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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6682-h.zip b/6682-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..500cf32 --- /dev/null +++ b/6682-h.zip diff --git a/6682-h/6682-h.htm b/6682-h/6682-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e1292ad --- /dev/null +++ b/6682-h/6682-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2024 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en"> + +<head> + +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Nets to Catch the Wind, by Elinor Wylie +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 4% } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.contents {text-indent: -3%; + margin-left: 5% } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 4em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.intro {font-size: 90% ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Nets to Catch the Wind, by Elinor Wylie + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: Nets to Catch the Wind + +Author: Elinor Wylie + +Posting Date: March 11, 2014 [EBook #6682] +Release Date: October, 2004 +First Posted: January 12, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NETS TO CATCH THE WIND *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne L. Shell, Tom Allen, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1> +<br /><br /><br /> +NETS TO CATCH THE WIND +</h1> + +<p class="t2"> +By ELINOR WYLIE +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t3b"> +CONTENTS +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#beauty"> +BEAUTY +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#eagle"> +THE EAGLE AND THE MOLE +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#madman"> +MADMAN'S SONG +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#leddie"> +THE PRINKIN' LEDDIE +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#august"> +AUGUST +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#stick"> +THE CROOKED STICK +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#atavism"> +ATAVISM +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#peaches"> +WILD PEACHES +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#sanctuary"> +SANCTUARY +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#lion"> +THE LION AND THE LAMB +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#bell"> +THE CHURCH-BELL +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#trolley"> +A CROWDED TROLLEY CAR +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#bells"> +BELLS IN THE RAIN +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#winter"> +WINTER SLEEP +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#mystery"> +VILLAGE MYSTERY +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#sunset"> +SUNSET ON THE SPIRE +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#escape"> +ESCAPE +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#fairy"> +THE FAIRY GOLDSMITH +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#fire"> +"FIRE AND SLEET AND CANDLELIGHT" +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#blood"> +BLOOD FEUD +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#lullaby"> +SEA LULLABY +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#nancy"> +NANCY +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#lady"> +A PROUD LADY +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#tortoise"> +THE TORTOISE IN ETERNITY +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#incantation"> +INCANTATION +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#silver"> +SILVER FILIGREE +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#falcon"> +THE FALCON +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#trumpets"> +BRONZE TRUMPETS AND SEA WATER--ON TURNING LATIN INTO ENGLISH +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#spring"> +SPRING PASTORAL +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#velvet"> +VELVET SHOES +</a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#valentine"> +VALENTINE +</a> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="beauty"></a> + BEAUTY<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Say not of Beauty she is good,<br /> + Or aught but beautiful,<br /> + Or sleek to doves' wings of the wood<br /> + Her wild wings of a gull.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Call her not wicked; that word's touch<br /> + Consumes her like a curse;<br /> + But love her not too much, too much,<br /> + For that is even worse.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O, she is neither good nor bad,<br /> + But innocent and wild!<br /> + Enshrine her and she dies, who had<br /> + The hard heart of a child.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="eagle"></a> + THE EAGLE AND THE MOLE<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Avoid the reeking herd,<br /> + Shun the polluted flock,<br /> + Live like that stoic bird,<br /> + The eagle of the rock.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The huddled warmth of crowds<br /> + Begets and fosters hate;<br /> + He keeps, above the clouds,<br /> + His cliff inviolate.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + When flocks are folded warm,<br /> + And herds to shelter run,<br /> + He sails above the storm,<br /> + He stares into the sun.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + If in the eagle's track<br /> + Your sinews cannot leap,<br /> + Avoid the lathered pack,<br /> + Turn from the steaming sheep.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + If you would keep your soul<br /> + From spotted sight or sound,<br /> + Live like the velvet mole;<br /> + Go burrow underground.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And there hold intercourse<br /> + With roots of trees and stones,<br /> + With rivers at their source,<br /> + And disembodied bones.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="madman"></a> + MADMAN'S SONG<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Better to see your cheek grown hollow,<br /> + Better to see your temple worn,<br /> + Than to forget to follow, follow,<br /> + After the sound of a silver horn.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Better to bind your brow with willow<br /> + And follow, follow until you die,<br /> + Than to sleep with your head on a golden pillow,<br /> + Nor lift it up when the hunt goes by.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Better to see your cheek grown sallow<br /> + And your hair grown gray, so soon, so soon,<br /> + Than to forget to hallo, hallo,<br /> + After the milk-white hounds of the moon.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="leddie"></a> + THE PRINKIN' LEDDIE<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + _"The Hielan' lassies are a' for spinnin'<br /> + The Lowlan' lassies for prinkin' and pinnin';<br /> + My daddie w'u'd chide me, an' so w'u'd my minnie<br /> + If I s'u'd bring hame sic a prinkin' leddie."_<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Now haud your tongue, ye haverin' coward,<br /> + For whilst I'm young I'll go flounced an' flowered,<br /> + In lutestring striped like the strings o' a fiddle,<br /> + Wi' gowden girdles aboot my middle.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + In your Hielan' glen, where the rain pours steady,<br /> + Ye'll be gay an' glad for a prinkin' leddie;<br /> + Where the rocks are all bare an' the turf is all sodden,<br /> + An' lassies gae sad in their homespun an' hodden.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + My silks are stiff wi' patterns o' siller,<br /> + I've an ermine hood like the hat o' a miller,<br /> + I've chains o' coral like rowan berries,<br /> + An' a cramoisie mantle that cam' frae Paris.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Ye'll be glad for the glint o' its scarlet linin'<br /> + When the larks are up an' the sun is shinin';<br /> + When the winds are up an' ower the heather<br /> + Your heart'll be gay wi' my gowden feather.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + When the skies are low an' the earth is frozen,<br /> + Ye'll be gay an' glad for the leddie ye've chosen,<br /> + When ower the snow I go prinkin' an' prancin'<br /> + In my wee red slippers were made for dancin'.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + It's better a leddie like Solomon's lily<br /> + Than one that'll run like a Hielan' gillie<br /> + A-linkin' it ower the leas, my laddie,<br /> + In a raggedy kilt an' a belted plaidie!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="august"></a> + AUGUST<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Why should this Negro insolently stride<br /> + Down the red noonday on such noiseless feet?<br /> + Piled in his barrow, tawnier than wheat,<br /> + Lie heaps of smoldering daisies, somber-eyed,<br /> + Their copper petals shriveled up with pride,<br /> + Hot with a superfluity of heat,<br /> + Like a great brazier borne along the street<br /> + By captive leopards, black and burning pied.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Are there no water-lilies, smooth as cream,<br /> + With long stems dripping crystal? Are there none<br /> + Like those white lilies, luminous and cool,<br /> + Plucked from some hemlock-darkened northern stream<br /> + By fair-haired swimmers, diving where the sun<br /> + Scarce warms the surface of the deepest pool?<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="stick"></a> + THE CROOKED STICK<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + First Traveler: What's that lying in the dust?<br /> + Second Traveler: A crooked stick.<br /> + First Traveler: What's it worth, if you can trust<br /> + To arithmetic?<br /> + Second Traveler: Isn't this a riddle?<br /> + First Traveler: No, a trick.<br /> + Second Traveler: It's worthless. Leave it where it lies.<br /> + First Traveler: Wait; count ten;<br /> + Rub a little dust upon your eyes;<br /> + Now, look again.<br /> + Second Traveler: Well, and what the devil is it, then?<br /> + First Traveler: It's the sort of crooked stick that shepherds know.<br /> + Second Traveler: Some one's loss!<br /> + First Traveler: Bend it, and you make of it a bow.<br /> + Break it, a cross.<br /> + Second Traveler: But it's all grown over with moss!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="atavism"></a> + ATAVISM<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + I always was afraid of Somes's Pond:<br /> + Not the little pond, by which the willow stands,<br /> + Where laughing boys catch alewives in their hands<br /> + In brown, bright shallows; but the one beyond.<br /> + There, when the frost makes all the birches burn<br /> + Yellow as cow-lilies, and the pale sky shines<br /> + Like a polished shell between black spruce and pines,<br /> + Some strange thing tracks us, turning where we turn.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + You'll say I dream it, being the true daughter<br /> + Of those who in old times endured this dread.<br /> + Look! Where the lily-stems are showing red<br /> + A silent paddle moves below the water,<br /> + A sliding shape has stirred them like a breath;<br /> + Tall plumes surmount a painted mask of death.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="peaches"></a> + WILD PEACHES<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + 1<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + When the world turns completely upside down<br /> + You say we'll emigrate to the Eastern Shore<br /> + Aboard a river-boat from Baltimore;<br /> + We'll live among wild peach trees, miles from town.<br /> + You'll wear a coonskin cap, and I a gown<br /> + Homespun, dyed butternut's dark gold color.<br /> + Lost, like your lotus-eating ancestor,<br /> + We'll swim in milk and honey till we drown.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The winter will be short, the summer long,<br /> + The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot,<br /> + Tasting of cider and of scuppernong;<br /> + All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all.<br /> + The squirrels in their silver fur will fall<br /> + Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + 2<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The autumn frosts will lie upon the grass<br /> + Like bloom on grapes of purple-brown and gold.<br /> + The misted early mornings will be cold;<br /> + The little puddles will be roofed with glass.<br /> + The sun, which burns from copper into brass,<br /> + Melts these at noon, and makes the boys unfold<br /> + Their knitted mufflers; full as they can hold,<br /> + Fat pockets dribble chestnuts as they pass.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Peaches grow wild, and pigs can live in clover;<br /> + A barrel of salted herrings lasts a year;<br /> + The spring begins before the winter's over.<br /> + By February you may find the skins<br /> + Of garter snakes and water moccasins<br /> + Dwindled and harsh, dead-white and cloudy-clear.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + 3<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + When April pours the colors of a shell<br /> + Upon the hills, when every little creek<br /> + Is shot with silver from the Chesapeake<br /> + In shoals new-minted by the ocean swell,<br /> + When strawberries go begging, and the sleek<br /> + Blue plums lie open to the blackbird's beak,<br /> + We shall live well--we shall live very well.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The months between the cherries and the peaches<br /> + Are brimming cornucopias which spill<br /> + Fruits red and purple, somber-bloomed and black;<br /> + Then, down rich fields and frosty river beaches<br /> + We'll trample bright persimmons, while we kill<br /> + Bronze partridge, speckled quail, and canvas-back.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + 4<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Down to the Puritan marrow of my bones<br /> + There's something in this richness that I hate.<br /> + I love the look, austere, immaculate,<br /> + Of landscapes drawn in pearly monotones.<br /> + There's something in my very blood that owns<br /> + Bare hills, cold silver on a sky of slate,<br /> + A thread of water, churned to milky spate<br /> + Streaming through slanted pastures fenced with stones.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I love those skies, thin blue or snowy gray,<br /> + Those fields sparse-planted, rendering meager sheaves;<br /> + That spring, briefer than apple-blossom's breath,<br /> + Summer, so much too beautiful to stay,<br /> + Swift autumn, like a bonfire of leaves,<br /> + And sleepy winter, like the sleep of death.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="sanctuary"></a> + SANCTUARY<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + This is the bricklayer; hear the thud<br /> + Of his heavy load dumped down on stone.<br /> + His lustrous bricks are brighter than blood,<br /> + His smoking mortar whiter than bone.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Set each sharp-edged, fire-bitten brick<br /> + Straight by the plumb-line's shivering length;<br /> + Make my marvelous wall so thick<br /> + Dead nor living may shake its strength.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Full as a crystal cup with drink<br /> + Is my cell with dreams, and quiet, and cool....<br /> + Stop, old man! You must leave a chink;<br /> + How can I breathe? _You can't, you fool!_<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="lion"></a> + THE LION AND THE LAMB<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + I saw a Tiger's golden flank,<br /> + I saw what food he ate,<br /> + By a desert spring he drank;<br /> + The Tiger's name was Hate.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Then I saw a placid Lamb<br /> + Lying fast asleep;<br /> + Like a river from its dam<br /> + Flashed the Tiger's leap.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I saw a Lion tawny-red,<br /> + Terrible and brave;<br /> + The Tiger's leap overhead<br /> + Broke like a wave.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + In sand below or sun above<br /> + He faded like a flame.<br /> + The Lamb said, "I am Love";<br /> + "Lion, tell your name."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The Lion's voice thundering<br /> + Shook his vaulted breast,<br /> + "I am Love. By this spring,<br /> + Brother, let us rest."<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="bell"></a> + THE CHURCH-BELL<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + As I was lying in my bed<br /> + I heard the church-bell ring;<br /> + Before one solemn word was said<br /> + A bird began to sing.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I heard a dog begin to bark<br /> + And a bold crowing cock;<br /> + The bell, between the cold and dark,<br /> + Tolled. It was five o'clock.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The church-bell tolled, and the bird sang,<br /> + A clear true voice he had;<br /> + The cock crew, and the church-bell rang,<br /> + I knew it had gone mad.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A hand reached down from the dark skies,<br /> + It took the bell-rope thong,<br /> + The bell cried "Look! Lift up your eyes!"<br /> + The clapper shook to song.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The iron clapper laughed aloud,<br /> + Like clashing wind and wave;<br /> + The bell cried out "Be strong and proud!"<br /> + Then, with a shout, "Be brave!"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The rumbling of the market-carts,<br /> + The pounding of men's feet<br /> + Were drowned in song; "Lift up your hearts!"<br /> + The sound was loud and sweet.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Slow and slow the great bell swung,<br /> + It hung in the steeple mute;<br /> + And people tore its living tongue<br /> + Out by the very root.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="trolley"></a> + A CROWDED TROLLEY CAR<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + The rain's cold grains are silver-gray<br /> + Sharp as golden sands,<br /> + A bell is clanging, people sway<br /> + Hanging by their hands.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Supple hands, or gnarled and stiff,<br /> + Snatch and catch and grope;<br /> + That face is yellow-pale, as if<br /> + The fellow swung from rope.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Dull like pebbles, sharp like knives,<br /> + Glances strike and glare,<br /> + Fingers tangle, Bluebeard's wives<br /> + Dangle by the hair.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Orchard of the strangest fruits<br /> + Hanging from the skies;<br /> + Brothers, yet insensate brutes<br /> + Who fear each others' eyes.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + One man stands as free men stand,<br /> + As if his soul might be<br /> + Brave, unbroken; see his hand<br /> + Nailed to an oaken tree.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="bells"></a> + BELLS IN THE RAIN<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Sleep falls, with limpid drops of rain,<br /> + Upon the steep cliffs of the town.<br /> + Sleep falls; men are at peace again<br /> + Awhile the small drops fall softly down.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The bright drops ring like bells of glass<br /> + Thinned by the wind, and lightly blown;<br /> + Sleep cannot fall on peaceful grass<br /> + So softly as it falls on stone.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Peace falls unheeded on the dead<br /> + Asleep; they have had deep peace to drink;<br /> + Upon a live man's bloody head<br /> + It falls most tenderly, I think.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="winter"></a> + WINTER SLEEP<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + When against earth a wooden heel<br /> + Clicks as loud as stone and steel,<br /> + When snow turns flour instead of flakes,<br /> + And frost bakes clay as fire bakes,<br /> + When the hard-bitten fields at last<br /> + Crack like iron flawed in the cast,<br /> + When the world is wicked and cross and old,<br /> + I long to be quit of the cruel cold.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Little birds like bubbles of glass<br /> + Fly to other Americas,<br /> + Birds as bright as sparkles of wine<br /> + Fly in the night to the Argentine,<br /> + Birds of azure and flame-birds go<br /> + To the tropical Gulf of Mexico:<br /> + They chase the sun, they follow the heat,<br /> + It is sweet in their bones, O sweet, sweet, sweet!<br /> + It's not with them that I'd love to be,<br /> + But under the roots of the balsam tree.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Just as the spiniest chestnut-burr<br /> + Is lined within with the finest fur,<br /> + So the stony-walled, snow-roofed house<br /> + Of every squirrel and mole and mouse<br /> + Is lined with thistledown, sea-gull's feather,<br /> + Velvet mullein-leaf, heaped together<br /> + With balsam and juniper, dry and curled,<br /> + Sweeter than anything else in the world.<br /> + O what a warm and darksome nest<br /> + Where the wildest things are hidden to rest!<br /> + It's there that I'd love to lie and sleep,<br /> + Soft, soft, soft, and deep, deep, deep!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="mystery"></a> + VILLAGE MYSTERY<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + The woman in the pointed hood<br /> + And cloak blue-gray like a pigeon's wing,<br /> + Whose orchard climbs to the balsam-wood,<br /> + Has done a cruel thing.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To her back door-step came a ghost,<br /> + A girl who had been ten years dead,<br /> + She stood by the granite hitching-post<br /> + And begged for a piece of bread.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Now why should I, who walk alone,<br /> + Who am ironical and proud,<br /> + Turn, when a woman casts a stone<br /> + At a beggar in a shroud?<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I saw the dead girl cringe and whine,<br /> + And cower in the weeping air--<br /> + But, oh, she was no kin of mine,<br /> + And so I did not care!<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="sunset"></a> + SUNSET ON THE SPIRE<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + All that I dream<br /> + By day or night<br /> + Lives in that stream<br /> + Of lovely light.<br /> + Here is the earth,<br /> + And there is the spire;<br /> + This is my hearth,<br /> + And that is my fire.<br /> + From the sun's dome<br /> + I am shouted proof<br /> + That this is my home,<br /> + And that is my roof.<br /> + Here is my food,<br /> + And here is my drink,<br /> + And I am wooed<br /> + From the moon's brink.<br /> + And the days go over,<br /> + And the nights end;<br /> + Here is my lover,<br /> + Here is my friend.<br /> + All that I<br /> + Could ever ask<br /> + Wears that sky<br /> + Like a thin gold mask.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="escape"></a> + ESCAPE<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + When foxes eat the last gold grape,<br /> + And the last white antelope is killed,<br /> + I shall stop fighting and escape<br /> + Into a little house I'll build.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But first I'll shrink to fairy size,<br /> + With a whisper no one understands,<br /> + Making blind moons of all your eyes,<br /> + And muddy roads of all your hands.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And you may grope for me in vain<br /> + In hollows under the mangrove root,<br /> + Or where, in apple-scented rain,<br /> + The silver wasp-nests hang like fruit.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="fairy"></a> + THE FAIRY GOLDSMITH<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Here's a wonderful thing,<br /> + A humming-bird's wing<br /> + In hammered gold,<br /> + And store well chosen<br /> + Of snowflakes frozen<br /> + In crystal cold.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Black onyx cherries<br /> + And mistletoe berries<br /> + Of chrysoprase,<br /> + Jade buds, tight shut,<br /> + All carven and cut<br /> + In intricate ways.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Here, if you please<br /> + Are little gilt bees<br /> + In amber drops<br /> + Which look like honey,<br /> + Translucent and sunny,<br /> + From clover-tops.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Here's an elfin girl<br /> + Of mother-of-pearl<br /> + And moonshine made,<br /> + With tortoise-shell hair<br /> + Both dusky and fair<br /> + In its light and shade.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Here's lacquer laid thin,<br /> + Like a scarlet skin<br /> + On an ivory fruit;<br /> + And a filigree frost<br /> + Of frail notes lost<br /> + From a fairy lute.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Here's a turquoise chain<br /> + Of sun-shower rain<br /> + To wear if you wish;<br /> + And glimmering green<br /> + With aquamarine,<br /> + A silvery fish.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Here are pearls all strung<br /> + On a thread among<br /> + Pretty pink shells;<br /> + And bubbles blown<br /> + From the opal stone<br /> + Which ring like bells.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Touch them and take them,<br /> + But do not break them!<br /> + Beneath your hand<br /> + They will wither like foam<br /> + If you carry them home<br /> + Out of fairy-land.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O, they never can last<br /> + Though you hide them fast<br /> + From moth and from rust;<br /> + In your monstrous day<br /> + They will crumble away<br /> + Into quicksilver dust.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="fire"></a> + "FIRE AND SLEET AND CANDLELIGHT"<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + For this you've striven<br /> + Daring, to fail:<br /> + Your sky is riven<br /> + Like a tearing veil.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + For this, you've wasted<br /> + Wings of your youth;<br /> + Divined, and tasted<br /> + Bitter springs of truth.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + From sand unslaked<br /> + Twisted strong cords,<br /> + And wandered naked<br /> + Among trysted swords.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + There's a word unspoken,<br /> + A knot untied.<br /> + Whatever is broken<br /> + The earth may hide.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The road was jagged<br /> + Over sharp stones:<br /> + Your body's too ragged<br /> + To cover your bones.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The wind scatters<br /> + Tears upon dust;<br /> + Your soul's in tatters<br /> + Where the spears thrust.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Your race is ended--<br /> + See, it is run:<br /> + Nothing is mended<br /> + Under the sun.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Straight as an arrow<br /> + You fall to a sleep<br /> + Not too narrow<br /> + And not too deep.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="blood"></a> + BLOOD FEUD<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Once, when my husband was a child, there came<br /> + To his father's table, one who called him kin,<br /> + In sunbleached corduroys paler than his skin.<br /> + His look was grave and kind; he bore the name<br /> + Of the dead singer of Senlac, and his smile.<br /> + Shyly and courteously he smiled and spoke;<br /> + "I've been in the laurel since the winter broke;<br /> + Four months, I reckon; yes, sir, quite a while."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + He'd killed a score of foemen in the past,<br /> + In some blood-feud, a dark and monstrous thing;<br /> + To him it seemed his duty. At the last<br /> + His enemies found him by a forest spring,<br /> + Which, as he died, lay bright beneath his head,<br /> + A silver shield that slowly turned to red.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="lullaby"></a> + SEA LULLABY<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + The old moon is tarnished<br /> + With smoke of the flood,<br /> + The dead leaves are varnished<br /> + With color like blood,<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A treacherous smiler<br /> + With teeth white as milk,<br /> + A savage beguiler<br /> + In sheathings of silk,<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The sea creeps to pillage,<br /> + She leaps on her prey;<br /> + A child of the village<br /> + Was murdered to-day.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + She came up to meet him<br /> + In a smooth golden cloak,<br /> + She choked him and beat him<br /> + To death, for a joke.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Her bright locks were tangled,<br /> + She shouted for joy,<br /> + With one hand she strangled<br /> + A strong little boy.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Now in silence she lingers<br /> + Beside him all night<br /> + To wash her long fingers<br /> + In silvery light.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="nancy"></a> + NANCY<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + You are a rose, but set with sharpest spine;<br /> + You are a pretty bird that pecks at me;<br /> + You are a little squirrel on a tree,<br /> + Pelting me with the prickly fruit of the pine;<br /> + A diamond, torn from a crystal mine,<br /> + Not like that milky treasure of the sea<br /> + A smooth, translucent pearl, but skilfully<br /> + Carven to cut, and faceted to shine.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + If you are flame, it dances and burns blue;<br /> + If you are light, it pierces like a star<br /> + Intenser than a needlepoint of ice.<br /> + The dexterous touch that shaped the soul of you,<br /> + Mingled, to mix, and make you what you are,<br /> + Magic between the sugar and the spice.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="lady"></a> + A PROUD LADY<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Hate in the world's hand<br /> + Can carve and set its seal<br /> + Like the strong blast of sand<br /> + Which cuts into steel.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I have seen how the finger of hate<br /> + Can mar and mold<br /> + Faces burned passionate<br /> + And frozen cold.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Sorrowful faces worn<br /> + As stone with rain,<br /> + Faces writhing with scorn<br /> + And sullen with pain.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But you have a proud face<br /> + Which the world cannot harm,<br /> + You have turned the pain to a grace<br /> + And the scorn to a charm.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + You have taken the arrows and slings<br /> + Which prick and bruise<br /> + And fashioned them into wings<br /> + For the heels of your shoes.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + From the world's hand which tries<br /> + To tear you apart<br /> + You have stolen the falcon's eyes<br /> + And the lion's heart.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + What has it done, this world,<br /> + With hard finger tips,<br /> + But sweetly chiseled and curled<br /> + Your inscrutable lips?<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="tortoise"></a> + THE TORTOISE IN ETERNITY<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Within my house of patterned horn<br /> + I sleep in such a bed<br /> + As men may keep before they're born<br /> + And after they are dead.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Sticks and stones may break their bones,<br /> + And words may make them bleed;<br /> + There is not one of them who owns<br /> + An armor to his need.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Tougher than hide or lozenged bark,<br /> + Snow-storm and thunder proof,<br /> + And quick with sun, and thick with dark,<br /> + Is this my darling roof.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Men's troubled dreams of death and birth<br /> + Pulse mother-o'-pearl to black;<br /> + I bear the rainbow bubble Earth<br /> + Square on my scornful back.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="incantation"></a> + INCANTATION<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + A white well<br /> + In a black cave;<br /> + A bright shell<br /> + In a dark wave.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A white rose<br /> + Black brambles hood;<br /> + Smooth bright snows<br /> + In a dark wood.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A flung white glove<br /> + In a dark fight;<br /> + A white dove<br /> + On a wild black night.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A white door<br /> + In a dark lane;<br /> + A bright core<br /> + To bitter black pain.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A white hand<br /> + Waved from dark walls;<br /> + In a burnt black land<br /> + Bright waterfalls.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + A bright spark<br /> + Where black ashes are;<br /> + In the smothering dark<br /> + One white star.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="silver"></a> + SILVER FILIGREE<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + The icicles wreathing<br /> + On trees in festoon<br /> + Swing, swayed to our breathing:<br /> + They're made of the moon.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + She's a pale, waxen taper;<br /> + And these seem to drip<br /> + Transparent as paper<br /> + From the flame of her tip.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Molten, smoking a little,<br /> + Into crystal they pass;<br /> + Falling, freezing, to brittle<br /> + And delicate glass.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Each a sharp-pointed flower,<br /> + Each a brief stalactite<br /> + Which hangs for an hour<br /> + In the blue cave of night.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="falcon"></a> + THE FALCON<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Why should my sleepy heart be taught<br /> + To whistle mocking-bird replies?<br /> + This is another bird you've caught,<br /> + Soft-feathered, with a falcon's eyes.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The bird Imagination,<br /> + That flies so far, that dies so soon;<br /> + Her wings are colored like the sun,<br /> + Her breast is colored like the moon.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Weave her a chain of silver twist,<br /> + And a little hood of scarlet wool,<br /> + And let her perch upon your wrist,<br /> + And tell her she is beautiful.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="trumpets"></a> + BRONZE TRUMPETS AND SEA WATER--<br /> + ON TURNING LATIN INTO ENGLISH<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Alembics turn to stranger things<br /> + Strange things, but never while we live<br /> + Shall magic turn this bronze that sings<br /> + To singing water in a sieve.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The trumpeters of Caesar's guard<br /> + Salute his rigorous bastions<br /> + With ordered bruit; the bronze is hard<br /> + Though there is silver in the bronze.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Our mutable tongue is like the sea,<br /> + Curled wave and shattering thunder-fit;<br /> + Dangle in strings of sand shall be<br /> + Who smooths the ripples out of it.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="spring"></a> + SPRING PASTORAL<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Liza, go steep your long white hands<br /> + In the cool waters of that spring<br /> + Which bubbles up through shiny sands<br /> + The color of a wild-dove's wing.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Dabble your hands, and steep them well<br /> + Until those nails are pearly white<br /> + Now rosier than a laurel bell;<br /> + Then come to me at candle-light.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Lay your cold hands across my brows,<br /> + And I shall sleep, and I shall dream<br /> + Of silver-pointed willow boughs<br /> + Dipping their fingers in a stream.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="velvet"></a> + VELVET SHOES<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Let us walk in the white snow<br /> + In a soundless space;<br /> + With footsteps quiet and slow,<br /> + At a tranquil pace,<br /> + Under veils of white lace.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + I shall go shod in silk,<br /> + And you in wool,<br /> + White as a white cow's milk,<br /> + More beautiful<br /> + Than the breast of a gull.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + We shall walk through the still town<br /> + In a windless peace;<br /> + We shall step upon white down,<br /> + Upon silver fleece,<br /> + Upon softer than these.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + We shall walk in velvet shoes:<br /> + Wherever we go<br /> + Silence will fall like dews<br /> + On white silence below.<br /> + We shall walk in the snow.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> +<a id="valentine"></a> + VALENTINE<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Too high, too high to pluck<br /> + My heart shall swing.<br /> + A fruit no bee shall suck,<br /> + No wasp shall sting.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + If on some night of cold<br /> + It falls to ground<br /> + In apple-leaves of gold<br /> + I'll wrap it round.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + And I shall seal it up<br /> + With spice and salt,<br /> + In a carven silver cup,<br /> + In a deep vault.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Before my eyes are blind<br /> + And my lips mute,<br /> + I must eat core and rind<br /> + Of that same fruit.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Before my heart is dust<br /> + At the end of all,<br /> + Eat it I must, I must<br /> + Were it bitter gall.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But I shall keep it sweet<br /> + By some strange art;<br /> + Wild honey I shall eat<br /> + When I eat my heart.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + O honey cool and chaste<br /> + As clover's breath!<br /> + Sweet Heaven I shall taste<br /> + Before my death.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Nets to Catch the Wind, by Elinor Wylie + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NETS TO CATCH THE WIND *** + +***** This file 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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 + + +Title: Nets to Catch the Wind + +Author: Elinor Wylie + +Posting Date: March 11, 2014 [EBook #6682] +Release Date: October, 2004 +First Posted: January 12, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NETS TO CATCH THE WIND *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne L. Shell, Tom Allen, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + + +NETS TO CATCH THE WIND + +By ELINOR WYLIE + + + + +CONTENTS + + +BEAUTY + +THE EAGLE AND THE MOLE + +MADMAN'S SONG + +THE PRINKIN' LEDDIE + +AUGUST + +THE CROOKED STICK + +ATAVISM + +WILD PEACHES + +SANCTUARY + +THE LION AND THE LAMB + +THE CHURCH-BELL + +A CROWDED TROLLEY CAR + +BELLS IN THE RAIN + +WINTER SLEEP + +VILLAGE MYSTERY + +SUNSET ON THE SPIRE + +ESCAPE + +THE FAIRY GOLDSMITH + +"FIRE AND SLEET AND CANDLELIGHT" + +BLOOD FEUD + +SEA LULLABY + +NANCY + +A PROUD LADY + +THE TORTOISE IN ETERNITY + +INCANTATION + +SILVER FILIGREE + +THE FALCON + +BRONZE TRUMPETS AND SEA WATER--ON TURNING LATIN INTO ENGLISH + +SPRING PASTORAL + +VELVET SHOES + +VALENTINE + + + + + BEAUTY + + + Say not of Beauty she is good, + Or aught but beautiful, + Or sleek to doves' wings of the wood + Her wild wings of a gull. + + Call her not wicked; that word's touch + Consumes her like a curse; + But love her not too much, too much, + For that is even worse. + + O, she is neither good nor bad, + But innocent and wild! + Enshrine her and she dies, who had + The hard heart of a child. + + + + + THE EAGLE AND THE MOLE + + + Avoid the reeking herd, + Shun the polluted flock, + Live like that stoic bird, + The eagle of the rock. + + The huddled warmth of crowds + Begets and fosters hate; + He keeps, above the clouds, + His cliff inviolate. + + When flocks are folded warm, + And herds to shelter run, + He sails above the storm, + He stares into the sun. + + If in the eagle's track + Your sinews cannot leap, + Avoid the lathered pack, + Turn from the steaming sheep. + + If you would keep your soul + From spotted sight or sound, + Live like the velvet mole; + Go burrow underground. + + And there hold intercourse + With roots of trees and stones, + With rivers at their source, + And disembodied bones. + + + + + MADMAN'S SONG + + + Better to see your cheek grown hollow, + Better to see your temple worn, + Than to forget to follow, follow, + After the sound of a silver horn. + + Better to bind your brow with willow + And follow, follow until you die, + Than to sleep with your head on a golden pillow, + Nor lift it up when the hunt goes by. + + Better to see your cheek grown sallow + And your hair grown gray, so soon, so soon, + Than to forget to hallo, hallo, + After the milk-white hounds of the moon. + + + + + THE PRINKIN' LEDDIE + + + _"The Hielan' lassies are a' for spinnin' + The Lowlan' lassies for prinkin' and pinnin'; + My daddie w'u'd chide me, an' so w'u'd my minnie + If I s'u'd bring hame sic a prinkin' leddie."_ + + Now haud your tongue, ye haverin' coward, + For whilst I'm young I'll go flounced an' flowered, + In lutestring striped like the strings o' a fiddle, + Wi' gowden girdles aboot my middle. + + In your Hielan' glen, where the rain pours steady, + Ye'll be gay an' glad for a prinkin' leddie; + Where the rocks are all bare an' the turf is all sodden, + An' lassies gae sad in their homespun an' hodden. + + My silks are stiff wi' patterns o' siller, + I've an ermine hood like the hat o' a miller, + I've chains o' coral like rowan berries, + An' a cramoisie mantle that cam' frae Paris. + + Ye'll be glad for the glint o' its scarlet linin' + When the larks are up an' the sun is shinin'; + When the winds are up an' ower the heather + Your heart'll be gay wi' my gowden feather. + + When the skies are low an' the earth is frozen, + Ye'll be gay an' glad for the leddie ye've chosen, + When ower the snow I go prinkin' an' prancin' + In my wee red slippers were made for dancin'. + + It's better a leddie like Solomon's lily + Than one that'll run like a Hielan' gillie + A-linkin' it ower the leas, my laddie, + In a raggedy kilt an' a belted plaidie! + + + + + AUGUST + + + Why should this Negro insolently stride + Down the red noonday on such noiseless feet? + Piled in his barrow, tawnier than wheat, + Lie heaps of smoldering daisies, somber-eyed, + Their copper petals shriveled up with pride, + Hot with a superfluity of heat, + Like a great brazier borne along the street + By captive leopards, black and burning pied. + + Are there no water-lilies, smooth as cream, + With long stems dripping crystal? Are there none + Like those white lilies, luminous and cool, + Plucked from some hemlock-darkened northern stream + By fair-haired swimmers, diving where the sun + Scarce warms the surface of the deepest pool? + + + + + THE CROOKED STICK + + + First Traveler: What's that lying in the dust? + Second Traveler: A crooked stick. + First Traveler: What's it worth, if you can trust + To arithmetic? + Second Traveler: Isn't this a riddle? + First Traveler: No, a trick. + Second Traveler: It's worthless. Leave it where it lies. + First Traveler: Wait; count ten; + Rub a little dust upon your eyes; + Now, look again. + Second Traveler: Well, and what the devil is it, then? + First Traveler: It's the sort of crooked stick that shepherds know. + Second Traveler: Some one's loss! + First Traveler: Bend it, and you make of it a bow. + Break it, a cross. + Second Traveler: But it's all grown over with moss! + + + + + ATAVISM + + + I always was afraid of Somes's Pond: + Not the little pond, by which the willow stands, + Where laughing boys catch alewives in their hands + In brown, bright shallows; but the one beyond. + There, when the frost makes all the birches burn + Yellow as cow-lilies, and the pale sky shines + Like a polished shell between black spruce and pines, + Some strange thing tracks us, turning where we turn. + + You'll say I dream it, being the true daughter + Of those who in old times endured this dread. + Look! Where the lily-stems are showing red + A silent paddle moves below the water, + A sliding shape has stirred them like a breath; + Tall plumes surmount a painted mask of death. + + + + + WILD PEACHES + + + 1 + + When the world turns completely upside down + You say we'll emigrate to the Eastern Shore + Aboard a river-boat from Baltimore; + We'll live among wild peach trees, miles from town. + You'll wear a coonskin cap, and I a gown + Homespun, dyed butternut's dark gold color. + Lost, like your lotus-eating ancestor, + We'll swim in milk and honey till we drown. + + The winter will be short, the summer long, + The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot, + Tasting of cider and of scuppernong; + All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all. + The squirrels in their silver fur will fall + Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot. + + + 2 + + The autumn frosts will lie upon the grass + Like bloom on grapes of purple-brown and gold. + The misted early mornings will be cold; + The little puddles will be roofed with glass. + The sun, which burns from copper into brass, + Melts these at noon, and makes the boys unfold + Their knitted mufflers; full as they can hold, + Fat pockets dribble chestnuts as they pass. + + Peaches grow wild, and pigs can live in clover; + A barrel of salted herrings lasts a year; + The spring begins before the winter's over. + By February you may find the skins + Of garter snakes and water moccasins + Dwindled and harsh, dead-white and cloudy-clear. + + + 3 + + When April pours the colors of a shell + Upon the hills, when every little creek + Is shot with silver from the Chesapeake + In shoals new-minted by the ocean swell, + When strawberries go begging, and the sleek + Blue plums lie open to the blackbird's beak, + We shall live well--we shall live very well. + + The months between the cherries and the peaches + Are brimming cornucopias which spill + Fruits red and purple, somber-bloomed and black; + Then, down rich fields and frosty river beaches + We'll trample bright persimmons, while we kill + Bronze partridge, speckled quail, and canvas-back. + + + 4 + + Down to the Puritan marrow of my bones + There's something in this richness that I hate. + I love the look, austere, immaculate, + Of landscapes drawn in pearly monotones. + There's something in my very blood that owns + Bare hills, cold silver on a sky of slate, + A thread of water, churned to milky spate + Streaming through slanted pastures fenced with stones. + + I love those skies, thin blue or snowy gray, + Those fields sparse-planted, rendering meager sheaves; + That spring, briefer than apple-blossom's breath, + Summer, so much too beautiful to stay, + Swift autumn, like a bonfire of leaves, + And sleepy winter, like the sleep of death. + + + + + SANCTUARY + + + This is the bricklayer; hear the thud + Of his heavy load dumped down on stone. + His lustrous bricks are brighter than blood, + His smoking mortar whiter than bone. + + Set each sharp-edged, fire-bitten brick + Straight by the plumb-line's shivering length; + Make my marvelous wall so thick + Dead nor living may shake its strength. + + Full as a crystal cup with drink + Is my cell with dreams, and quiet, and cool.... + Stop, old man! You must leave a chink; + How can I breathe? _You can't, you fool!_ + + + + + THE LION AND THE LAMB + + + I saw a Tiger's golden flank, + I saw what food he ate, + By a desert spring he drank; + The Tiger's name was Hate. + + Then I saw a placid Lamb + Lying fast asleep; + Like a river from its dam + Flashed the Tiger's leap. + + I saw a Lion tawny-red, + Terrible and brave; + The Tiger's leap overhead + Broke like a wave. + + In sand below or sun above + He faded like a flame. + The Lamb said, "I am Love"; + "Lion, tell your name." + + The Lion's voice thundering + Shook his vaulted breast, + "I am Love. By this spring, + Brother, let us rest." + + + + + THE CHURCH-BELL + + + As I was lying in my bed + I heard the church-bell ring; + Before one solemn word was said + A bird began to sing. + + I heard a dog begin to bark + And a bold crowing cock; + The bell, between the cold and dark, + Tolled. It was five o'clock. + + The church-bell tolled, and the bird sang, + A clear true voice he had; + The cock crew, and the church-bell rang, + I knew it had gone mad. + + A hand reached down from the dark skies, + It took the bell-rope thong, + The bell cried "Look! Lift up your eyes!" + The clapper shook to song. + + The iron clapper laughed aloud, + Like clashing wind and wave; + The bell cried out "Be strong and proud!" + Then, with a shout, "Be brave!" + + The rumbling of the market-carts, + The pounding of men's feet + Were drowned in song; "Lift up your hearts!" + The sound was loud and sweet. + + Slow and slow the great bell swung, + It hung in the steeple mute; + And people tore its living tongue + Out by the very root. + + + + + A CROWDED TROLLEY CAR + + + The rain's cold grains are silver-gray + Sharp as golden sands, + A bell is clanging, people sway + Hanging by their hands. + + Supple hands, or gnarled and stiff, + Snatch and catch and grope; + That face is yellow-pale, as if + The fellow swung from rope. + + Dull like pebbles, sharp like knives, + Glances strike and glare, + Fingers tangle, Bluebeard's wives + Dangle by the hair. + + Orchard of the strangest fruits + Hanging from the skies; + Brothers, yet insensate brutes + Who fear each others' eyes. + + One man stands as free men stand, + As if his soul might be + Brave, unbroken; see his hand + Nailed to an oaken tree. + + + + + BELLS IN THE RAIN + + + Sleep falls, with limpid drops of rain, + Upon the steep cliffs of the town. + Sleep falls; men are at peace again + Awhile the small drops fall softly down. + + The bright drops ring like bells of glass + Thinned by the wind, and lightly blown; + Sleep cannot fall on peaceful grass + So softly as it falls on stone. + + Peace falls unheeded on the dead + Asleep; they have had deep peace to drink; + Upon a live man's bloody head + It falls most tenderly, I think. + + + + + WINTER SLEEP + + + When against earth a wooden heel + Clicks as loud as stone and steel, + When snow turns flour instead of flakes, + And frost bakes clay as fire bakes, + When the hard-bitten fields at last + Crack like iron flawed in the cast, + When the world is wicked and cross and old, + I long to be quit of the cruel cold. + + Little birds like bubbles of glass + Fly to other Americas, + Birds as bright as sparkles of wine + Fly in the night to the Argentine, + Birds of azure and flame-birds go + To the tropical Gulf of Mexico: + They chase the sun, they follow the heat, + It is sweet in their bones, O sweet, sweet, sweet! + It's not with them that I'd love to be, + But under the roots of the balsam tree. + + Just as the spiniest chestnut-burr + Is lined within with the finest fur, + So the stony-walled, snow-roofed house + Of every squirrel and mole and mouse + Is lined with thistledown, sea-gull's feather, + Velvet mullein-leaf, heaped together + With balsam and juniper, dry and curled, + Sweeter than anything else in the world. + O what a warm and darksome nest + Where the wildest things are hidden to rest! + It's there that I'd love to lie and sleep, + Soft, soft, soft, and deep, deep, deep! + + + + + VILLAGE MYSTERY + + + The woman in the pointed hood + And cloak blue-gray like a pigeon's wing, + Whose orchard climbs to the balsam-wood, + Has done a cruel thing. + + To her back door-step came a ghost, + A girl who had been ten years dead, + She stood by the granite hitching-post + And begged for a piece of bread. + + Now why should I, who walk alone, + Who am ironical and proud, + Turn, when a woman casts a stone + At a beggar in a shroud? + + I saw the dead girl cringe and whine, + And cower in the weeping air-- + But, oh, she was no kin of mine, + And so I did not care! + + + + + SUNSET ON THE SPIRE + + + All that I dream + By day or night + Lives in that stream + Of lovely light. + Here is the earth, + And there is the spire; + This is my hearth, + And that is my fire. + From the sun's dome + I am shouted proof + That this is my home, + And that is my roof. + Here is my food, + And here is my drink, + And I am wooed + From the moon's brink. + And the days go over, + And the nights end; + Here is my lover, + Here is my friend. + All that I + Could ever ask + Wears that sky + Like a thin gold mask. + + + + + ESCAPE + + + When foxes eat the last gold grape, + And the last white antelope is killed, + I shall stop fighting and escape + Into a little house I'll build. + + But first I'll shrink to fairy size, + With a whisper no one understands, + Making blind moons of all your eyes, + And muddy roads of all your hands. + + And you may grope for me in vain + In hollows under the mangrove root, + Or where, in apple-scented rain, + The silver wasp-nests hang like fruit. + + + + + THE FAIRY GOLDSMITH + + + Here's a wonderful thing, + A humming-bird's wing + In hammered gold, + And store well chosen + Of snowflakes frozen + In crystal cold. + + Black onyx cherries + And mistletoe berries + Of chrysoprase, + Jade buds, tight shut, + All carven and cut + In intricate ways. + + Here, if you please + Are little gilt bees + In amber drops + Which look like honey, + Translucent and sunny, + From clover-tops. + + Here's an elfin girl + Of mother-of-pearl + And moonshine made, + With tortoise-shell hair + Both dusky and fair + In its light and shade. + + Here's lacquer laid thin, + Like a scarlet skin + On an ivory fruit; + And a filigree frost + Of frail notes lost + From a fairy lute. + + Here's a turquoise chain + Of sun-shower rain + To wear if you wish; + And glimmering green + With aquamarine, + A silvery fish. + + Here are pearls all strung + On a thread among + Pretty pink shells; + And bubbles blown + From the opal stone + Which ring like bells. + + Touch them and take them, + But do not break them! + Beneath your hand + They will wither like foam + If you carry them home + Out of fairy-land. + + O, they never can last + Though you hide them fast + From moth and from rust; + In your monstrous day + They will crumble away + Into quicksilver dust. + + + + + "FIRE AND SLEET AND CANDLELIGHT" + + + For this you've striven + Daring, to fail: + Your sky is riven + Like a tearing veil. + + For this, you've wasted + Wings of your youth; + Divined, and tasted + Bitter springs of truth. + + From sand unslaked + Twisted strong cords, + And wandered naked + Among trysted swords. + + There's a word unspoken, + A knot untied. + Whatever is broken + The earth may hide. + + The road was jagged + Over sharp stones: + Your body's too ragged + To cover your bones. + + The wind scatters + Tears upon dust; + Your soul's in tatters + Where the spears thrust. + + Your race is ended-- + See, it is run: + Nothing is mended + Under the sun. + + Straight as an arrow + You fall to a sleep + Not too narrow + And not too deep. + + + + + BLOOD FEUD + + + Once, when my husband was a child, there came + To his father's table, one who called him kin, + In sunbleached corduroys paler than his skin. + His look was grave and kind; he bore the name + Of the dead singer of Senlac, and his smile. + Shyly and courteously he smiled and spoke; + "I've been in the laurel since the winter broke; + Four months, I reckon; yes, sir, quite a while." + + He'd killed a score of foemen in the past, + In some blood-feud, a dark and monstrous thing; + To him it seemed his duty. At the last + His enemies found him by a forest spring, + Which, as he died, lay bright beneath his head, + A silver shield that slowly turned to red. + + + + + SEA LULLABY + + + The old moon is tarnished + With smoke of the flood, + The dead leaves are varnished + With color like blood, + + A treacherous smiler + With teeth white as milk, + A savage beguiler + In sheathings of silk, + + The sea creeps to pillage, + She leaps on her prey; + A child of the village + Was murdered to-day. + + She came up to meet him + In a smooth golden cloak, + She choked him and beat him + To death, for a joke. + + Her bright locks were tangled, + She shouted for joy, + With one hand she strangled + A strong little boy. + + Now in silence she lingers + Beside him all night + To wash her long fingers + In silvery light. + + + + + NANCY + + + You are a rose, but set with sharpest spine; + You are a pretty bird that pecks at me; + You are a little squirrel on a tree, + Pelting me with the prickly fruit of the pine; + A diamond, torn from a crystal mine, + Not like that milky treasure of the sea + A smooth, translucent pearl, but skilfully + Carven to cut, and faceted to shine. + + If you are flame, it dances and burns blue; + If you are light, it pierces like a star + Intenser than a needlepoint of ice. + The dexterous touch that shaped the soul of you, + Mingled, to mix, and make you what you are, + Magic between the sugar and the spice. + + + + + A PROUD LADY + + + Hate in the world's hand + Can carve and set its seal + Like the strong blast of sand + Which cuts into steel. + + I have seen how the finger of hate + Can mar and mold + Faces burned passionate + And frozen cold. + + Sorrowful faces worn + As stone with rain, + Faces writhing with scorn + And sullen with pain. + + But you have a proud face + Which the world cannot harm, + You have turned the pain to a grace + And the scorn to a charm. + + You have taken the arrows and slings + Which prick and bruise + And fashioned them into wings + For the heels of your shoes. + + From the world's hand which tries + To tear you apart + You have stolen the falcon's eyes + And the lion's heart. + + What has it done, this world, + With hard finger tips, + But sweetly chiseled and curled + Your inscrutable lips? + + + + + THE TORTOISE IN ETERNITY + + + Within my house of patterned horn + I sleep in such a bed + As men may keep before they're born + And after they are dead. + + Sticks and stones may break their bones, + And words may make them bleed; + There is not one of them who owns + An armor to his need. + + Tougher than hide or lozenged bark, + Snow-storm and thunder proof, + And quick with sun, and thick with dark, + Is this my darling roof. + + Men's troubled dreams of death and birth + Pulse mother-o'-pearl to black; + I bear the rainbow bubble Earth + Square on my scornful back. + + + + + INCANTATION + + + A white well + In a black cave; + A bright shell + In a dark wave. + + A white rose + Black brambles hood; + Smooth bright snows + In a dark wood. + + A flung white glove + In a dark fight; + A white dove + On a wild black night. + + A white door + In a dark lane; + A bright core + To bitter black pain. + + A white hand + Waved from dark walls; + In a burnt black land + Bright waterfalls. + + A bright spark + Where black ashes are; + In the smothering dark + One white star. + + + + + SILVER FILIGREE + + + The icicles wreathing + On trees in festoon + Swing, swayed to our breathing: + They're made of the moon. + + She's a pale, waxen taper; + And these seem to drip + Transparent as paper + From the flame of her tip. + + Molten, smoking a little, + Into crystal they pass; + Falling, freezing, to brittle + And delicate glass. + + Each a sharp-pointed flower, + Each a brief stalactite + Which hangs for an hour + In the blue cave of night. + + + + + THE FALCON + + + Why should my sleepy heart be taught + To whistle mocking-bird replies? + This is another bird you've caught, + Soft-feathered, with a falcon's eyes. + + The bird Imagination, + That flies so far, that dies so soon; + Her wings are colored like the sun, + Her breast is colored like the moon. + + Weave her a chain of silver twist, + And a little hood of scarlet wool, + And let her perch upon your wrist, + And tell her she is beautiful. + + + + + BRONZE TRUMPETS AND SEA WATER-- + ON TURNING LATIN INTO ENGLISH + + + Alembics turn to stranger things + Strange things, but never while we live + Shall magic turn this bronze that sings + To singing water in a sieve. + + The trumpeters of Caesar's guard + Salute his rigorous bastions + With ordered bruit; the bronze is hard + Though there is silver in the bronze. + + Our mutable tongue is like the sea, + Curled wave and shattering thunder-fit; + Dangle in strings of sand shall be + Who smooths the ripples out of it. + + + + + SPRING PASTORAL + + + Liza, go steep your long white hands + In the cool waters of that spring + Which bubbles up through shiny sands + The color of a wild-dove's wing. + + Dabble your hands, and steep them well + Until those nails are pearly white + Now rosier than a laurel bell; + Then come to me at candle-light. + + Lay your cold hands across my brows, + And I shall sleep, and I shall dream + Of silver-pointed willow boughs + Dipping their fingers in a stream. + + + + + VELVET SHOES + + + Let us walk in the white snow + In a soundless space; + With footsteps quiet and slow, + At a tranquil pace, + Under veils of white lace. + + I shall go shod in silk, + And you in wool, + White as a white cow's milk, + More beautiful + Than the breast of a gull. + + We shall walk through the still town + In a windless peace; + We shall step upon white down, + Upon silver fleece, + Upon softer than these. + + We shall walk in velvet shoes: + Wherever we go + Silence will fall like dews + On white silence below. + We shall walk in the snow. + + + + + VALENTINE + + + Too high, too high to pluck + My heart shall swing. + A fruit no bee shall suck, + No wasp shall sting. + + If on some night of cold + It falls to ground + In apple-leaves of gold + I'll wrap it round. + + And I shall seal it up + With spice and salt, + In a carven silver cup, + In a deep vault. + + Before my eyes are blind + And my lips mute, + I must eat core and rind + Of that same fruit. + + Before my heart is dust + At the end of all, + Eat it I must, I must + Were it bitter gall. + + But I shall keep it sweet + By some strange art; + Wild honey I shall eat + When I eat my heart. + + O honey cool and chaste + As clover's breath! + Sweet Heaven I shall taste + Before my death. + + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Nets to Catch the Wind, by Elinor Wylie + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NETS TO CATCH THE WIND *** + +***** This file should be named 6682.txt or 6682.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/6/8/6682/ + +Produced by Suzanne L. 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Shell, Tom Allen, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + + +NETS TO CATCH THE WIND + + + + +By ELINOR WYLIE + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +BEAUTY + +THE EAGLE AND THE MOLE + +MADMAN'S SONG + +THE PRINKIN' LEDDIE + +AUGUST + +THE CROOKED STICK + +ATAVISM + +WILD PEACHES + +SANCTUARY + +THE LION AND THE LAMB + +THE CHURCH-BELL + +A CROWDED TROLLEY CAR + +BELLS IN THE RAIN + +WINTER SLEEP + +VILLAGE MYSTERY + +SUNSET ON THE SPIRE + +ESCAPE + +THE FAIRY GOLDSMITH + +"FIRE AND SLEET AND CANDLELIGHT" + +BLOOD FEUD + +SEA LULLABY + +NANCY + +A PROUD LADY + +THE TORTOISE IN ETERNITY + +INCANTATION + +SILVER FILIGREE + +THE FALCON + +BRONZE TRUMPETS AND SEA WATER--ON TURNING LATIN INTO ENGLISH + +SPRING PASTORAL + +VELVET SHOES + +VALENTINE + + + + +BEAUTY + + +Say not of Beauty she is good, +Or aught but beautiful, +Or sleek to doves' wings of the wood +Her wild wings of a gull. + +Call her not wicked; that word's touch +Consumes her like a curse; +But love her not too much, too much, +For that is even worse. + +O, she is neither good nor bad, +But innocent and wild! +Enshrine her and she dies, who had +The hard heart of a child. + + + + +THE EAGLE AND THE MOLE + + +Avoid the reeking herd, +Shun the polluted flock, +Live like that stoic bird, +The eagle of the rock. + +The huddled warmth of crowds +Begets and fosters hate; +He keeps, above the clouds, +His cliff inviolate. + +When flocks are folded warm, +And herds to shelter run, +He sails above the storm, +He stares into the sun. + +If in the eagle's track +Your sinews cannot leap, +Avoid the lathered pack, +Turn from the steaming sheep. + +If you would keep your soul +From spotted sight or sound, +Live like the velvet mole; +Go burrow underground. + +And there hold intercourse +With roots of trees and stones, +With rivers at their source, +And disembodied bones. + + + + +MADMAN'S SONG + + +Better to see your cheek grown hollow, +Better to see your temple worn, +Than to forget to follow, follow, +After the sound of a silver horn. + +Better to bind your brow with willow +And follow, follow until you die, +Than to sleep with your head on a golden pillow, +Nor lift it up when the hunt goes by. + +Better to see your cheek grown sallow +And your hair grown gray, so soon, so soon, +Than to forget to hallo, hallo, +After the milk-white hounds of the moon. + + + + +THE PRINKIN' LEDDIE + + +_"The Hielan' lassies are a' for spinnin' +The Lowlan' lassies for prinkin' and pinnin'; +My daddie w'u'd chide me, an' so w'u'd my minnie +If I s'u'd bring hame sic a prinkin' leddie."_ + +Now haud your tongue, ye haverin' coward, +For whilst I'm young I'll go flounced an' flowered, +In lutestring striped like the strings o' a fiddle, +Wi' gowden girdles aboot my middle. + +In your Hielan' glen, where the rain pours steady, +Ye'll be gay an' glad for a prinkin' leddie; +Where the rocks are all bare an' the turf is all sodden, +An' lassies gae sad in their homespun an' hodden. + +My silks are stiff wi' patterns o' siller, +I've an ermine hood like the hat o' a miller, +I've chains o' coral like rowan berries, +An' a cramoisie mantle that cam' frae Paris. + +Ye'll be glad for the glint o' its scarlet linin' +When the larks are up an' the sun is shinin'; +When the winds are up an' ower the heather +Your heart'll be gay wi' my gowden feather. + +When the skies are low an' the earth is frozen, +Ye'll be gay an' glad for the leddie ye've chosen, +When ower the snow I go prinkin' an' prancin' +In my wee red slippers were made for dancin'. + +It's better a leddie like Solomon's lily +Than one that'll run like a Hielan' gillie +A-linkin' it ower the leas, my laddie, +In a raggedy kilt an' a belted plaidie! + + + + +AUGUST + + +Why should this Negro insolently stride +Down the red noonday on such noiseless feet? +Piled in his barrow, tawnier than wheat, +Lie heaps of smoldering daisies, somber-eyed, +Their copper petals shriveled up with pride, +Hot with a superfluity of heat, +Like a great brazier borne along the street +By captive leopards, black and burning pied. + +Are there no water-lilies, smooth as cream, +With long stems dripping crystal? Are there none +Like those white lilies, luminous and cool, +Plucked from some hemlock-darkened northern stream +By fair-haired swimmers, diving where the sun +Scarce warms the surface of the deepest pool? + + + + +THE CROOKED STICK + + +First Traveler: What's that lying in the dust? +Second Traveler: A crooked stick. +First Traveler: What's it worth, if you can trust + To arithmetic? +Second Traveler: Isn't this a riddle? +First Traveler: No, a trick. +Second Traveler: It's worthless. Leave it where it lies. +First Traveler: Wait; count ten; + Rub a little dust upon your eyes; + Now, look again. +Second Traveler: Well, and what the devil is it, then? +First Traveler: It's the sort of crooked stick that shepherds know. +Second Traveler: Some one's loss! +First Traveler: Bend it, and you make of it a bow. + Break it, a cross. +Second Traveler: But it's all grown over with moss! + + + + +ATAVISM + + +I always was afraid of Somes's Pond: +Not the little pond, by which the willow stands, +Where laughing boys catch alewives in their hands +In brown, bright shallows; but the one beyond. +There, when the frost makes all the birches burn +Yellow as cow-lilies, and the pale sky shines +Like a polished shell between black spruce and pines, +Some strange thing tracks us, turning where we turn. + +You'll say I dream it, being the true daughter +Of those who in old times endured this dread. +Look! Where the lily-stems are showing red +A silent paddle moves below the water, +A sliding shape has stirred them like a breath; +Tall plumes surmount a painted mask of death. + + + + +WILD PEACHES + + +1 + +When the world turns completely upside down +You say we'll emigrate to the Eastern Shore +Aboard a river-boat from Baltimore; +We'll live among wild peach trees, miles from town. +You'll wear a coonskin cap, and I a gown +Homespun, dyed butternut's dark gold color. +Lost, like your lotus-eating ancestor, +We'll swim in milk and honey till we drown. + +The winter will be short, the summer long, +The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot, +Tasting of cider and of scuppernong; +All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all. +The squirrels in their silver fur will fall +Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot. + + +2 + +The autumn frosts will lie upon the grass +Like bloom on grapes of purple-brown and gold. +The misted early mornings will be cold; +The little puddles will be roofed with glass. +The sun, which burns from copper into brass, +Melts these at noon, and makes the boys unfold +Their knitted mufflers; full as they can hold, +Fat pockets dribble chestnuts as they pass. + +Peaches grow wild, and pigs can live in clover; +A barrel of salted herrings lasts a year; +The spring begins before the winter's over. +By February you may find the skins +Of garter snakes and water moccasins +Dwindled and harsh, dead-white and cloudy-clear. + + +3 + +When April pours the colors of a shell +Upon the hills, when every little creek +Is shot with silver from the Chesapeake +In shoals new-minted by the ocean swell, +When strawberries go begging, and the sleek +Blue plums lie open to the blackbird's beak, +We shall live well--we shall live very well. + +The months between the cherries and the peaches +Are brimming cornucopias which spill +Fruits red and purple, somber-bloomed and black; +Then, down rich fields and frosty river beaches +We'll trample bright persimmons, while we kill +Bronze partridge, speckled quail, and canvas-back. + + +4 + +Down to the Puritan marrow of my bones +There's something in this richness that I hate. +I love the look, austere, immaculate, +Of landscapes drawn in pearly monotones. +There's something in my very blood that owns +Bare hills, cold silver on a sky of slate, +A thread of water, churned to milky spate +Streaming through slanted pastures fenced with stones. + +I love those skies, thin blue or snowy gray, +Those fields sparse-planted, rendering meager sheaves; +That spring, briefer than apple-blossom's breath, +Summer, so much too beautiful to stay, +Swift autumn, like a bonfire of leaves, +And sleepy winter, like the sleep of death. + + + + +SANCTUARY + + +This is the bricklayer; hear the thud +Of his heavy load dumped down on stone. +His lustrous bricks are brighter than blood, +His smoking mortar whiter than bone. + +Set each sharp-edged, fire-bitten brick +Straight by the plumb-line's shivering length; +Make my marvelous wall so thick +Dead nor living may shake its strength. + +Full as a crystal cup with drink +Is my cell with dreams, and quiet, and cool.... +Stop, old man! You must leave a chink; +How can I breathe? _You can't, you fool!_ + + + + +THE LION AND THE LAMB + + +I saw a Tiger's golden flank, +I saw what food he ate, +By a desert spring he drank; +The Tiger's name was Hate. + +Then I saw a placid Lamb +Lying fast asleep; +Like a river from its dam +Flashed the Tiger's leap. + +I saw a Lion tawny-red, +Terrible and brave; +The Tiger's leap overhead +Broke like a wave. + +In sand below or sun above +He faded like a flame. +The Lamb said, "I am Love"; +"Lion, tell your name." + +The Lion's voice thundering +Shook his vaulted breast, +"I am Love. By this spring, +Brother, let us rest." + + + + +THE CHURCH-BELL + + +As I was lying in my bed +I heard the church-bell ring; +Before one solemn word was said +A bird began to sing. + +I heard a dog begin to bark +And a bold crowing cock; +The bell, between the cold and dark, +Tolled. It was five o'clock. + +The church-bell tolled, and the bird sang, +A clear true voice he had; +The cock crew, and the church-bell rang, +I knew it had gone mad. + +A hand reached down from the dark skies, +It took the bell-rope thong, +The bell cried "Look! Lift up your eyes!" +The clapper shook to song. + +The iron clapper laughed aloud, +Like clashing wind and wave; +The bell cried out "Be strong and proud!" +Then, with a shout, "Be brave!" + +The rumbling of the market-carts, +The pounding of men's feet +Were drowned in song; "Lift up your hearts!" +The sound was loud and sweet. + +Slow and slow the great bell swung, +It hung in the steeple mute; +And people tore its living tongue +Out by the very root. + + + + +A CROWDED TROLLEY CAR + + +The rain's cold grains are silver-gray +Sharp as golden sands, +A bell is clanging, people sway +Hanging by their hands. + +Supple hands, or gnarled and stiff, +Snatch and catch and grope; +That face is yellow-pale, as if +The fellow swung from rope. + +Dull like pebbles, sharp like knives, +Glances strike and glare, +Fingers tangle, Bluebeard's wives +Dangle by the hair. + +Orchard of the strangest fruits +Hanging from the skies; +Brothers, yet insensate brutes +Who fear each others' eyes. + +One man stands as free men stand, +As if his soul might be +Brave, unbroken; see his hand +Nailed to an oaken tree. + + + + +BELLS IN THE RAIN + + +Sleep falls, with limpid drops of rain, +Upon the steep cliffs of the town. +Sleep falls; men are at peace again +Awhile the small drops fall softly down. + +The bright drops ring like bells of glass +Thinned by the wind, and lightly blown; +Sleep cannot fall on peaceful grass +So softly as it falls on stone. + +Peace falls unheeded on the dead +Asleep; they have had deep peace to drink; +Upon a live man's bloody head +It falls most tenderly, I think. + + + + +WINTER SLEEP + + +When against earth a wooden heel +Clicks as loud as stone and steel, +When snow turns flour instead of flakes, +And frost bakes clay as fire bakes, +When the hard-bitten fields at last +Crack like iron flawed in the cast, +When the world is wicked and cross and old, +I long to be quit of the cruel cold. + +Little birds like bubbles of glass +Fly to other Americas, +Birds as bright as sparkles of wine +Fly in the night to the Argentine, +Birds of azure and flame-birds go +To the tropical Gulf of Mexico: +They chase the sun, they follow the heat, +It is sweet in their bones, O sweet, sweet, sweet! +It's not with them that I'd love to be, +But under the roots of the balsam tree. + +Just as the spiniest chestnut-burr +Is lined within with the finest fur, +So the stony-walled, snow-roofed house +Of every squirrel and mole and mouse +Is lined with thistledown, sea-gull's feather, +Velvet mullein-leaf, heaped together +With balsam and juniper, dry and curled, +Sweeter than anything else in the world. +O what a warm and darksome nest +Where the wildest things are hidden to rest! +It's there that I'd love to lie and sleep, +Soft, soft, soft, and deep, deep, deep! + + + + +VILLAGE MYSTERY + + +The woman in the pointed hood +And cloak blue-gray like a pigeon's wing, +Whose orchard climbs to the balsam-wood, +Has done a cruel thing. + +To her back door-step came a ghost, +A girl who had been ten years dead, +She stood by the granite hitching-post +And begged for a piece of bread. + +Now why should I, who walk alone, +Who am ironical and proud, +Turn, when a woman casts a stone +At a beggar in a shroud? + +I saw the dead girl cringe and whine, +And cower in the weeping air-- +But, oh, she was no kin of mine, +And so I did not care! + + + + +SUNSET ON THE SPIRE + + +All that I dream + By day or night +Lives in that stream + Of lovely light. +Here is the earth, + And there is the spire; +This is my hearth, + And that is my fire. +From the sun's dome + I am shouted proof +That this is my home, + And that is my roof. +Here is my food, + And here is my drink, +And I am wooed + From the moon's brink. +And the days go over, + And the nights end; +Here is my lover, + Here is my friend. +All that I + Could ever ask +Wears that sky + Like a thin gold mask. + + + + +ESCAPE + + +When foxes eat the last gold grape, +And the last white antelope is killed, +I shall stop fighting and escape +Into a little house I'll build. + +But first I'll shrink to fairy size, +With a whisper no one understands, +Making blind moons of all your eyes, +And muddy roads of all your hands. + +And you may grope for me in vain +In hollows under the mangrove root, +Or where, in apple-scented rain, +The silver wasp-nests hang like fruit. + + + + +THE FAIRY GOLDSMITH + + +Here's a wonderful thing, +A humming-bird's wing + In hammered gold, +And store well chosen +Of snowflakes frozen + In crystal cold. + +Black onyx cherries +And mistletoe berries + Of chrysoprase, +Jade buds, tight shut, +All carven and cut + In intricate ways. + +Here, if you please +Are little gilt bees + In amber drops +Which look like honey, +Translucent and sunny, + From clover-tops. + +Here's an elfin girl +Of mother-of-pearl + And moonshine made, +With tortoise-shell hair +Both dusky and fair +In its light and shade. + +Here's lacquer laid thin, +Like a scarlet skin + On an ivory fruit; +And a filigree frost +Of frail notes lost + From a fairy lute. + +Here's a turquoise chain +Of sun-shower rain + To wear if you wish; +And glimmering green +With aquamarine, + A silvery fish. + +Here are pearls all strung +On a thread among + Pretty pink shells; +And bubbles blown +From the opal stone + Which ring like bells. + +Touch them and take them, +But do not break them! + Beneath your hand +They will wither like foam +If you carry them home + Out of fairy-land. + +O, they never can last +Though you hide them fast + From moth and from rust; +In your monstrous day +They will crumble away + Into quicksilver dust. + + + + +"FIRE AND SLEET AND CANDLELIGHT" + + +For this you've striven + Daring, to fail: +Your sky is riven + Like a tearing veil. + +For this, you've wasted + Wings of your youth; +Divined, and tasted + Bitter springs of truth. + +From sand unslaked + Twisted strong cords, +And wandered naked + Among trysted swords. + +There's a word unspoken, + A knot untied. +Whatever is broken + The earth may hide. + +The road was jagged + Over sharp stones: +Your body's too ragged + To cover your bones. + +The wind scatters + Tears upon dust; +Your soul's in tatters + Where the spears thrust. + +Your race is ended-- + See, it is run: +Nothing is mended + Under the sun. + +Straight as an arrow + You fall to a sleep +Not too narrow + And not too deep. + + + + +BLOOD FEUD + + +Once, when my husband was a child, there came +To his father's table, one who called him kin, +In sunbleached corduroys paler than his skin. +His look was grave and kind; he bore the name +Of the dead singer of Senlac, and his smile. +Shyly and courteously he smiled and spoke; +"I've been in the laurel since the winter broke; +Four months, I reckon; yes, sir, quite a while." + +He'd killed a score of foemen in the past, +In some blood-feud, a dark and monstrous thing; +To him it seemed his duty. At the last +His enemies found him by a forest spring, +Which, as he died, lay bright beneath his head, +A silver shield that slowly turned to red. + + + + +SEA LULLABY + + +The old moon is tarnished +With smoke of the flood, +The dead leaves are varnished +With color like blood, + +A treacherous smiler +With teeth white as milk, +A savage beguiler +In sheathings of silk, + +The sea creeps to pillage, +She leaps on her prey; +A child of the village +Was murdered to-day. + +She came up to meet him +In a smooth golden cloak, +She choked him and beat him +To death, for a joke. + +Her bright locks were tangled, +She shouted for joy, +With one hand she strangled +A strong little boy. + +Now in silence she lingers +Beside him all night +To wash her long fingers +In silvery light. + + + + +NANCY + + +You are a rose, but set with sharpest spine; +You are a pretty bird that pecks at me; +You are a little squirrel on a tree, +Pelting me with the prickly fruit of the pine; +A diamond, torn from a crystal mine, +Not like that milky treasure of the sea +A smooth, translucent pearl, but skilfully +Carven to cut, and faceted to shine. + +If you are flame, it dances and burns blue; +If you are light, it pierces like a star +Intenser than a needlepoint of ice. +The dexterous touch that shaped the soul of you, +Mingled, to mix, and make you what you are, +Magic between the sugar and the spice. + + + + +A PROUD LADY + + +Hate in the world's hand +Can carve and set its seal +Like the strong blast of sand +Which cuts into steel. + +I have seen how the finger of hate +Can mar and mold +Faces burned passionate +And frozen cold. + +Sorrowful faces worn +As stone with rain, +Faces writhing with scorn +And sullen with pain. + +But you have a proud face +Which the world cannot harm, +You have turned the pain to a grace +And the scorn to a charm. + +You have taken the arrows and slings +Which prick and bruise +And fashioned them into wings +For the heels of your shoes. + +From the world's hand which tries +To tear you apart +You have stolen the falcon's eyes +And the lion's heart. + +What has it done, this world, +With hard finger tips, +But sweetly chiseled and curled +Your inscrutable lips? + + + + +THE TORTOISE IN ETERNITY + + +Within my house of patterned horn +I sleep in such a bed +As men may keep before they're born +And after they are dead. + +Sticks and stones may break their bones, +And words may make them bleed; +There is not one of them who owns +An armor to his need. + +Tougher than hide or lozenged bark, +Snow-storm and thunder proof, +And quick with sun, and thick with dark, +Is this my darling roof. + +Men's troubled dreams of death and birth +Pulse mother-o'-pearl to black; +I bear the rainbow bubble Earth +Square on my scornful back. + + + + +INCANTATION + + +A white well +In a black cave; +A bright shell +In a dark wave. + +A white rose +Black brambles hood; +Smooth bright snows +In a dark wood. + +A flung white glove +In a dark fight; +A white dove +On a wild black night. + +A white door +In a dark lane; +A bright core +To bitter black pain. + +A white hand +Waved from dark walls; +In a burnt black land +Bright waterfalls. + +A bright spark +Where black ashes are; +In the smothering dark +One white star. + + + + +SILVER FILIGREE + + +The icicles wreathing + On trees in festoon +Swing, swayed to our breathing: + They're made of the moon. + +She's a pale, waxen taper; + And these seem to drip +Transparent as paper + From the flame of her tip. + +Molten, smoking a little, + Into crystal they pass; +Falling, freezing, to brittle + And delicate glass. + +Each a sharp-pointed flower, + Each a brief stalactite +Which hangs for an hour + In the blue cave of night. + + + + +THE FALCON + + +Why should my sleepy heart be taught +To whistle mocking-bird replies? +This is another bird you've caught, +Soft-feathered, with a falcon's eyes. + +The bird Imagination, +That flies so far, that dies so soon; +Her wings are colored like the sun, +Her breast is colored like the moon. + +Weave her a chain of silver twist, +And a little hood of scarlet wool, +And let her perch upon your wrist, +And tell her she is beautiful. + + + + +BRONZE TRUMPETS AND SEA WATER-- +ON TURNING LATIN INTO ENGLISH + + +Alembics turn to stranger things +Strange things, but never while we live +Shall magic turn this bronze that sings +To singing water in a sieve. + +The trumpeters of Caesar's guard +Salute his rigorous bastions +With ordered bruit; the bronze is hard +Though there is silver in the bronze. + +Our mutable tongue is like the sea, +Curled wave and shattering thunder-fit; +Dangle in strings of sand shall be +Who smooths the ripples out of it. + + + + +SPRING PASTORAL + + +Liza, go steep your long white hands +In the cool waters of that spring +Which bubbles up through shiny sands +The color of a wild-dove's wing. + +Dabble your hands, and steep them well +Until those nails are pearly white +Now rosier than a laurel bell; +Then come to me at candle-light. + +Lay your cold hands across my brows, +And I shall sleep, and I shall dream +Of silver-pointed willow boughs +Dipping their fingers in a stream. + + + + +VELVET SHOES + + +Let us walk in the white snow + In a soundless space; +With footsteps quiet and slow, + At a tranquil pace, + Under veils of white lace. + +I shall go shod in silk, + And you in wool, +White as a white cow's milk, + More beautiful + Than the breast of a gull. + +We shall walk through the still town + In a windless peace; +We shall step upon white down, + Upon silver fleece, + Upon softer than these. + +We shall walk in velvet shoes: + Wherever we go +Silence will fall like dews + On white silence below. + We shall walk in the snow. + + + + +VALENTINE + + +Too high, too high to pluck +My heart shall swing. +A fruit no bee shall suck, +No wasp shall sting. + +If on some night of cold +It falls to ground +In apple-leaves of gold +I'll wrap it round. + +And I shall seal it up +With spice and salt, +In a carven silver cup, +In a deep vault. + +Before my eyes are blind +And my lips mute, +I must eat core and rind +Of that same fruit. + +Before my heart is dust +At the end of all, +Eat it I must, I must +Were it bitter gall. + +But I shall keep it sweet +By some strange art; +Wild honey I shall eat +When I eat my heart. + +O honey cool and chaste +As clover's breath! +Sweet Heaven I shall taste +Before my death. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Nets to Catch the Wind, by Elinor Wylie + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NETS TO CATCH THE WIND *** + +This file should be named ntctw10.txt or ntctw10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, ntctw11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, ntctw10a.txt + +Produced by Suzanne L. 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