pause and look;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">From the dust of ages<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Lift this little book,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Turn the tattered pages,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Read me, do not let me die!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Search the fading letters, finding<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Steadfast in the broken binding<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All that once was I!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">When these veins are weeds,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">When these hollowed sockets<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Watch the rooty seeds<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Bursting down like rockets,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And surmise the spring again,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Or, remote in that black cupboard,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Watch the pink worms writhing upward<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">At the smell of rain,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Boys and girls that lie<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Whispering in the hedges,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Do not let me die,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Mix me with your pledges;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Boys and girls that slowly walk<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">In the woods, and weep, and quarrel,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Staring past the pink wild laurel,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Mix me with your talk,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Do not let me die!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Farmers at your raking,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">When the sun is high,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">While the hay is making,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">When, along the stubble strewn,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Withering on their stalks uneaten,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Strawberries turn dark and sweeten<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In the lapse of noon;<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Shepherds on the hills,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">In the pastures, drowsing<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To the tinkling bells<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Of the brown sheep browsing;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Sailors crying through the storm;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Scholars at your study; hunters<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Lost amid the whirling winter’s<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Whiteness uniform;<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Men that long for sleep;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Men that wake and revel;—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">If an old song leap<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">To your senses’ level<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">At such moments, may it be<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Sometimes, though a moment only,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Some forgotten, quaint and homely<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Vehicle of me!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Women at your toil,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Women at your leisure<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Till the kettle boil,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Snatch of me your pleasure,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Where the broom-straw marks the leaf;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Women quiet with your weeping<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Lest you wake a workman sleeping,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Mix me with your grief!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Boys and girls that steal<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">From the shocking laughter<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of the old, to kneel<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">By a dripping rafter<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Under the discoloured eaves,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Out of trunks with hingeless covers<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Lifting tales of saints and lovers,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Travellers, goblins, thieves,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Suns that shine by night,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Mountains made from valleys,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Bear me to the light,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Flat upon your bellies<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">By the webby window lie,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Where the little flies are crawling,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Read me, margin me with scrawling,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Do not let me die!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<em><span class="i0">Sexton, ply your trade!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">In a shower of gravel<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Stamp upon your spade!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Many a rose shall ravel,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Many a metal wreath shall rust<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">In the rain, and I go singing<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Through the lots where you are flinging<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Yellow clay on dust!<br /></span></em>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_53" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Alms"><i>Alms</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span></p><div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">My</span> heart is what it was before,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">A house where people come and go;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But it is winter with your love,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The sashes are beset with snow.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I light the lamp and lay the cloth,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I blow the coals to blaze again;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But it is winter with your love,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The frost is thick upon the pane.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I know a winter when it comes:<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The leaves are listless on the boughs;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I watched your love a little while,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And brought my plants into the house.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I water them and turn them south,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I snap the dead brown from the stem;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But it is winter with your love,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I only tend and water them.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">There was a time I stood and watched<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The small, ill-natured sparrows’ fray;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I loved the beggar that I fed,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I cared for what he had to say,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I stood and watched him out of sight;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">To-day I reach around the door<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And set a bowl upon the step;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">My heart is what it was before,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">But it is winter with your love;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I scatter crumbs upon the sill,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And close the window,—and the birds<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">May take or leave them, as they will.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_54" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Inland"><i>Inland</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">People</span> that build their houses inland,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">People that buy a plot of ground<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Shaped like a house, and build a house there,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Far from the sea-board, far from the sound<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Of water sucking the hollow ledges,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Tons of water striking the shore,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">What do they long for, as I long for<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">One salt smell of the sea once more?<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">People the waves have not awakened,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Spanking the boats at the harbour’s head,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">What do they long for, as I long for,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Starting up in my inland bed,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Beating the narrow walls, and finding<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Neither a window nor a door,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Screaming to God for death by drowning,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">One salt taste of the sea once more?<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_55" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="To_a_Poet_that_Died_Young"><i>To a Poet that Died Young</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span></p><div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Minstrel,</span> what have you to do<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">With this man that, after you,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Sharing not your happy fate,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Sat as England’s Laureate?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Vainly, in these iron days,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Strives the poet in your praise,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Minstrel, by whose singing side<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Beauty walked, until you died.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Still, though none should hark again,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Drones the blue-fly in the pane,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Thickly crusts the blackest moss,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Blows the rose its musk across,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Floats the boat that is forgot<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">None the less to Camelot.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Many a bard’s untimely death<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Lends unto his verses breath;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Here’s a song was never sung:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Growing old is dying young.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Minstrel, what is this to you:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That a man you never knew,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">When your grave was far and green,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Sat and gossipped with a queen?<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Thalia knows how rare a thing<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Is it, to grow old and sing;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">When the brown and tepid tide<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Closes in on every side.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Who shall say if Shelley’s gold<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Had withstood it to grow old?<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_56" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Wraith"><i>Wraith</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span></p><div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">“Thin</span> Rain, whom are you haunting,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That you haunt my door?”<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">—Surely it is not I she’s wanting;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Someone living here before—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">“Nobody’s in the house but me:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">You may come in if you like and see.”<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Thin as thread, with exquisite fingers,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Have you seen her, any of you?—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Grey shawl, and leaning on the wind,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And the garden showing through?<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Glimmering eyes,—and silent, mostly,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Sort of a whisper, sort of a purr,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Asking something, asking it over,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">If you get a sound from her.—<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Ever see her, any of you?—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Strangest thing I’ve ever known,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Every night since I moved in,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And I came to be alone.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">“Thin Rain, hush with your knocking!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">You may not come in!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">This is I that you hear rocking;<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Nobody’s with me, nor has been!”<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Curious, how she tried the window,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Odd, the way she tries the door,—<br /></span>

-<em><span class="i0">Wonder just what sort of people<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Could have had this house before....<br /></span></em>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_57" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Ebb"><i>Ebb</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">I know</span> what my heart is like<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Since your love died:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">It is like a hollow ledge<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Holding a little pool<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Left there by the tide,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">A little tepid pool,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Drying inward from the edge.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_58" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Elaine"><i>Elaine</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Oh,</span> come again to Astolat!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I will not ask you to be kind.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And you may go when you will go,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And I will stay behind.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I will not say how dear you are,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Or ask you if you hold me dear,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Or trouble you with things for you<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The way I did last year.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">So still the orchard, Lancelot,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">So very still the lake shall be,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">You could not guess—though you should guess—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">What is become of me.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">So wide shall be the garden-walk,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The garden-seat so very wide,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">You needs must think—if you should think—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">The lily maid had died.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Save that, a little way away,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I’d watch you for a little while,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To see you speak, the way you speak,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And smile,—if you should smile.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_59" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Burial"><i>Burial</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Mine</span> is a body that should die at sea!<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And have for a grave, instead of a grave<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Six feet deep and the length of me,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">All the water that is under the wave!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">And terrible fishes to seize my flesh,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Such as a living man might fear,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And eat me while I am firm and fresh,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Not wait till I’ve been dead for a year!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_60" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Mariposa"><i>Mariposa</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Butterflies</span> are white and blue<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In this field we wander through.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Suffer me to take your hand.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Death comes in a day or two.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">All the things we ever knew<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Will be ashes in that hour.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Mark the transient butterfly,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">How he hangs upon the flower.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Suffer me to take your hand.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Suffer me to cherish you<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Till the dawn is in the sky.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Whether I be false or true,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Death comes in a day or two.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_61" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Doubt_no_more_that_Oberon"><i>Doubt no more that Oberon</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Doubt</span> no more that Oberon—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Never doubt that Pan<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Lived, and played a reed, and ran<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">After nymphs in a dark forest<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In the merry, credulous days,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Lived, and led a fairy band<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Over the indulgent land!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Ah, for in this dourest, sorest<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Age man’s eye has looked upon,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Death to fauns and death to fays,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Still the dog-wood dares to raise—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Healthy tree, with trunk and root—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Ivory bowls that bear no fruit,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the starlings and the jays—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Birds that cannot even sing—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Dare to come again in spring!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_62" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Lament"><i>Lament</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Listen,</span> children:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Your father is dead.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From his old coats<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I’ll make you little jackets;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I’ll make you little trousers<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From his old pants.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">There’ll be in his pockets<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Things he used to put there,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Keys and pennies<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Covered with tobacco;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Dan shall have the pennies<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To save in his bank;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Anne shall have the keys<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To make a pretty noise with.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Life must go on,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the dead be forgotten;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Life must go on,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Though good men die;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Anne, eat your breakfast;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Dan, take your medicine;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Life must go on;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I forget just why.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_63" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Exiled"><i>Exiled</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span></p><div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Searching</span> my heart for its true sorrow,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">This is the thing I find to be:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That I am weary of words and people,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Sick of the city, wanting the sea;<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Of the strong wind and shattered spray;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Of the big surf that breaks all day.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Always before about my dooryard,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Marking the reach of the winter sea,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Rooted in sand and dragging drift-wood,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Straggled the purple wild sweet-pea;<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Always I climbed the wave at morning,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Shook the sand from my shoes at night,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That now am caught beneath great buildings<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Stricken with noise, confused with light.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">If I could hear the green piles groaning<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Under the windy wooden piers,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">See once again the bobbing barrels,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And the black sticks that fence the weirs,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">If I could see the weedy mussels<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Crusting the wrecked and rotting hulls,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Hear once again the hungry crying<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Overhead, of the wheeling gulls,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Feel once again the shanty straining<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Under the turning of the tide,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Fear once again the rising freshet,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Dread the bell in the fog outside,—<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I should be happy,—that was happy<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">All day long on the coast of Maine!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I have a need to hold and handle<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Shells and anchors and ships again!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I should be happy, that am happy<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Never at all since I came here.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I am too long away from water.<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I have a need of water near.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_64" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="The_Death_of_Autumn"><i>The Death of Autumn</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">When</span> reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Like agèd warriors westward, tragic, thinned<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushes<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">My heart. I know that Beauty must ail and die,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And will be born again,—but ah, to see<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Oh, Autumn! Autumn!—What is the Spring to me?<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_65" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Ode_to_Silence"><i>Ode to Silence</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Aye,</span> but she?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Your other sister and my other soul,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Grave Silence, lovelier<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Than the three loveliest maidens, what of her?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Clio, not you,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not you, Calliope,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Nor all your wanton line,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not Beauty’s perfect self shall comfort me<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For Silence once departed,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For her the cool-tongued, her the tranquil-hearted,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Whom evermore I follow wilfully,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Wandering Heaven and Earth and Hell and the four seasons through;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Thalia, not you,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not you, Melpomene,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not your incomparable feet, O thin Terpsichore,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I seek in this great hall,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But one more pale, more pensive, most beloved of you all.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I seek her from afar.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I come from temples where her altars are,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From groves that bear her name,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Noisy with stricken victims now and sacrificial flame,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And cymbals struck on high and strident faces<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Obstreperous in her praise<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">They neither love nor know,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A goddess of gone days,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Departed long ago,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Abandoning the invaded shrines and fanes<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of her old sanctuary,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A deity obscure and legendary,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of whom there now remains,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For sages to decipher and priests to garble,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Only and for a little while her letters wedged in marble,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Which even now, behold, the friendly mumbling rain erases,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the inarticulate snow,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Leaving at last of her least signs and traces<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">None whatsoever, nor whither she is vanished from these places.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">“She will love well,” I said,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">“If love be of that heart inhabiter,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The flowers of the dead;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The red anemone that with no sound<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Moves in the wind, and from another wound<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That sprang, the heavily-sweet blue hyacinth,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That blossoms underground,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And sallow poppies, will be dear to her.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And will not Silence know<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In the black shade of what obsidian steep<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Stiffens the white narcissus numb with sleep?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">(Seed which Demeter’s daughter bore from home,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Uptorn by desperate fingers long ago,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Reluctant even as she,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Undone Persephone,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And even as she set out again to grow<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In twilight, in perdition’s lean and inauspicious loam).<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She will love well,” I said,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">“The flowers of the dead;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Where dark Persephone the winter round,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Uncomforted for home, uncomforted,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Lacking a sunny southern slope in northern Sicily,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">With sullen pupils focussed on a dream,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Stares on the stagnant stream<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That moats the unequivocable battlements of Hell,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">There, there will she be found,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She that is Beauty veiled from men and Music in a swound.”<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">“I long for Silence as they long for breath<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Whose helpless nostrils drink the bitter sea;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">What thing can be<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">So stout, what so redoubtable, in Death<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">What fury, what considerable rage, if only she,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Upon whose icy breast,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Unquestioned, uncaressed,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">One time I lay,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And whom always I lack,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Even to this day,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Being by no means from that frigid bosom weaned away,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">If only she therewith be given me back?”<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I sought her down that dolorous labyrinth,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Wherein no shaft of sunlight ever fell,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And in among the bloodless everywhere<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I sought her, but the air,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Breathed many times and spent,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Was fretful with a whispering discontent,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And questioning me, importuning me to tell<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Some slightest tidings of the light of day they know no more,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Plucking my sleeve, the eager shades were with me where I went.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I paused at every grievous door,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And harked a moment, holding up my hand,—and for a space<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A hush was on them, while they watched my face;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And then they fell a-whispering as before;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">So that I smiled at them and left them, seeing she was not there.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I sought her, too,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Among the upper gods, although I knew<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She was not like to be where feasting is,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Nor near to Heaven’s lord,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Being a thing abhorred<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And shunned of him, although a child of his,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">(Not yours, not yours; to you she owes not breath,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Mother of Song, being sown of Zeus upon a dream of Death).<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Fearing to pass unvisited some place<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And later learn, too late, how all the while,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">With her still face,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She had been standing there and seen me pass, without a smile,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I sought her even to the sagging board whereat<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The stout immortals sat;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But such a laughter shook the mighty hall<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">No one could hear me say:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Had she been seen upon the Hill that day?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And no one knew at all<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">How long I stood or when at last I sighed and went away.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">There is a garden lying in a lull<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Between the mountains and the mountainous sea,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I know not where, but which a dream diurnal<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Paints on my lids a moment till the hull<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Be lifted from the kernel<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And Slumber fed to me.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Your foot-print is not there, Mnemosene,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Though it would seem a ruined place and after<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Your lichenous heart, being full<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of broken columns, caryatides<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Thrown to the earth and fallen forward on their jointless knees,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And urns funereal altered into dust<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Minuter than the ashes of the dead,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And Psyche’s lamp out of the earth up-thrust,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Dripping itself in marble wax on what was once the bed<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of Love, and his young body asleep, but now is dust instead.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">There twists the bitter-sweet, the white wisteria<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Fastens its fingers in the strangling wall,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the wide crannies quicken with bright weeds;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">There dumbly like a worm all day the still white orchid feeds;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But never an echo of your daughters’ laughter<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Is there, nor any sign of you at all<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Swells fungous from the rotten bough, grey mother of Pieria!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Only her shadow once upon a stone<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I saw,—and, lo, the shadow and the garden, too, were gone.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">I tell you you have done her body an ill,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">You chatterers, you noisy crew!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She is not anywhere!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I sought her in deep Hell;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And through the world as well;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I thought of Heaven and I sought her there;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Above nor underground<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Is Silence to be found,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That was the very warp and woof of you,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Lovely before your songs began and after they were through!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Oh, say if on this hill<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Somewhere your sister’s body lies in death,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">So I may follow there, and make a wreath<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of my locked hands, that on her quiet breast<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Shall lie till age has withered them!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i24">(Ah, sweetly from the rest<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I see<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Turn and consider me<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Compassionate Euterpe!)<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">“There is a gate beyond the gate of Death,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Beyond the gate of everlasting Life,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Beyond the gates of Heaven and Hell,” she saith,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">“Whereon but to believe is horror!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Whereon to meditate engendereth<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Even in deathless spirits such as I<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A tumult in the breath,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A chilling of the inexhaustible blood<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Even in my veins that never will be dry,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And in the austere, divine monotony<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That is my being, the madness of an unaccustomed mood.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">This is her province whom you lack and seek;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And seek her not elsewhere.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Hell is a thoroughfare<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For pilgrims,—Herakles,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And he that loved Euridice too well,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Have walked therein; and many more than these;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And witnessed the desire and the despair<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of souls that passed reluctantly and sicken for the air;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">You, too, have entered Hell,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And issued thence; but thence whereof I speak<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">None has returned;—for thither fury brings<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Only the driven ghosts of them that flee before all things.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Oblivion is the name of this abode: and she is there.”<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Oh, radiant Song! Oh, gracious Memory!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Be long upon this height<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I shall not climb again!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I know the way you mean,—the little night,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the long empty day,—never to see<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Again the angry light,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Or hear the hungry noises cry my brain!<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Ah, but she,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Your other sister and my other soul,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She shall again be mine;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And I shall drink her from a silver bowl,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A chilly thin green wine,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not bitter to the taste,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not sweet,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not of your press, oh, restless, clamorous nine,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To foam beneath the frantic hoofs of mirth—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But savouring faintly of the acid earth,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And trod by pensive feet<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From perfect clusters ripened without haste<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Out of the urgent heat<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In some clear glimmering vaulted twilight under the odorous vine.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Lift up your lyres! Sing on!<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But as for me, I seek your sister whither she is gone.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_66" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Memorial_to_D_C"><i>Memorial to D. C.</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<p class="p0 b1 center">[VASSAR COLLEGE, 1918]</p>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<em><span class="i0">Oh, loveliest throat of all sweet throats,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Where now no more the music is,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">With hands that wrote you little notes<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">I write you little elegies!<br /></span></em>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 id="EI">I<br />

-

-<span class="subhead"><i>Epitaph</i></span></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Heap</span> not on this mound<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Roses that she loved so well;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Why bewilder her with roses,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">That she cannot see or smell?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She is happy where she lies<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">With the dust upon her eyes.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 id="EII">II<br />

-

-<span class="subhead"><i>Prayer to Persephone</i></span></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Be</span> to her, Persephone,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All the things I might not be;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Take her head upon your knee.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She that was so proud and wild,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Flippant, arrogant and free,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She that had no need of me,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Is a little lonely child<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Lost in Hell,—Persephone,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Take her head upon your knee;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Say to her, “My dear, my dear,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">It is not so dreadful here.”<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 id="III">III<br />

-

-<span class="subhead"><i>Chorus</i></span></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Give</span> away her gowns,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Give away her shoes;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She has no more use<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For her fragrant gowns;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Take them all down,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Blue, green, blue,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Lilac, pink, blue,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From their padded hangers;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">She will dance no more<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In her narrow shoes;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Sweep her narrow shoes<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From the closet floor.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 id="IV">IV<br />

-

-<span class="subhead"><i>Elegy</i></span></h2>

-</div>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span></p><div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Let</span> them bury your big eyes<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In the secret earth securely,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Your thin fingers, and your fair,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Soft, indefinite-coloured hair,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All of these in some way, surely,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From the secret earth shall rise;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not for these I sit and stare,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Broken and bereft completely;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Your young flesh that sat so neatly<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">On your little bones will sweetly<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Blossom in the air.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">But your voice,—never the rushing<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of a river underground,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not the rising of the wind<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In the trees before the rain,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not the woodcock’s watery call,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not the note the white-throat utters,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not the feet of children pushing<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Yellow leaves along the gutters<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In the blue and bitter fall,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Shall content my musing mind<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For the beauty of that sound<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That in no new way at all<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Ever will be heard again.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Sweetly through the sappy stalk<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of the vigorous weed,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Holding all it held before,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Cherished by the faithful sun,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">On and on eternally<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Shall your altered fluid run,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Bud and bloom and go to seed;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But your singing days are done;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But the music of your talk<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Never shall the chemistry<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of the secret earth restore.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All your lovely words are spoken.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Once the ivory box is broken,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Beats the golden bird no more.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 id="V">V<br />

-

-<span class="subhead"><i>Dirge</i></span></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Boys</span> and girls that held her dear,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Do your weeping now;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All you loved of her lies here.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Brought to earth the arrogant brow,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">And the withering tongue<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Chastened; do your weeping now.<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">Sing whatever songs are sung,<br /></span>

-<span class="i2">Wind whatever wreath,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For a playmate perished young,<br /></span>

-</div><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0">For a spirit spent in death.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Boys and girls that held her dear,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">All you loved of her lies here.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_67" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Sonnets2"><i>Sonnets</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<h3>I</h3>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">We</span> talk of taxes, and I call you friend;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Well, such you are,—but well enough we know<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">How thick about us root, how rankly grow<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Those subtle weeds no man has need to tend,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That flourish through neglect, and soon must send<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Perfume too sweet upon us and overthrow<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Our steady senses; how such matters go<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">We are aware, and how such matters end.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Yet shall be told no meagre passion here;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">With lovers such as we for evermore<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Isolde drinks the draught, and Guinevere<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Receives the Table’s ruin through her door,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Francesca, with the loud surf at her ear,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Lets fall the coloured book upon the floor.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>II</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Into</span> the golden vessel of great song<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Let us pour all our passion; breast to breast<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Let other lovers lie, in love and rest;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not we,—articulate, so, but with the tongue<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of all the world: the churning blood, the long<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Shuddering quiet, the desperate hot palms pressed<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Sharply together upon the escaping guest,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The common soul, unguarded, and grown strong.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Longing alone is singer to the lute;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Let still on nettles in the open sigh<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The minstrel, that in slumber is as mute<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">As any man, and love be far and high,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">That else forsakes the topmost branch, a fruit<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Found on the ground by every passer-by.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>III</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Not</span> with libations, but with shouts and laughter<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">We drenched the altars of Love’s sacred grove,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Shaking to earth green fruits, impatient after<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The launching of the coloured moths of Love.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Love’s proper myrtle and his mother’s zone<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">We bound about our irreligious brows,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And fettered him with garlands of our own,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And spread a banquet in his frugal house.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Not yet the god has spoken; but I fear<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Though we should break our bodies in his flame,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And pour our blood upon his altar, here<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Henceforward is a grove without a name,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A pasture to the shaggy goats of Pan,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Whence flee forever a woman and a man.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>IV</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Only</span> until this cigarette is ended,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A little moment at the end of all,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">While on the floor the quiet ashes fall,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And in the firelight to a lance extended,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Bizarrely with the jazzing music blended,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The broken shadow dances on the wall,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I will permit my memory to recall<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The vision of you, by all my dreams attended.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And then adieu,—farewell!—the dream is done.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Yours is a face of which I can forget<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The colour and the features, every one,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The words not ever, and the smiles not yet;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But in your day this moment is the sun<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Upon a hill, after the sun has set.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>V</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Once</span> more into my arid days like dew,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Like wind from an oasis, or the sound<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of cold sweet water bubbling underground,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A treacherous messenger, the thought of you<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Comes to destroy me; once more I renew<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Firm faith in your abundance, whom I found<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Long since to be but just one other mound<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of sand, whereon no green thing ever grew.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And once again, and wiser in no wise,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I chase your coloured phantom on the air,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And sob and curse and fall and weep and rise<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And stumble pitifully on to where,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Miserable and lost, with stinging eyes,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Once more I clasp,—and there is nothing there.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>VI</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">No</span> rose that in a garden ever grew,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In Homer’s or in Omar’s or in mine,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Though buried under centuries of fine<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Dead dust of roses, shut from sun and dew<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Forever, and forever lost from view,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But must again in fragrance rich as wine<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The grey aisles of the air incarnadine<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">When the old summers surge into a new.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Thus when I swear, “I love with all my heart,”<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">’Tis with the heart of Lilith that I swear,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">’Tis with the love of Lesbia and Lucrece;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And thus as well my love must lose some part<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of what it is, had Helen been less fair,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Or perished young, or stayed at home in Greece.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>VII</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">When</span> I too long have looked upon your face,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Wherein for me a brightness unobscured<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Save by the mists of brightness has its place,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And terrible beauty not to be endured,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I turn away reluctant from your light,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And stand irresolute, a mind undone,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A silly, dazzled thing deprived of sight<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">From having looked too long upon the sun.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Then is my daily life a narrow room<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In which a little while, uncertainly,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Surrounded by impenetrable gloom,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Among familiar things grown strange to me<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Making my way, I pause, and feel, and hark,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Till I become accustomed to the dark.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>VIII</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">And</span> you as well must die, beloved dust,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And all your beauty stand you in no stead;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">This body of flame and steel, before the gust<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Than the first leaf that fell,—this wonder fled,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In spite of all my love, you will arise<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Upon that day and wander down the air<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Obscurely as the unattended flower,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">It mattering not how beautiful you were,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Or how beloved above all else that dies.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>IX</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Let</span> you not say of me when I am old,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In pretty worship of my withered hands<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Forgetting who I am, and how the sands<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of such a life as mine run red and gold<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Even to the ultimate sifting dust, “Behold,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Here walketh passionless age!”—for there expands<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A curious superstition in these lands,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And by its leave some weightless tales are told.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">In me no lenten wicks watch out the night;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I am the booth where Folly holds her fair;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Impious no less in ruin than in strength,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">When I lie crumbled to the earth at length,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Let you not say, “Upon this reverend site<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The righteous groaned and beat their breasts in prayer.”<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>X</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Oh,</span> my beloved, have you thought of this:<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">How in the years to come unscrupulous Time,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">More cruel than Death, will tear you from my kiss,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And make you old, and leave me in my prime?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">How you and I, who scale together yet<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">A little while the sweet, immortal height<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">No pilgrim may remember or forget,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">As sure as the world turns, some granite night<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Shall lie awake and know the gracious flame<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Gone out forever on the mutual stone;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And call to mind how on the day you came<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">I was a child, and you a hero grown?—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And the night pass, and the strange morning break<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Upon our anguish for each other’s sake!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>XI</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">As</span> to some lovely temple, tenantless<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Long since, that once was sweet with shivering brass,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Knowing well its altars ruined and the grass<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Grown up between the stones, yet from excess<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of grief hard driven, or great loneliness,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The worshipper returns, and those who pass<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Marvel him crying on a name that was,—<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">So is it now with me in my distress.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Your body was a temple to Delight;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Cold are its ashes whence the breath is fled,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Yet here one time your spirit was wont to move;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Here might I hope to find you day or night,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And here I come to look for you, my love,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Even now, foolishly, knowing you are dead.<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h3>XII</h3>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">Cherish</span> you then the hope I shall forget<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">At length, my lord, Pieria?—put away<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For your so passing sake, this mouth of clay,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">These mortal bones against my body set,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">For all the puny fever and frail sweat<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Of human love,—renounce for these, I say,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The Singing Mountain’s memory, and betray<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The silent lyre that hangs upon me yet?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Ah, but indeed, some day shall you awake,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Rather, from dreams of me, that at your side<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">So many nights, a lover and a bride,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">But stern in my soul’s chastity, have lain,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">To walk the world forever for my sake,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And in each chamber find me gone again!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

-

-<hr />

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span></p>

-

-<div id="p_68" class="chapter">

-<h2 id="Wild_Swans"><i>Wild Swans</i></h2>

-</div>

-

-<div class="poem-container">

-<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">

-<span class="i0"><span class="first">I looked</span> in my heart while the wild swans went over.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">And what did I see I had not seen before?<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Only a question less or a question more;<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Tiresome heart, forever living and dying,<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">House without air, I leave you and lock your door.<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">Wild swans, come over the town, come over<br /></span>

-<span class="i0">The town again, trailing your legs and crying!<br /></span>

-</div></div>

-</div>

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-<div class="chapter"><div class="transnote">

-<h2 class="nobreak p1" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber’s Notes</h2>

-

-<p>Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling inconsistencies

-were not changed.</p>

-

-<p>Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced

-quotation marks were remedied by examining other

-copies of the same poems.</p>

-

-<p>Transcriber added a missing exclamation mark at the end of

-<a href="#Burial">Burial</a>.”</p>

-

-<p>Decorative floral bullets are

-similar, but not identical, to the ones in the original.</p>

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+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Edna St. Vincent Millay
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+Title: Poems
+
+Author: Edna St. Vincent Millay
+
+Release Date: March 31, 2019 [EBook #59167]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Tim Lindell, Charlie Howard, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="transnote covernote center vspace">Transcriber’s Note<br />
+Cover created by Transcriber and placed in the Public Domain.</div>
+
+<h1>Poems <i>by</i> Edna St. Vincent Millay</h1>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="newpage p4 center xlarge vspace">Poems <i>by</i><br />
+Edna St. Vincent Millay</p>
+
+<p class="p2 center xxlarge center">❦</p>
+
+<p class="p4 center vspace large">London<br />
+Martin Secker<br />
+1923
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="newpage p4 center smaller">
+<i>Printed in Great Britain</i><br />
+<i>London: Martin Secker (Ltd.) 1923</i>
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2>
+</div>
+
+<table id="toc" summary="Contents">
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><i><a href="#SECTION_ONE">Section One</a></i></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Renascence,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_1">13</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">God’s World,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_2">22</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Afternoon on a Hill,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_3">23</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Journey,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_4">24</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Sorrow,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_5">26</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Tavern,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_6">27</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Ashes of Life,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_7">28</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">The Little Ghost,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_8">29</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Kin to Sorrow,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_9">31</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Three Songs of Shattering,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_10">32</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">The Shroud,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_11">34</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">The Dream,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_12">35</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Indifference,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_13">36</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Witch-wife,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_14">37</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Blight,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_15">38</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">When the Year Grows Old,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_16">40</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Unnamed Sonnets, i-v,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_17">42</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Sonnet vi (Bluebeard),</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_18">47</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><i><a href="#SECTION_TWO">Section Two</a></i><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">I,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_19">51</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">II,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_20">51</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Recuerdo,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_21">52</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Thursday,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_22">53</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">To the Not Impossible Him,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_23">54</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">The Singing-Woman from the Wood’s Edge,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_24">55</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Humoresque,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_25">58</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">She is Overheard Singing,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_26">59</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">The Unexplorer,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_27">61</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Grown-up,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_28">62</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">The Penitent,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_29">63</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Daphne,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_30">64</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Portrait by a Neighbour,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_31">65</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">The Merry Maid,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_32">66</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">To S. M.,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_33">67</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">The Philosopher,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_34">68</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Sonnet—Love, Though for This,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_35">69</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Sonnet—I Think I Should Have Loved You,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_36">70</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Sonnet—Oh, Think Not I am Faithful,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_37">71</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Sonnet—I Shall Forget You Presently,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_38">72</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><i><a href="#SECTION_THREE">Section Three</a></i><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Spring,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_39">75</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">City Trees,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_40">76</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">The Blue-Flag in the Bog,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_41">77</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Eel-Grass,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_42">86</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Elegy before Death,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_43">87</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">The Bean-Stalk,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_44">88</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Weeds,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_45">90</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Passer Mortuus Est,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_46">91</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Pastoral,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_47">92</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Assault,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_48">93</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Travel,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_49">94</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Low-Tide,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_50">95</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Song of a Second April,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_51">96</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">The Poet and his Book,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_52">97</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Alms,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_53">102</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Inland,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_54">104</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">To a Poet that Died Young,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_55">105</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Wraith,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_56">107</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Ebb,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_57">109</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Elaine,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_58">110</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Burial,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_59">111</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Mariposa,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_60">112</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Doubt no more that Oberon,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_61">113</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Lament,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_62">114</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Exiled,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_63">115</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">The Death of Autumn,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_64">117</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Ode to Silence,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_65">118</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Memorial to D. C.,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_66">127</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Unnamed Sonnets, i-xii,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_67">134</a></td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdl">Wild Swans,</td>
+    <td class="tdr"><a href="#p_68">146</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="wide" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span></p>
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 id="SECTION_ONE"><span class="larger">SECTION ONE</span></h2>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="wide" />
+
+<div id="p_1" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Renascence"><i>Renascence</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">All</span> I could see from where I stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was three long mountains and a wood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I turned and looked another way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And saw three islands in a bay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So with my eyes I traced the line<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the horizon, thin and fine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Straight around till I was come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Back to where I’d started from<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all I saw from where I stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was three long mountains and a wood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over these things I could not see:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These were the things that bounded me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I could touch them with my hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Almost, I thought, from where I stand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all at once things seemed so small<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My breath came short, and scarce at all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, sure, the sky is big, I said;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Miles and miles above my head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So here upon my back I’ll lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And look my fill into the sky.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so I looked, and, after all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sky was not so very tall.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And—sure enough!—I see the top!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sky, I thought, is not so grand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I ’most could touch it with my hand!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And reaching up my hand to try,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I screamed to feel it touch the sky.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I screamed, and—lo!—Infinity<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Came down and settled over me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forced back my scream into my chest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bent back my arm upon my breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, pressing of the Undefined<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The definition on my mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Held up before my eyes a glass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through which my shrinking sight did pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until it seemed I must behold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Immensity made manifold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whispered to me a word whose sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deafened the air for worlds around,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And brought unmuffled to my ears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gossiping of friendly spheres,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The creaking of the tented sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ticking of Eternity.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw and heard and knew at last<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The How and Why of all things, past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And present, and for evermore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Universe, cleft to the core,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lay open to my probing sense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, sick’ning, I would fain pluck thence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But could not,—nay! But needs must suck<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At the great wound, and could not pluck<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My lips away till I had drawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All venom out.—Ah, fearful pawn!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For my omniscience paid I toll<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In infinite remorse of soul.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All sin was of my sinning, all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Atoning mine, and mine the gall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all regret. Mine was the weight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of every brooded wrong, the hate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That stood behind each envious thrust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine every greed, mine every lust.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the while for every grief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each suffering, I craved relief<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With individual desire,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About a thousand people crawl;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perished with each,—then mourned for all!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A man was starving in Capri;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He moved his eyes and looked at me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And knew his hunger as my own.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw at sea a great fog bank<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between two ships that struck and sank;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A thousand screams the heavens smote;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every scream tore through my throat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No hurt I did not feel, no death<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That was not mine; mine each last breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, crying, met an answering cry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the compassion that was I.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All suffering mine, and mine its rod;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine, pity like the pity of God.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, awful weight! Infinity<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pressed down upon the finite Me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My anguished spirit, like a bird,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beating against my lips I heard;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet lay the weight so close about<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was no room for it without.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so beneath the weight lay I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And suffered death, but could not die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Long had I lain thus, craving death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When quietly the earth beneath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gave way, and inch by inch, so great<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At last had grown the crushing weight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the earth I sank till I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full six feet under ground did lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sank no more,—there is no weight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can follow here, however great.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From off my breast I felt it roll,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as it went my tortured soul<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Burst forth and fled in such a gust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That all about me swirled the dust.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deep in the earth I rested now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cool is its hand upon the brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And soft its breast beneath the head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of one who is so gladly dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all at once, and over all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pitying rain began to fall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I lay and heard each pattering hoof<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon my lowly, thatchèd roof,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seemed to love the sound far more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than ever I had done before.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For rain it hath a friendly sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To one who’s six feet under ground;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And scarce the friendly voice or face:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A grave is such a quiet place.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The rain, I said, is kind to come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And speak to me in my new home.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would I were alive again<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To kiss the fingers of the rain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To drink into my eyes the shine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of every slanting silver line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From drenched and dripping apple-trees.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For soon the shower will be done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then the broad face of the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until the world with answering mirth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shakes joyously, and each round drop<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How can I bear it, buried here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While overhead the sky grows clear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And blue again after the storm?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, multi-coloured, multiform,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beloved beauty over me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I shall never, never see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I shall never more behold!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sleeping your myriad magics through,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Close-sepulchred away from you!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O God, I cried, give me new birth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And put me back upon the earth!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upset each cloud’s gigantic gourd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let the heavy rain, down-poured<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In one big torrent, set me free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Washing my grave away from me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I ceased; and through the breathless hush<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That answered me, the far-off rush<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of herald wings came whispering<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like music down the vibrant string<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of my ascending prayer, and—crash!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before the wild wind’s whistling lash<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The startled storm-clouds reared on high<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And plunged in terror down the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the big rain in one black wave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fell from the sky and struck my grave.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know not how such things can be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I only know there came to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fragrance such as never clings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To aught save happy living things;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sound as of some joyous elf<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Singing sweet songs to please himself,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, through and over everything,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sense of glad awakening.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whispering to me I could hear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I felt the rain’s cool finger-tips<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brushed tenderly across my lips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Laid gently on my sealèd sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all at once the heavy night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fell from my eyes and I could see,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A drenched and dripping apple-tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A last long line of silver rain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sky grown clear and blue again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as I looked a quickening gust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of wind blew up to me and thrust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into my face a miracle<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know not how such things can be!—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I breathed my soul back into me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hailed the earth with such a cry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As is not heard save from a man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who has been dead, and lives again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About the trees my arms I wound;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I raised my quivering arms on high;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I laughed and laughed into the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till at my throat a strangling sob<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sent instant tears into my eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O God, I cried, no dark disguise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can e’er hereafter hide from me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy radiant identity!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou canst not move across the grass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor speak, however silently,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But my hushed voice will answer Thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know the path that tells Thy way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through the cool eve of every day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God, I can push the grass apart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lay my finger on Thy heart!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The world stands out on either side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No wider than the heart is wide;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Above the world is stretched the sky,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No higher than the soul is high.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The heart can push the sea and land<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Farther away on either hand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The soul can split the sky in two,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let the face of God shine through.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But East and West will pinch the heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That cannot keep them pushed apart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he whose soul is flat—the sky<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will cave in on him by and by.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_2" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Gods_World"><i>God’s World</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">O world,</span> I cannot hold thee close enough!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Thy mists, that roll and rise!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Long have I known a glory in it all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">But never knew I this;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Here such a passion is<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As stretcheth me apart,—Lord, I do fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou’st made the world too beautiful this year;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My soul is all but out of me,—let fall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_3" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Afternoon_on_a_Hill"><i>Afternoon on a Hill</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">I will</span> be the gladdest thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Under the sun!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will touch a hundred flowers<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And not pick one.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I will look at cliffs and clouds<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With quiet eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Watch the wind bow down the grass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the grass rise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when lights begin to show<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Up from the town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will mark which must be mine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And then start down.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_4" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Journey"><i>Journey</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span></p><div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Ah,</span> could I lay me down in this long grass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blow over me,—I am so tired, so tired<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of passing pleasant places! All my life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Following Care along the dusty road,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have I looked back at loveliness and sighed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet at my hand an unrelenting hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tugged ever, and I passed. All my life long<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Over my shoulder have I looked at peace<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And now I fain would lie in this long grass<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And close my eyes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i22">Yet onward!<br /></span>
+<span class="i32">Cat-birds call<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through the long afternoon, and creeks at dusk<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are guttural. Whip-poor-wills wake and cry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drawing the twilight close about their throats.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only my heart makes answer. Eager vines<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go up the rocks and wait; flushed apple-trees<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pause in their dance and break the ring for me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dim, shady wood-roads, redolent of fern<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bayberry, that through sweet bevies thread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of round-faced roses, pink and petulant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look back and beckon ere they disappear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only my heart, only my heart responds.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet, ah, my path is sweet on either side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All through the dragging day,—sharp underfoot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hot, and like dead mist the dry dust hangs—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A gateless garden, and an open path:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_5" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Sorrow"><i>Sorrow</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Sorrow</span> like a ceaseless rain<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beats upon my heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">People twist and scream in pain,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dawn will find them still again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This has neither wax nor wane,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Neither stop nor start.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">People dress and go to town;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I sit in my chair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All my thoughts are slow and brown:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Standing up or sitting down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little matters, or what gown<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or what shoes I wear.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_6" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Tavern"><i>Tavern</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">I’ll</span> keep a little tavern<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Below the high hill’s crest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherein all grey-eyed people<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May sit them down and rest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There shall be plates a-plenty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And mugs to melt the chill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all the grey-eyed people<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who happen up the hill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There sound will sleep the traveller,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And dream his journey’s end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I will rouse at midnight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The falling fire to tend.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Aye, ’tis a curious fancy—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But all the good I know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was taught me out of two grey eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A long time ago.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_7" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Ashes_of_Life"><i>Ashes of Life</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Love</span> has gone and left me and the days are all alike;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Eat I must, and sleep I will,—and would that night were here!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But ah!—to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Would that it were day again!—with twilight near!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love has gone and left me and I don’t know what to do;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This or that or what you will is all the same to me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But all the things that I begin I leave before I’m through,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There’s little use in anything as far as I can see.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love has gone and left me,—and the neighbours knock and borrow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There’s this little street and this little house.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_8" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="The_Little_Ghost"><i>The Little Ghost</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span></p><div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">I knew</span> her for a little ghost<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That in my garden walked;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wall is high—higher than most—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the green gate was locked.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And yet I did not think of that<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till after she was gone—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I knew her by the broad white hat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All ruffled, she had on.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By the dear ruffles round her feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By her small hands that hung<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her gown’s white folds among.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I watched to see if she would stay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What she would do—and oh!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She looked as if she liked the way<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I let my garden grow!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She bent above my favourite mint<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With conscious garden grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She smiled and smiled—there was no hint<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of sadness in her face.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She held her gown on either side<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To let her slippers show,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And up the walk she went with pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The way great ladies go.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And where the wall is built in new<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And is of ivy bare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She paused—then opened and passed through<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A gate that once was there.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_9" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Kin_to_Sorrow"><i>Kin to Sorrow</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><span class="first">Am</span> I kin to Sorrow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That so oft<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Falls the knocker of my door—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Neither loud nor soft,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But as long accustomed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Under Sorrow’s hand?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Marigolds around the step<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And rosemary stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then comes Sorrow—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And what does Sorrow care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the rosemary<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or the marigolds there?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Am I kin to Sorrow?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Are we kin?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That so oft upon my door—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><em>Oh, come in!</em><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_10" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Three_Songs_of_Shattering"><i>Three Songs of Shattering</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">The</span> first rose on my rose-tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Budded, bloomed, and shattered,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">During sad days when to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nothing mattered.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Grief of grief has drained me clean;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Still it seems a pity<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No one saw,—it must have been<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Very pretty.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span></p><div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Let</span> the little birds sing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Let the little lambs play;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spring is here; and so ’tis spring;—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But not in the old way!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I recall a place<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where a plum-tree grew;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There you lifted up your face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And blossoms covered you.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If the little birds sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the little lambs play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spring is here; and so ’tis spring—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But not in the old way!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">All</span> the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ere spring was going—ah! spring is gone!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there comes no summer to the like of you and me,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Blossom time is early, but no fruit sets on.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Browned at the edges, turned in a day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I would with all my heart they trimmed a mound for me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And weeds were tall on all the paths that led that way!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_11" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="The_Shroud"><i>The Shroud</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Death,</span> I say, my heart is bowed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unto thine,—O mother!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This red gown will make a shroud<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Good as any other!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">(I, that would not wait to wear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My own bridal things,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a dress dark as my hair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Made my answerings.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I, to-night, that till he came<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Could not, could not wait,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a gown as bright as flame<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Held for them the gate.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Death, I say, my heart is bowed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unto thine,—O mother!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This red gown will make a shroud<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Good as any other!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_12" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="The_Dream"><i>The Dream</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Love,</span> if I weep it will not matter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And if you laugh I shall not care;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Foolish am I to think about it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But it is good to feel you there.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">White and awful the moonlight reached<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There was a shutter loose,—it screeched!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Swung in the wind,—and no wind blowing!—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I was afraid, and turned to you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Put out my hand to you for comfort,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And you were gone! Cold, cold as dew,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Under my hand the moonlight lay!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Love, if you laugh I shall not care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if I weep it will not matter,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah, it is good to feel you there!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_13" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Indifference"><i>Indifference</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">I said,—for</span> Love was laggard, O, Love was slow to come,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">“I’ll hear his step and know his step when I am warm in bed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I’ll never leave my pillow, though there be some<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As would let him in—and take him in with tears!” I said.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I lay,—for Love was laggard, O, he came not until dawn,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I lay and listened for his step and could not get to sleep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he found me at my window with my big cloak on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All sorry with the tears some folks might weep!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_14" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Witch-Wife"><i>Witch-Wife</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">She</span> is neither pink nor pale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And she never will be all mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And her mouth on a valentine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She has more hair than she needs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the sun ’tis a woe to me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And her voice is a string of coloured beads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or steps leading into the sea.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She loves me all that she can,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And her ways to my ways resign;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she was not made for any man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And she never will be all mine.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_15" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Blight"><i>Blight</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span></p><div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Hard</span> seeds of hate I planted<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That should by now be grown,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rough stalks, and from thick stamens<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A poisonous pollen blown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And odours rank, unbreathable,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From dark corollas thrown!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At dawn from my damp garden<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I shook the chilly dew;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The thin boughs locked behind me<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That sprang to let me through;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blossoms slept,—I sought a place<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where nothing lovely grew.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And there, when day was breaking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I knelt and looked around:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The light was near, the silence<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was palpitant with sound;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I drew my hate from out my breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And thrust it in the ground.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, ye so fiercely tended,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ye little seeds of hate!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I bent above your growing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Early and noon and late,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet are ye drooped and pitiful,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I cannot rear ye straight!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sun seeks out my garden,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No nook is left in shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No mist nor mould nor mildew<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Endures on any blade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet rain slants under every bough:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ye falter, and ye fade.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_16" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="When_the_Year_Grows_Old"><i>When the Year Grows Old</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span></p><div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">I cannot</span> but remember<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When the year grows old—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">October—November—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How she disliked the cold!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She used to watch the swallows<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Go down across the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And turn from the window<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With a little sharp sigh.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And often when the brown leaves<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Were brittle on the ground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the wind in the chimney<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Made a melancholy sound,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She had a look about her<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That I wish I could forget—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The look of a scared thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sitting in a net!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, beautiful at nightfall<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The soft spitting snow!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And beautiful the bare boughs<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rubbing to and fro!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But the roaring of the fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the warmth of fur,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the boiling of the kettle<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Were beautiful to her!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I cannot but remember<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When the year grows old—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">October—November—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How she disliked the cold!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_17" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Sonnets"><i>Sonnets</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Thou</span> art not lovelier than lilacs,—no,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor honeysuckle; thou art not more fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than small white single poppies,—I can bear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From left to right, not knowing where to go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So has it been with mist,—with moonlight so.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like him who day by day unto his draught<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of delicate poison adds him one drop more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till he may drink unharmed the death of ten,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each hour more deeply than the hour before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I drink—and live—what has destroyed some men.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>II</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Time</span> does not bring relief; you all have lied<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who told me time would ease me of my pain!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I miss him in the weeping of the rain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I want him at the shrinking of the tide;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The old snows melt from every mountain-side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But last year’s bitter loving must remain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There are a hundred places where I fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To go,—so with his memory they brim!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And entering with relief some quiet place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where never fell his foot or shone his face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I say, “There is no memory of him here!”<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so stand stricken, so remembering him!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>III</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Mindful</span> of you the sodden earth in spring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the flowers that in the springtime grow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rising of the round moon, all throats that sing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The summer through, and each departing wing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the nests that the bared branches show,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all winds that in any weather blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the storms that the four seasons bring.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You go no more on your exultant feet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up paths that only mist and morning knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or watch the wind, or listen to the beat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a bird’s wings too high in air to view,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But you were something more than young and sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fair,—and the long year remembers you.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>IV</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Not</span> in this chamber only at my birth—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the long hours of that mysterious night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were over, and the morning was in sight—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cried, but in strange places, steppe and firth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have not seen, through alien grief and mirth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And never shall one room contain me quite<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who in so many rooms first saw the light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Child of all mothers, native of the earth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So is no warmth for me at any fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To-day, when the world’s fire has burned so low;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I kneel, spending my breath in vain desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At that cold hearth which one time roared so strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And straighten back in weariness, and long<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To gather up my little gods and go.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>V</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">If</span> I should learn, in some quite casual way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That you were gone, not to return again—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Read from the back-page of a paper, say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Held by a neighbour in a subway train,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How at the corner of this avenue<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And such a street (so are the papers filled)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A hurrying man—who happened to be you—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At noon to-day had happened to be killed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I should not cry aloud—I could not cry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I should but watch the station lights rush by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a more careful interest on my face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or raise my eyes and read with greater care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_18" class="chapter">
+<h3><a id="Bluebeard"></a>VI<br />
+
+<span class="subhead"><i>Bluebeard</i></span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">This</span> door you might not open, and you did;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So enter now, and see for what slight thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You are betrayed.... Here is no treasure hid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But only what you see.... Look yet again—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet this alone out of my life I kept<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto myself, lest any know me quite;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you did so profane me when you crept<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto the threshold of this room to-night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I must never more behold your face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This now is yours. I seek another place.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="wide" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span></p>
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 id="SECTION_TWO"><span class="larger">SECTION TWO</span></h2>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="wide" />
+
+<div id="p_19" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="I">I</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">My</span> candle burns at both ends;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It will not last the night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It gives a lovely light!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+<div id="p_20">
+<h2 id="II" class="nobreak">II</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Safe</span> upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_21" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Recuerdo"><i>Recuerdo</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">We</span> were very tired, we were very merry—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We were very tired, we were very merry—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We were very tired, we were very merry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We hailed, “Good morrow, mother!” to a shawl-covered head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she wept, “God bless you!” for the apples and pears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_22" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Thursday"><i>Thursday</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">And</span> if I loved you Wednesday,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Well, what is that to you?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I do not love you Thursday—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So much is true.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And why you come complaining<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is more than I can see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I loved you Wednesday,—yes—but what<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is that to me?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_23" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="To_the_Not_Impossible_Him"><i>To the Not Impossible Him</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">How</span> shall I know, unless I go<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To Cairo and Cathay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether or not this blessed spot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is blest in every way?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now it may be, the flower for me<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is this beneath my nose;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How shall I tell, unless I smell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Carthaginian rose?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The fabric of my faithful love<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No power shall dim or ravel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst I stay here,—but oh, my dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If I should ever travel!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_24" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="The_Singing-Woman_from_the"><i>The Singing-Woman from the
+Wood’s Edge</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">What</span> should I be but a prophet and a liar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Teethed on a crucifix and cradled under water,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What should I be but the fiend’s god-daughter?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And who should be my playmates but the adder and the frog,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That was got beneath a furze-bush and born in a bog?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what should be my singing, that was christened at an altar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Aves and Credos and Psalms out of the Psalter?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You will see such webs on the wet grass, maybe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As a pixie-mother weaves for her baby,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You will find such flame at the wave’s weedy ebb<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As flashes in the meshes of a mer-mother’s web,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But there comes to birth no common spawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the love of a priest for a leprechaun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you never have seen and you never will see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such things as the things that swaddled me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">After all’s said and after all’s done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What should I be but a harlot and a nun?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In through the bushes, on any foggy day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My dad would come a-swishing of the drops away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a prayer for my death and a groan for my birth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A-mumbling of his beads for all that he was worth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And there’d sit my ma, with her knees beneath her chin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A-looking in his face and a-drinking of it in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a-marking in the moss some funny little saying<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That would mean just the opposite of all that he was praying!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He taught me the holy-talk of Vesper and of Matin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He heard me my Greek and he heard me my Latin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He blessed me and crossed me to keep my soul from evil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we watched him out of sight, and we conjured up the devil!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, the things I haven’t seen and the things I haven’t known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What with hedges and ditches till after I was grown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yanked both ways by my mother and my father,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a “Which would you better?” and a “Which would you rather?”<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With him for a sire and her for a dam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What should I be but just what I am?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_25" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Humoresque"><i>Humoresque</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">“Heaven</span> bless the babe!” they said;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“What queer books she must have read!”<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Love, by whom I was beguiled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grant I may not bear a child.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Little does she guess to-day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What the world may be,” they say.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Snow, drift deep and cover<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the spring my murdered lover.)<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_26" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="She_is_Overheard_Singing"><i>She is Overheard Singing</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span></p><div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Oh,</span> Prue she has a patient man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Joan a gentle lover,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But my true love’s a rover!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Mig, her man’s as good as cheese<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And honest as a briar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sue tells her love what he’s thinking of,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But my dear lad’s a liar!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, Sue and Prue and Agatha<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Are thick with Mig and Joan!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They bite their threads and shake their heads<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gnaw my name like a bone;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And Prue says, “Mine’s a patient man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As never snaps me up,”<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Agatha, “Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Could live content in a cup;”<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sue’s man’s mind is like good jell—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All one colour, and clear—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Mig’s no call to think at all<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What’s to come next year,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">While Joan makes boast of a gentle lad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That’s troubled with that and this;—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But they all would give the life they live<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For a look from the man I kiss!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Cold he slants his eyes about,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And few enough’s his choice,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though he’d slip me clean for a nun, or a queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or a beggar with knots in her voice,—<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And Agatha will turn awake<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When her good man sleeps sound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Mig and Sue and Joan and Prue<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Will hear the clock strike round;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For Prue she has a patient man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As asks not when or why,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Mig and Sue have naught to do<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But peep who’s passing by,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Joan is paired with a putterer<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That bastes and tastes and salts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But my true love is false!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_27" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="The_Unexplorer"><i>The Unexplorer</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">There</span> was a road ran past our house<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Too lovely to explore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I asked my mother once—she said<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That if you followed where it led<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It brought you to the milk-man’s door.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(That’s why I have not travelled more.)<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_28" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Grown-Up"><i>Grown-Up</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Was</span> it for this I uttered prayers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That now, domestic as a plate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I should retire at half-past eight?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_29" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="The_Penitent"><i>The Penitent</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">I had</span> a little Sorrow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Born of a little Sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I found a room all damp with gloom<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And shut us all within;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, “Little Sorrow, weep,” said I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“And, Little Sin, pray God to die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I upon the floor will lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And think how bad I’ve been!”<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Alas for pious planning—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It mattered not a whit!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As far as gloom went in that room,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The lamp might have been lit!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My Little Sorrow would not weep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My Little Sin would go to sleep—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To save my soul I could not keep<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My graceless mind on it!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So up I got in anger,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And took a book I had,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And put a ribbon on my hair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To please a passing lad.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, “One thing there’s no getting by—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I’ve been a wicked girl,” said I;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“But if I can’t be sorry, why,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I might as well be glad!”<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_30" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Daphne"><i>Daphne</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Why</span> do you follow me?—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Any moment I can be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nothing but a laurel-tree.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Any moment of the chase<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can leave you in my place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pink bough for your embrace.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet if over hill and hollow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still it is your will to follow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am off;—to heel, Apollo!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_31" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Portrait_by_a_Neighbour"><i>Portrait by a Neighbour</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Before</span> she has her floor swept<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or her dishes done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Any day you’ll find her<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A-sunning in the sun!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It’s long after midnight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her key’s in the lock,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you never see her chimney smoke<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till past ten o’clock!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She digs in her garden<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With a shovel and a spoon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She weeds her lazy lettuce<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By the light of the moon.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She walks up the walk<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like a woman in a dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She forgets she borrowed butter<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And pays you back cream!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her lawn looks like a meadow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And if she mows the place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She leaves the clover standing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the Queen Anne’s lace!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_32" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="The_Merry_Maid"><i>The Merry Maid</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Oh,</span> I am grown so free from care<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Since my heart broke!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I set my throat against the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I laugh at simple folk!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There’s little kind and little fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is worth its weight in smoke<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To me, that’s grown so free from care<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Since my heart broke!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lass, if to sleep you would repair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As peaceful as you woke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Best not besiege your lover there<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For just the words he spoke<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To me, that’s grown so free from care<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Since my heart broke!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_33" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="To_S_M"><i>To S. M.</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="in0"><i>If he should lie a-dying</i></p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">I am</span> not willing you should go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the earth, where Helen went;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is awake by now, I know.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Cleopatra’s anklets rust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You will not lie with my consent;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Sappho is a roving dust;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cressid could love again; Dido,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rotted in state, is restless still;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You leave me much against my will.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_34" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="The_Philosopher"><i>The Philosopher</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">And</span> what are you that, wanting you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I should be kept awake<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As many nights as there are days<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With weeping for your sake?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And what are you that, missing you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As many days as crawl<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I should be listening to the wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And looking at the wall?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I know a man that’s a braver man<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And twenty men as kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what are you, that you should be<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The one man in my mind?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet women’s ways are witless ways,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As any sage will tell,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what am I, that I should love<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So wisely and so well?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Four_Sonnets"><i>Four Sonnets</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3 id="p_35">I</h3>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Love,</span> though for this you riddle me with darts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And drag me at your chariot till I die,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of hearts!—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who shout you mighty: thick about my hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who still am free, unto no querulous care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fool, and in no temple worshipper!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I, that have bared me to your quiver’s fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lifted my face into its puny rain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke Desire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As you are Powerless to Elicit Pain!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!)<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span></p>
+
+<h3 id="p_36" class="newpage">II</h3>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">I think</span> I should have loved you presently,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And given in earnest words I flung in jest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lifted honest eyes for you to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And caught your hand against my cheek and breast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all my pretty follies flung aside<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That won you to me, and beneath your gaze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Naked of reticence and shorn of pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spread like a chart my little wicked ways.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I, that had been to you, had you remained,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But one more waking from a recurrent dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And walk your memory’s halls, austere, supreme,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A ghost in marble of a girl you knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who would have loved you in a day or two.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span></p>
+
+<h3 id="p_37" class="newpage">III</h3>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Oh,</span> think not I am faithful to a vow!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Faithless am I save to love’s self alone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were you not lovely I would leave you now:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After the feet of beauty fly my own.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were you not still my hunger’s rarest food,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And water ever to my wildest thirst,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would desert you—think not but I would!—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seek another as I sought you first.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But you are mobile as the veering air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all your charms more changeful than the tide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherefore to be inconstant is no care:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have but to continue at your side.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So wanton, light and false, my love, are you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am most faithless when I most am true.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span></p>
+
+<h3 id="p_38" class="newpage">IV</h3>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">I shall</span> forget you presently, my dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So make the most of this, your little day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your little month, your little half a year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere I forget, or die, or move away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we are done forever; by and by<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shall forget you, as I said, but now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you entreat me with your loveliest lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will protest you with my favourite vow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would indeed that love were longer-lived,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And oaths were not so brittle as they are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But so it is, and nature has contrived<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To struggle on without a break thus far,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether or not we find what we are seeking<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is idle, biologically speaking.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="wide" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span></p>
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 id="SECTION_THREE"><span class="larger">SECTION THREE</span></h2>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="wide" />
+
+<div id="p_39" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Spring"><i>Spring</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">To</span> what purpose, April, do you return again?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beauty is not enough.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You can no longer quiet me with the redness<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of little leaves opening stickily.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know what I know.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sun is hot on my neck as I observe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spikes of the crocus.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The smell of the earth is good.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is apparent that there is no death.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what does that signify?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not only under ground are the brains of men<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eaten by maggots.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Life in itself<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is nothing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">April<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_40" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="City_Trees"><i>City Trees</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">The</span> trees along this city street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Save for the traffic and the trains,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would make a sound as thin and sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As trees in country lanes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And people standing in their shade<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Out of a shower, undoubtedly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would hear such music as is made<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon a country tree.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, little leaves that are so dumb<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Against the shrieking city air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I watch you when the wind has come—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I know what sound is there.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_41" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="The_Blue-Flag_in_the_Bog"><i>The Blue-Flag in the Bog</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">God</span> had called us, and we came;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Our loved Earth to ashes left;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaven was a neighbour’s house,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Open flung to us, bereft.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Gay the lights of Heaven showed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And ’twas God Who walked ahead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet I wept along the road,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wanting my own house instead.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wept unseen, unheeded cried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">“All you things my eyes have kissed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fare you well! We meet no more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lovely, lovely tattered mist!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Weary wings that rise and fall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All day long above the fire!”—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Red with heat was every wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rough with heat was every wire—<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Fare you well, you little winds<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That the flying embers chase!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fare you well, you shuddering day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With your hands before your face!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And, ah, blackened by strange blight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or to a false sun unfurled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now for evermore good-bye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All the gardens in the world!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On the windless hills of Heaven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That I have no wish to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">White, eternal lilies stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By a lake of ebony.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But the Earth forevermore<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is a place where nothing grows,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dawn will come, and no bud break;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Evening, and no blossom close.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Spring will come, and wander slow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Over an indifferent land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stand beside an empty creek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hold a dead seed in her hand.”<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">God had called us, and we came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But the blessed road I trod<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was a bitter road to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And at heart I questioned God.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Though in Heaven,” I said, “be all<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That the heart would most desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Held Earth naught save souls of sinners<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Worth the saving from a fire?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Withered grass,—the wasted growing!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Aimless ache of laden boughs!”<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little things God had forgotten<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Called me, from my burning house.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Though in Heaven,” I said, “be all<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That the eye could ask to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the things I ever knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Are this blaze in back of me.”<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Though in Heaven,” I said, “be all<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That the ear could think to lack,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the things I ever knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Are this roaring at my back.”<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It was God Who walked ahead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like a shepherd to the fold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In His footsteps fared the weak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the weary and the old,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Glad enough of gladness over,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ready for the peace to be,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But a thing God had forgotten<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was the growing bones of me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And I drew a bit apart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I lagged a bit behind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I thought on Peace Eternal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lest He look into my mind;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And I gazed upon the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I thought of Heavenly Rest,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I slipped away like water<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Through the fingers of the blest!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All their eyes were fixed on Glory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not a glance brushed over me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“Alleluia! Alleluia!”<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Up the road,—and I was free.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And my heart rose like a freshet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And it swept me on before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Giddy as a whirling stick,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till I felt the earth once more.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All the Earth was charred and black,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">had swept from pole to pole;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the bottom of the sea<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was as brittle as a bowl;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And the timbered mountain-top<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was as naked as a skull,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nothing left, nothing left,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the Earth so beautiful!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Earth,” I said, “how can I leave you?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">“You are all I have,” I said;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“What is left to take my mind up,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Living always, and you dead?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Speak!” I said, “Oh, tell me something!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Make a sign that I can see!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a keepsake! To keep always!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Quick!—before God misses me!”<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And I listened for a voice;—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But my heart was all I heard;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not a screech-owl, not a loon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not a tree-toad said a word.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And I waited for a sign;—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Coals and cinders, nothing more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a little cloud of smoke<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Floating on a valley floor.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And I peered into the smoke<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till it rotted, like a fog:—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There, encompassed round by fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Stood a blue-flag in a bog!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Little flames came wading out,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Straining, draining towards its stem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But it was so blue and tall<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That it scorned to think of them!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Red and thirsty were their tongues,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As the tongues of wolves must be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But it was so blue and tall—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Oh, I laughed, I cried, to see!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All my heart became a tear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All my soul became a tower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never loved I anything<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As I loved that tall blue flower!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It was all the little boats<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That had ever sailed the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was all the little books<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That had gone to school with me;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On its roots like iron claws<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rearing up so blue and tall,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was all the gallant Earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With its back against a wall!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In a breath, ere I had breathed,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Oh, I laughed, I cried, to see!—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was kneeling at its side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And it leaned its head on me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Crumbling stones and sliding sand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is the road to Heaven now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Icy at my straining knees<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Drags the awful under-tow;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Soon but stepping-stones of dust<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Will the road to Heaven be,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Father, Son and Holy Ghost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Reach a hand and rescue me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“There—there, my blue-flag flower;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hush—hush—go to sleep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That is only God you hear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Counting up His folded sheep!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lullabye—lullabye—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That is only God that calls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Missing me, seeking me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ere the road to nothing falls!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He will set His mighty feet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Firmly on the sliding sand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a little frightened bird<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I will creep into His hand;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I will tell Him all my grief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I will tell Him all my sin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He will give me half His robe<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For a cloak to wrap you in.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lullabye—lullabye—”<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rocks the burnt-out planet free!—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Father, Son and Holy Ghost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Reach a hand and rescue me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah, the voice of love at last!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lo, at last the face of light!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the whole of His white robe<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For a cloak against the night!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And upon my heart asleep<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All the things I ever knew!—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“Holds Heaven not some cranny, Lord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For a flower so tall and blue?”<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All’s well and all’s well!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gay the lights of Heaven show!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In some moist and Heavenly place<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We will set it out to grow.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_42" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Eel-Grass"><i>Eel-Grass</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">No</span> matter what I say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All that I really love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is the rain that flattens on the bay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the eel-grass in the cove;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The jingle-shells that lie and bleach<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At the tide-line, and the trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of higher tides along the beach:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nothing in this place.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_43" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Elegy_before_Death"><i>Elegy before Death</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">There</span> will be rose and rhododendron<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When you are dead and under ground;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still will be heard from white syringas<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Heavy with bees, a sunny sound;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still will the tamaracks be raining<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">After the rain has ceased, and still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will there be robins in the stubble,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Brown sheep upon the warm green hill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Spring will not ail nor autumn falter;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nothing will know that you are gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saving alone some sullen plough-land<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">None but yourself sets foot upon;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Saving the may-weed and the pig-weed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nothing will know that you are dead,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These, and perhaps a useless wagon<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Standing beside some tumbled shed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, there will pass with your great passing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Little of beauty not your own,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only the light from common water,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Only the grace from simple stone!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_44" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="The_Bean-Stalk"><i>The Bean-Stalk</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span></p><div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Ho,</span> Giant! This is I!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have built me a bean-stalk into your sky!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">La,—but it’s lovely, up so high!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is how I came,—I put<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There my knee, here my foot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up and up, from shoot to shoot—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the blessed bean-stalk thinning<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like the mischief all the time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till it took me rocking, spinning,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a dizzy, sunny circle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Making angles with the root,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far and out above the cackle<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the city I was born in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the little dirty city<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the light so sheer and sunny<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shone as dazzling bright and pretty<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As the money that you find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a dream of finding money—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What a wind! What a morning!—<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Till the tiny, shiny city,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I shot a glance below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shaken with a giddy laughter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sick and blissfully afraid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was a dew-drop on a blade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a pair of moments after<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was the whirling guess I made,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the wind was like a whip<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cracking past my icy ears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my hair stood out behind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my eyes were full of tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wide-open and cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More tears than they could hold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wind was blowing so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my teeth were in a row,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dry and grinning,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I felt my foot slip,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I scratched the wind and whined,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I clutched the stalk and jabbered,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With my eyes shut blind,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What a wind! What a wind!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Your broad sky, Giant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is the shelf of a cupboard;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I make bean-stalks, I’m<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A builder, like yourself,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But bean-stalks is my trade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I couldn’t make a shelf,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Don’t know how they’re made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now, a bean-stalk is more pliant—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">La, what a climb!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_45" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Weeds"><i>Weeds</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">White</span> with daisies and red with sorrel<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And empty, empty under the sky!—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Life is a quest and love a quarrel—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Here is a place for me to lie.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Daisies spring from damnèd seeds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And this red fire that here I see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Cursed by farmers thriftily.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But here, unhated for an hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sorrel runs in ragged flame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The daisy stands, a bastard flower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like flowers that bear an honest name.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And here a while, where no wind brings<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The baying of a pack athirst,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May sleep the sleep of blessed things<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The blood too bright, the brow accurst.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_46" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Passer_Mortuus_Est"><i>Passer Mortuus Est</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Death</span> devours all lovely things;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lesbia with her sparrow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shares the darkness,—presently<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Every bed is narrow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Unremembered as old rain<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dries the sheer libation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the little petulant hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is an annotation.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">After all, my erstwhile dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My no longer cherished,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Need we say it was not love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Now that love is perished?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_47" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Pastoral"><i>Pastoral</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">If</span> it were only still!—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With far away the shrill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crying of a cock;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or the shaken bell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From a cow’s throat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Moving through the bushes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or the soft shock<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of wizened apples falling<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From an old tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a forgotten orchard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the hilly rock!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, grey hill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the grazing herd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Licks the purple blossom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crops the spiky weed!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, stony pasture,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the tall mullein<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stands up so sturdy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On its little seed!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_48" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Assault"><i>Assault</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">I had</span> forgotten how the frogs must sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After a year of silence, else I think<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I should not so have ventured forth alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At dusk upon this unfrequented road.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I am waylaid by Beauty. Who will walk<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between me and the crying of the frogs?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, savage Beauty, suffer me to pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That am a timid woman, on her way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From one house to another!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_49" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Travel"><i>Travel</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">The</span> railroad track is miles away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the day is loud with voices speaking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But I hear its whistle shrieking.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All night there isn’t a train goes by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I see its cinders red on the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And hear its engine steaming.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My heart is warm with the friends I make,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And better friends I’ll not be knowing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No matter where it’s going.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_50" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Low-Tide"><i>Low-Tide</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">These</span> wet rocks where the tide has been,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Barnacled white and weeded brown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">These wet rocks where the tide went down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will show again when the tide is high<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Faint and perilous, far from shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No place to dream, but a place to die,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The bottom of the sea once more.<br /></span>
+<em><span class="i0">There was a child that wandered through<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A giant’s empty house all day,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">House full of wonderful things and new,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But no fit place for a child to play.<br /></span></em>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_51" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Song_of_a_Second_April"><i>Song of a Second April</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">April</span> this year, not otherwise<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than April of a year ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is full of whispers, full of sighs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hepaticas that pleased you so<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are here again, and butterflies.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There rings a hammering all day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And shingles lie about the doors;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In orchards near and far away<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The grey woodpecker taps and bores;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And men are merry at their chores,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And children earnest at their play.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The larger streams run still and deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Noisy and swift the small brooks run<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Among the mullein stalks the sheep<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Go up the hillside in the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pensively,—only you are gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You that alone I cared to keep.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_52" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="The_Poet_and_his_Book"><i>The Poet and his Book</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<em><span class="i0">Down, you mongrel, Death!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Back into your kennel!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have stolen breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In a stalk of fennel!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You shall scratch and you shall whine<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Many a night, and you shall worry<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Many a bone, before you bury<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One sweet bone of mine!<br /></span></em>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When shall I be dead?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When my flesh is withered,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And above my head<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yellow pollen gathered<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the empty afternoon?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When sweet lovers pause and wonder<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who am I that lie thereunder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hidden from the moon?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This my personal death?—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That my lungs be failing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To inhale the breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Others are exhaling?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This my subtle spirit’s end?—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah, when the thawed winter splashes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Over these chance dust and ashes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Weep not me, my friend!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Me, by no means dead<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In that hour, but surely<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When this book, unread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rots to earth obscurely,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And no more to any breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Close against the clamorous swelling<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the thing there is no telling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are these pages pressed!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When this book is mould,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And a book of many<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Waiting to be sold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For a casual penny,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a little open case,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In a street unclean and cluttered,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where a heavy mud is spattered<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the passing drays,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Stranger, pause and look;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From the dust of ages<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lift this little book,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Turn the tattered pages,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Read me, do not let me die!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Search the fading letters, finding<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Steadfast in the broken binding<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All that once was I!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When these veins are weeds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When these hollowed sockets<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Watch the rooty seeds<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bursting down like rockets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And surmise the spring again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or, remote in that black cupboard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Watch the pink worms writhing upward<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At the smell of rain,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Boys and girls that lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whispering in the hedges,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do not let me die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mix me with your pledges;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Boys and girls that slowly walk<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the woods, and weep, and quarrel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Staring past the pink wild laurel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mix me with your talk,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Do not let me die!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Farmers at your raking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the sun is high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While the hay is making,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, along the stubble strewn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Withering on their stalks uneaten,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Strawberries turn dark and sweeten<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the lapse of noon;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shepherds on the hills,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the pastures, drowsing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the tinkling bells<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the brown sheep browsing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sailors crying through the storm;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Scholars at your study; hunters<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lost amid the whirling winter’s<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whiteness uniform;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Men that long for sleep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Men that wake and revel;—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If an old song leap<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To your senses’ level<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At such moments, may it be<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sometimes, though a moment only,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some forgotten, quaint and homely<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vehicle of me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Women at your toil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Women at your leisure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the kettle boil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Snatch of me your pleasure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the broom-straw marks the leaf;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Women quiet with your weeping<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lest you wake a workman sleeping,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mix me with your grief!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Boys and girls that steal<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From the shocking laughter<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the old, to kneel<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By a dripping rafter<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under the discoloured eaves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Out of trunks with hingeless covers<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lifting tales of saints and lovers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Travellers, goblins, thieves,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Suns that shine by night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mountains made from valleys,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bear me to the light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Flat upon your bellies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the webby window lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where the little flies are crawling,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Read me, margin me with scrawling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do not let me die!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<em><span class="i0">Sexton, ply your trade!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In a shower of gravel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stamp upon your spade!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Many a rose shall ravel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Many a metal wreath shall rust<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the rain, and I go singing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Through the lots where you are flinging<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yellow clay on dust!<br /></span></em>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_53" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Alms"><i>Alms</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span></p><div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">My</span> heart is what it was before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A house where people come and go;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But it is winter with your love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sashes are beset with snow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I light the lamp and lay the cloth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I blow the coals to blaze again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But it is winter with your love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The frost is thick upon the pane.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I know a winter when it comes:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The leaves are listless on the boughs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I watched your love a little while,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And brought my plants into the house.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I water them and turn them south,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I snap the dead brown from the stem;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But it is winter with your love,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I only tend and water them.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There was a time I stood and watched<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The small, ill-natured sparrows’ fray;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I loved the beggar that I fed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I cared for what he had to say,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I stood and watched him out of sight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To-day I reach around the door<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And set a bowl upon the step;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My heart is what it was before,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But it is winter with your love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I scatter crumbs upon the sill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And close the window,—and the birds<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May take or leave them, as they will.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_54" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Inland"><i>Inland</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">People</span> that build their houses inland,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">People that buy a plot of ground<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shaped like a house, and build a house there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Far from the sea-board, far from the sound<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of water sucking the hollow ledges,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tons of water striking the shore,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What do they long for, as I long for<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">One salt smell of the sea once more?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">People the waves have not awakened,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Spanking the boats at the harbour’s head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What do they long for, as I long for,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Starting up in my inland bed,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beating the narrow walls, and finding<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Neither a window nor a door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Screaming to God for death by drowning,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">One salt taste of the sea once more?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_55" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="To_a_Poet_that_Died_Young"><i>To a Poet that Died Young</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span></p><div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Minstrel,</span> what have you to do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With this man that, after you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sharing not your happy fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sat as England’s Laureate?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vainly, in these iron days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strives the poet in your praise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Minstrel, by whose singing side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beauty walked, until you died.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still, though none should hark again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drones the blue-fly in the pane,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thickly crusts the blackest moss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blows the rose its musk across,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Floats the boat that is forgot<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None the less to Camelot.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Many a bard’s untimely death<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lends unto his verses breath;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here’s a song was never sung:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Growing old is dying young.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Minstrel, what is this to you:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That a man you never knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When your grave was far and green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sat and gossipped with a queen?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thalia knows how rare a thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is it, to grow old and sing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the brown and tepid tide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Closes in on every side.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who shall say if Shelley’s gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had withstood it to grow old?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_56" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Wraith"><i>Wraith</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span></p><div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">“Thin</span> Rain, whom are you haunting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That you haunt my door?”<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">—Surely it is not I she’s wanting;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Someone living here before—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“Nobody’s in the house but me:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You may come in if you like and see.”<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thin as thread, with exquisite fingers,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Have you seen her, any of you?—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grey shawl, and leaning on the wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the garden showing through?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Glimmering eyes,—and silent, mostly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sort of a whisper, sort of a purr,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Asking something, asking it over,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If you get a sound from her.—<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ever see her, any of you?—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Strangest thing I’ve ever known,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Every night since I moved in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I came to be alone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“Thin Rain, hush with your knocking!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You may not come in!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is I that you hear rocking;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nobody’s with me, nor has been!”<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Curious, how she tried the window,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Odd, the way she tries the door,—<br /></span>
+<em><span class="i0">Wonder just what sort of people<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Could have had this house before....<br /></span></em>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_57" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Ebb"><i>Ebb</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">I know</span> what my heart is like<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Since your love died:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is like a hollow ledge<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Holding a little pool<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Left there by the tide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A little tepid pool,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drying inward from the edge.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_58" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Elaine"><i>Elaine</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Oh,</span> come again to Astolat!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I will not ask you to be kind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you may go when you will go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I will stay behind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I will not say how dear you are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or ask you if you hold me dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or trouble you with things for you<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The way I did last year.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So still the orchard, Lancelot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So very still the lake shall be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You could not guess—though you should guess—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What is become of me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So wide shall be the garden-walk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The garden-seat so very wide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You needs must think—if you should think—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The lily maid had died.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Save that, a little way away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I’d watch you for a little while,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see you speak, the way you speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And smile,—if you should smile.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_59" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Burial"><i>Burial</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Mine</span> is a body that should die at sea!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And have for a grave, instead of a grave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Six feet deep and the length of me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All the water that is under the wave!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And terrible fishes to seize my flesh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Such as a living man might fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And eat me while I am firm and fresh,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not wait till I’ve been dead for a year!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_60" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Mariposa"><i>Mariposa</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Butterflies</span> are white and blue<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In this field we wander through.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suffer me to take your hand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Death comes in a day or two.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All the things we ever knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will be ashes in that hour.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mark the transient butterfly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How he hangs upon the flower.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Suffer me to take your hand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suffer me to cherish you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the dawn is in the sky.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether I be false or true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Death comes in a day or two.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_61" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Doubt_no_more_that_Oberon"><i>Doubt no more that Oberon</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Doubt</span> no more that Oberon—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never doubt that Pan<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lived, and played a reed, and ran<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After nymphs in a dark forest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the merry, credulous days,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lived, and led a fairy band<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over the indulgent land!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, for in this dourest, sorest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Age man’s eye has looked upon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Death to fauns and death to fays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still the dog-wood dares to raise—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Healthy tree, with trunk and root—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ivory bowls that bear no fruit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the starlings and the jays—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Birds that cannot even sing—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dare to come again in spring!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_62" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Lament"><i>Lament</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Listen,</span> children:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your father is dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From his old coats<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I’ll make you little jackets;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I’ll make you little trousers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From his old pants.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There’ll be in his pockets<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Things he used to put there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keys and pennies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Covered with tobacco;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dan shall have the pennies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To save in his bank;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Anne shall have the keys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make a pretty noise with.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Life must go on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the dead be forgotten;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Life must go on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though good men die;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Anne, eat your breakfast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dan, take your medicine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Life must go on;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I forget just why.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_63" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Exiled"><i>Exiled</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span></p><div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Searching</span> my heart for its true sorrow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This is the thing I find to be:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I am weary of words and people,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sick of the city, wanting the sea;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the strong wind and shattered spray;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the big surf that breaks all day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Always before about my dooryard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Marking the reach of the winter sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rooted in sand and dragging drift-wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Straggled the purple wild sweet-pea;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Always I climbed the wave at morning,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shook the sand from my shoes at night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That now am caught beneath great buildings<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Stricken with noise, confused with light.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If I could hear the green piles groaning<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Under the windy wooden piers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See once again the bobbing barrels,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the black sticks that fence the weirs,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If I could see the weedy mussels<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Crusting the wrecked and rotting hulls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hear once again the hungry crying<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Overhead, of the wheeling gulls,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Feel once again the shanty straining<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Under the turning of the tide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fear once again the rising freshet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dread the bell in the fog outside,—<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I should be happy,—that was happy<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All day long on the coast of Maine!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have a need to hold and handle<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shells and anchors and ships again!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I should be happy, that am happy<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Never at all since I came here.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am too long away from water.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I have a need of water near.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_64" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="The_Death_of_Autumn"><i>The Death of Autumn</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">When</span> reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like agèd warriors westward, tragic, thinned<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My heart. I know that Beauty must ail and die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And will be born again,—but ah, to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, Autumn! Autumn!—What is the Spring to me?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_65" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Ode_to_Silence"><i>Ode to Silence</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Aye,</span> but she?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your other sister and my other soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grave Silence, lovelier<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than the three loveliest maidens, what of her?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clio, not you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not you, Calliope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor all your wanton line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not Beauty’s perfect self shall comfort me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Silence once departed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For her the cool-tongued, her the tranquil-hearted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom evermore I follow wilfully,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wandering Heaven and Earth and Hell and the four seasons through;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thalia, not you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not you, Melpomene,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not your incomparable feet, O thin Terpsichore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I seek in this great hall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But one more pale, more pensive, most beloved of you all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I seek her from afar.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I come from temples where her altars are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From groves that bear her name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Noisy with stricken victims now and sacrificial flame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cymbals struck on high and strident faces<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Obstreperous in her praise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They neither love nor know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A goddess of gone days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Departed long ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Abandoning the invaded shrines and fanes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of her old sanctuary,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A deity obscure and legendary,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of whom there now remains,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For sages to decipher and priests to garble,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only and for a little while her letters wedged in marble,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which even now, behold, the friendly mumbling rain erases,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the inarticulate snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leaving at last of her least signs and traces<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None whatsoever, nor whither she is vanished from these places.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“She will love well,” I said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“If love be of that heart inhabiter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The flowers of the dead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The red anemone that with no sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Moves in the wind, and from another wound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That sprang, the heavily-sweet blue hyacinth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That blossoms underground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sallow poppies, will be dear to her.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And will not Silence know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the black shade of what obsidian steep<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stiffens the white narcissus numb with sleep?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Seed which Demeter’s daughter bore from home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Uptorn by desperate fingers long ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reluctant even as she,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Undone Persephone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And even as she set out again to grow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In twilight, in perdition’s lean and inauspicious loam).<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She will love well,” I said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“The flowers of the dead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where dark Persephone the winter round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Uncomforted for home, uncomforted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lacking a sunny southern slope in northern Sicily,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With sullen pupils focussed on a dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stares on the stagnant stream<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That moats the unequivocable battlements of Hell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There, there will she be found,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She that is Beauty veiled from men and Music in a swound.”<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">“I long for Silence as they long for breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose helpless nostrils drink the bitter sea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What thing can be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So stout, what so redoubtable, in Death<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What fury, what considerable rage, if only she,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon whose icy breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unquestioned, uncaressed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One time I lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whom always I lack,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even to this day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Being by no means from that frigid bosom weaned away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If only she therewith be given me back?”<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I sought her down that dolorous labyrinth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherein no shaft of sunlight ever fell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in among the bloodless everywhere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sought her, but the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Breathed many times and spent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was fretful with a whispering discontent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And questioning me, importuning me to tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some slightest tidings of the light of day they know no more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Plucking my sleeve, the eager shades were with me where I went.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I paused at every grievous door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And harked a moment, holding up my hand,—and for a space<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A hush was on them, while they watched my face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then they fell a-whispering as before;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So that I smiled at them and left them, seeing she was not there.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sought her, too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Among the upper gods, although I knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She was not like to be where feasting is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor near to Heaven’s lord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Being a thing abhorred<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shunned of him, although a child of his,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Not yours, not yours; to you she owes not breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mother of Song, being sown of Zeus upon a dream of Death).<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fearing to pass unvisited some place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And later learn, too late, how all the while,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With her still face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She had been standing there and seen me pass, without a smile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sought her even to the sagging board whereat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The stout immortals sat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But such a laughter shook the mighty hall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No one could hear me say:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had she been seen upon the Hill that day?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And no one knew at all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How long I stood or when at last I sighed and went away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There is a garden lying in a lull<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between the mountains and the mountainous sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know not where, but which a dream diurnal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Paints on my lids a moment till the hull<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be lifted from the kernel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Slumber fed to me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your foot-print is not there, Mnemosene,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though it would seem a ruined place and after<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your lichenous heart, being full<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of broken columns, caryatides<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thrown to the earth and fallen forward on their jointless knees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And urns funereal altered into dust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Minuter than the ashes of the dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Psyche’s lamp out of the earth up-thrust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dripping itself in marble wax on what was once the bed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Love, and his young body asleep, but now is dust instead.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There twists the bitter-sweet, the white wisteria<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fastens its fingers in the strangling wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the wide crannies quicken with bright weeds;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There dumbly like a worm all day the still white orchid feeds;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But never an echo of your daughters’ laughter<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is there, nor any sign of you at all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swells fungous from the rotten bough, grey mother of Pieria!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only her shadow once upon a stone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw,—and, lo, the shadow and the garden, too, were gone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I tell you you have done her body an ill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You chatterers, you noisy crew!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is not anywhere!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sought her in deep Hell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And through the world as well;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thought of Heaven and I sought her there;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Above nor underground<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is Silence to be found,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That was the very warp and woof of you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lovely before your songs began and after they were through!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, say if on this hill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Somewhere your sister’s body lies in death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I may follow there, and make a wreath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of my locked hands, that on her quiet breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall lie till age has withered them!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i24">(Ah, sweetly from the rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turn and consider me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Compassionate Euterpe!)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“There is a gate beyond the gate of Death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beyond the gate of everlasting Life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beyond the gates of Heaven and Hell,” she saith,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">“Whereon but to believe is horror!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereon to meditate engendereth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even in deathless spirits such as I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A tumult in the breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A chilling of the inexhaustible blood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even in my veins that never will be dry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the austere, divine monotony<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That is my being, the madness of an unaccustomed mood.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is her province whom you lack and seek;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seek her not elsewhere.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hell is a thoroughfare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For pilgrims,—Herakles,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he that loved Euridice too well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have walked therein; and many more than these;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And witnessed the desire and the despair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of souls that passed reluctantly and sicken for the air;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You, too, have entered Hell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And issued thence; but thence whereof I speak<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None has returned;—for thither fury brings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only the driven ghosts of them that flee before all things.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oblivion is the name of this abode: and she is there.”<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, radiant Song! Oh, gracious Memory!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be long upon this height<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shall not climb again!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know the way you mean,—the little night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the long empty day,—never to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Again the angry light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or hear the hungry noises cry my brain!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah, but she,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your other sister and my other soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She shall again be mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I shall drink her from a silver bowl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A chilly thin green wine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not bitter to the taste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not of your press, oh, restless, clamorous nine,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To foam beneath the frantic hoofs of mirth—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But savouring faintly of the acid earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And trod by pensive feet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From perfect clusters ripened without haste<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Out of the urgent heat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In some clear glimmering vaulted twilight under the odorous vine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lift up your lyres! Sing on!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But as for me, I seek your sister whither she is gone.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_66" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Memorial_to_D_C"><i>Memorial to D. C.</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="p0 b1 center">[VASSAR COLLEGE, 1918]</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<em><span class="i0">Oh, loveliest throat of all sweet throats,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where now no more the music is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With hands that wrote you little notes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I write you little elegies!<br /></span></em>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 id="EI">I<br />
+
+<span class="subhead"><i>Epitaph</i></span></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Heap</span> not on this mound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Roses that she loved so well;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why bewilder her with roses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That she cannot see or smell?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is happy where she lies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the dust upon her eyes.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 id="EII">II<br />
+
+<span class="subhead"><i>Prayer to Persephone</i></span></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Be</span> to her, Persephone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the things I might not be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take her head upon your knee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She that was so proud and wild,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flippant, arrogant and free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She that had no need of me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is a little lonely child<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lost in Hell,—Persephone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take her head upon your knee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say to her, “My dear, my dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is not so dreadful here.”<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 id="III">III<br />
+
+<span class="subhead"><i>Chorus</i></span></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Give</span> away her gowns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give away her shoes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She has no more use<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For her fragrant gowns;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take them all down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blue, green, blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lilac, pink, blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From their padded hangers;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She will dance no more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In her narrow shoes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweep her narrow shoes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the closet floor.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 id="IV">IV<br />
+
+<span class="subhead"><i>Elegy</i></span></h2>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span></p><div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Let</span> them bury your big eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the secret earth securely,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your thin fingers, and your fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soft, indefinite-coloured hair,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All of these in some way, surely,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the secret earth shall rise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not for these I sit and stare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Broken and bereft completely;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your young flesh that sat so neatly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On your little bones will sweetly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blossom in the air.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But your voice,—never the rushing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a river underground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not the rising of the wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the trees before the rain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not the woodcock’s watery call,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not the note the white-throat utters,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not the feet of children pushing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yellow leaves along the gutters<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the blue and bitter fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall content my musing mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the beauty of that sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That in no new way at all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ever will be heard again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweetly through the sappy stalk<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the vigorous weed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Holding all it held before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cherished by the faithful sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On and on eternally<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall your altered fluid run,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bud and bloom and go to seed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But your singing days are done;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the music of your talk<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never shall the chemistry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the secret earth restore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All your lovely words are spoken.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once the ivory box is broken,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beats the golden bird no more.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 id="V">V<br />
+
+<span class="subhead"><i>Dirge</i></span></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Boys</span> and girls that held her dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Do your weeping now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All you loved of her lies here.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Brought to earth the arrogant brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the withering tongue<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chastened; do your weeping now.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sing whatever songs are sung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wind whatever wreath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a playmate perished young,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For a spirit spent in death.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Boys and girls that held her dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All you loved of her lies here.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_67" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Sonnets2"><i>Sonnets</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">We</span> talk of taxes, and I call you friend;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Well, such you are,—but well enough we know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How thick about us root, how rankly grow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those subtle weeds no man has need to tend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That flourish through neglect, and soon must send<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perfume too sweet upon us and overthrow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our steady senses; how such matters go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We are aware, and how such matters end.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet shall be told no meagre passion here;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With lovers such as we for evermore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Isolde drinks the draught, and Guinevere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Receives the Table’s ruin through her door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Francesca, with the loud surf at her ear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lets fall the coloured book upon the floor.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>II</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Into</span> the golden vessel of great song<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let us pour all our passion; breast to breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let other lovers lie, in love and rest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not we,—articulate, so, but with the tongue<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all the world: the churning blood, the long<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shuddering quiet, the desperate hot palms pressed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sharply together upon the escaping guest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The common soul, unguarded, and grown strong.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Longing alone is singer to the lute;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let still on nettles in the open sigh<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The minstrel, that in slumber is as mute<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As any man, and love be far and high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That else forsakes the topmost branch, a fruit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Found on the ground by every passer-by.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>III</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Not</span> with libations, but with shouts and laughter<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We drenched the altars of Love’s sacred grove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shaking to earth green fruits, impatient after<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The launching of the coloured moths of Love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love’s proper myrtle and his mother’s zone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We bound about our irreligious brows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fettered him with garlands of our own,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And spread a banquet in his frugal house.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not yet the god has spoken; but I fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though we should break our bodies in his flame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And pour our blood upon his altar, here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Henceforward is a grove without a name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pasture to the shaggy goats of Pan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whence flee forever a woman and a man.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>IV</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Only</span> until this cigarette is ended,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A little moment at the end of all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While on the floor the quiet ashes fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the firelight to a lance extended,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bizarrely with the jazzing music blended,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The broken shadow dances on the wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will permit my memory to recall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The vision of you, by all my dreams attended.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then adieu,—farewell!—the dream is done.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yours is a face of which I can forget<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The colour and the features, every one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The words not ever, and the smiles not yet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in your day this moment is the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon a hill, after the sun has set.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>V</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Once</span> more into my arid days like dew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like wind from an oasis, or the sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of cold sweet water bubbling underground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A treacherous messenger, the thought of you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Comes to destroy me; once more I renew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Firm faith in your abundance, whom I found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long since to be but just one other mound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of sand, whereon no green thing ever grew.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And once again, and wiser in no wise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I chase your coloured phantom on the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sob and curse and fall and weep and rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stumble pitifully on to where,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Miserable and lost, with stinging eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once more I clasp,—and there is nothing there.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>VI</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">No</span> rose that in a garden ever grew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Homer’s or in Omar’s or in mine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though buried under centuries of fine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dead dust of roses, shut from sun and dew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forever, and forever lost from view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But must again in fragrance rich as wine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The grey aisles of the air incarnadine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the old summers surge into a new.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus when I swear, “I love with all my heart,”<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">’Tis with the heart of Lilith that I swear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">’Tis with the love of Lesbia and Lucrece;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus as well my love must lose some part<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of what it is, had Helen been less fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or perished young, or stayed at home in Greece.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>VII</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">When</span> I too long have looked upon your face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherein for me a brightness unobscured<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Save by the mists of brightness has its place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And terrible beauty not to be endured,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I turn away reluctant from your light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stand irresolute, a mind undone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A silly, dazzled thing deprived of sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From having looked too long upon the sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then is my daily life a narrow room<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In which a little while, uncertainly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Surrounded by impenetrable gloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Among familiar things grown strange to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Making my way, I pause, and feel, and hark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till I become accustomed to the dark.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>VIII</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">And</span> you as well must die, beloved dust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all your beauty stand you in no stead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This body of flame and steel, before the gust<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than the first leaf that fell,—this wonder fled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In spite of all my love, you will arise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon that day and wander down the air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Obscurely as the unattended flower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It mattering not how beautiful you were,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or how beloved above all else that dies.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>IX</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Let</span> you not say of me when I am old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In pretty worship of my withered hands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forgetting who I am, and how the sands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of such a life as mine run red and gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even to the ultimate sifting dust, “Behold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here walketh passionless age!”—for there expands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A curious superstition in these lands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And by its leave some weightless tales are told.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In me no lenten wicks watch out the night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am the booth where Folly holds her fair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Impious no less in ruin than in strength,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I lie crumbled to the earth at length,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let you not say, “Upon this reverend site<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The righteous groaned and beat their breasts in prayer.”<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>X</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Oh,</span> my beloved, have you thought of this:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How in the years to come unscrupulous Time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More cruel than Death, will tear you from my kiss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make you old, and leave me in my prime?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How you and I, who scale together yet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A little while the sweet, immortal height<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No pilgrim may remember or forget,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As sure as the world turns, some granite night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall lie awake and know the gracious flame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gone out forever on the mutual stone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And call to mind how on the day you came<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was a child, and you a hero grown?—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the night pass, and the strange morning break<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon our anguish for each other’s sake!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>XI</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">As</span> to some lovely temple, tenantless<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long since, that once was sweet with shivering brass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Knowing well its altars ruined and the grass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grown up between the stones, yet from excess<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of grief hard driven, or great loneliness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The worshipper returns, and those who pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Marvel him crying on a name that was,—<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So is it now with me in my distress.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your body was a temple to Delight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cold are its ashes whence the breath is fled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet here one time your spirit was wont to move;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here might I hope to find you day or night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And here I come to look for you, my love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even now, foolishly, knowing you are dead.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h3>XII</h3>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">Cherish</span> you then the hope I shall forget<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At length, my lord, Pieria?—put away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For your so passing sake, this mouth of clay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These mortal bones against my body set,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For all the puny fever and frail sweat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of human love,—renounce for these, I say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Singing Mountain’s memory, and betray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The silent lyre that hangs upon me yet?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, but indeed, some day shall you awake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rather, from dreams of me, that at your side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So many nights, a lover and a bride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But stern in my soul’s chastity, have lain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To walk the world forever for my sake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in each chamber find me gone again!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span></p>
+
+<div id="p_68" class="chapter">
+<h2 id="Wild_Swans"><i>Wild Swans</i></h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="first">I looked</span> in my heart while the wild swans went over.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what did I see I had not seen before?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only a question less or a question more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tiresome heart, forever living and dying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">House without air, I leave you and lock your door.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wild swans, come over the town, come over<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The town again, trailing your legs and crying!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="p2 center vspace smaller"><i>Printed in Great Britain by Hazell, Watson &amp; Viney, Ld.,
+London and Aylesbury</i>.</p>
+
+<div id="ads">
+
+<div class="abox">
+<p class="adheader">Works by<br />
+D. H. Lawrence</p>
+
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+Birds, Beasts and Flowers, 6s.<br />
+Sea and Sardinia, 21s.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="abox">
+<p class="adheader">Works by<br />
+Compton Mackenzie</p>
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+<p class="bullet">❧</p>
+
+<p class="in0">
+Dead Letters, 6s.<br />
+Diminutive Dramas, 5s.<br />
+Poems: 1914–1919, 6s.<br />
+Passing By, 7s. 6d.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="abox">
+<p class="adheader">Works by<br />
+Norman Douglas</p>
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+The Caerleon Edition, £9 9s.
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+<p class="adheader">Works by<br />
+Lascelles Abercrombie</p>
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+Four Short Plays, 6s.<br />
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+Thomas Hardy: A Critical Study, 3s. 6d.
+</p>
+
+<p class="p1 in0 center larger">Martin Secker</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="chapter"><div class="transnote">
+<h2 class="nobreak p1" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber’s Notes</h2>
+
+<p>Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling inconsistencies
+were not changed.</p>
+
+<p>Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced
+quotation marks were remedied by examining other
+copies of the same poems.</p>
+
+<p>Transcriber added a missing exclamation mark at the end of
+<a href="#Burial">Burial</a>.”</p>
+
+<p>Decorative floral bullets are
+similar, but not identical, to the ones in the original.</p>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
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