diff options
Diffstat (limited to '75630-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 75630-0.txt | 3224 |
1 files changed, 3224 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/75630-0.txt b/75630-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1bad0ed --- /dev/null +++ b/75630-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3224 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75630 *** + + + + + + FLASHLIGHTS + + + BY + MARY ALDIS + + AUTHOR OF + “THE PRINCESS JACK” + AND + “PLAYS FOR SMALL STAGES” + + [Illustration] + + NEW YORK + DUFFIELD & COMPANY + 1916 + + + + + Copyright, 1916, by MARY ALDIS + + + + +The author desires to make acknowledgement for permission to reprint +to _Poetry_, _The Little Review_, _The Masses_, _Others_, _The Trimmed +Lamp_, _The Survey_, _The Los Angeles Graphic_, _The Chicago Herald_ +and _The Chicago Evening Post_. + + + + + CONTENTS + + +I. CITY SKETCHES + PAGE + +The Barber Shop 3 +Love in the Loop 8 +Converse 12 +Window-wishing 16 +A Little Old Woman 20 + + +II. + +Design 27 +The World Cry 28 +Brown Sands 29 +Seeking 30 +May 11, 1915 31 +Watchers 32 +To Maurice Browne 35 +Prayers 37 +My Boat and I 39 +Pictures 42 +Forward, Singing! 44 +Barberries 46 +Two Paths 48 +When You Come 50 +Rest 52 +Moriturus Te Saluto 54 +Flashlights 56 +Floodgates 63 +Chloroform 69 +The Beginning of the Journey 75 + + +III. STORIES IN METRE + +The Prisoner 81 +Ellie 86 +The Park Bench 92 +The Sisters 105 +Reason 110 +Her Secret 115 +A Little Girl 117 + + + + +I + +CITY SKETCHES + + + _Go forth now, moods and metres, + Sing your song and tell your story; + You have companioned me + Through hours grave and gay, + What will you say + To him whose curious hand + Shall turn these pages?_ + + _Soon all my joy in setting forth + My vagrant thoughts + Shall pass + Into the silence; + Soon I shall be + One with the mystery._ + + _My book upon some quiet shelf + Beneath your touch + Shall wake, perhaps, + And speak again + My wonder, my delight, + My questioning before the night--_ + + _And as you read + Somewhere afar + I shall be singing, singing._ + + + + +_THE BARBER SHOP_ + + + I spend my life in a warren of worried men. + In and out and to and fro + And up and down in electric elevators + They rush about and speak each other, + Hurrying on to finish the deal, + Hurrying home to wash and eat and sleep, + Hurrying to love a little maybe + Between the dark and dawn + Or cuddle a tired child + Who blinks to see his father. + + I hurry too but with a sense + That Life is hurrying faster + And will catch up with me. + + Right in the middle of our furious activity + Two soft-voiced barbers in a little room, + White-tiled and fresh and smelling deliciously, + Flourish their glittering tools + And smile and barb + And talk about the war and stocks and the Honolulu earthquake + With equal impartiality. + + I like to go there. + Time seems slow and patient + While they tuck me up in white + And hover over me. + The room gives north and west and the sunset sky + Lights the grey river to a ribbon of glory + Where silhouetted tugs + Like tooting beetles fuss about their smoky businesses; + + Besides, in that high place + No curious passer-by + Can see my ignominious bald spot treated with a tonic, + Nor can a lady stop and bow to me, my chin in lather, + As happened once; + So I go there often + And even take a book. + + There’s another person all in white + Who comes and goes and manicures your nails + On application. + One can read with one hand while she does the other. + Because I feel that Life is hurrying me along + With horrid haste + Soon to desert me utterly, + I used to take my Inferno in my pocket + And reflect on what might happen + Were I among the usurers. + + One day a low-pitched voice broke in. + I listened vaguely, + What was the woman saying? + “Please listen for a moment, Mister Brown, + I’ve done your nails for almost half a year + You’ve never looked at me.” + I looked at that, + And sure enough the girl was young and round and sweet. + She coloured as I turned to her + And looked away. + I waited silently, enjoying her confusion. + The words had been shot out at me + And now apparently she wished them back. + “What do you want?” I said. + Again a silence while she rubbed away. + I opened my Inferno with an ironic glance + Towards Paradiso waiting just beyond. + “Well, rub away, my girl,” I thought, + “You opened up, go on.” + + The book provoked her. + “I’m straight,” she said. + “I never talked like this before. + The fellows that come round-- + Good Lord! + Showin’ me two pink ticket corners + Stickin’ out the pocket of their vest, + ‘Say, kid,--tonight,--you know,’ + Thinkin’ I’ll tumble + For a ticket to a show! + They make me sick, they do, + Boobs like that; + You’re different. I want to know + What’s in that book you read. + I want to hear you talk. + Oh, Mister, I’m so lonesome! + But I’m straight, I tell you. + I read, too, every evening in my room, + But I can’t ever find + The books you have. + I expect you think I’m horrid + To talk like this--but-- + I got some things by an Englishman + From the Public Library. + Say, they were queer! + He thinks a woman has a right + To say out if she likes a man; + He thinks they do the looking + Because they want-- + Oh, Mister, I’m so terribly ashamed + I’ll die when I get home, + An’ yet I had to speak-- + I’d be awful, awful good to you, if only, + Please, please, don’t think I’m like-- + Don’t think I’m one o’ them! + Whatever you say, don’t, don’t think that!” + + She stopped, and turned to hide her crying. + I looked at her again, + Looked at her young wet eyes, + At her abashed bent head, + Looked at her sweet, deft hands + Busy with mine.... + + But-- + Not for nothing + Were my grandfather and four of my uncles + Elders in the Sixth Presbyterian Church + Situated on the Avenue. + Oh not for nothing + Was I led + To squirm on those green rep seats + One day in seven. + + And now, + The white-tiled, sweetly-smelling barber shop + Is lost to me. + What a pity! + + + + +_LOVE IN THE LOOP_ + + + They sat by the fountain at a table for two, + The traditional couple-- + An awkward, ill-dressed girl, + With a lovely skin and a country smile, + And the man who was paying for her dinner. + There they were-- + Exploiter and Exploited. + + I could see only his back, clad in grey tweed. + His neck rolled over his collar + In a thick red fold, + And his hands, which he waved about, + Were fat and white with shiny nails + And diamond rings. + + I wondered if he was offering her better clothes + For the girl looked troubled. + Her shirt-waist wasn’t fresh, + Her skirt was draggled, + And her feet, curled up under the chair, + Shifted themselves uneasily, seeking cover + For most lamentable shoes; + But oh, her skin! + + Soft rose and the delicate white of summer mist. + Her hair was the brown of hazelnuts after a frost, + Glinting to saffron as she turned her head + Quickly from side to side + Like an enquiring dove. + + Soon oysters came; + She eyed them with distrust, + Then ate one thoughtfully and made a face. + He seemed concerned + And beckoned the waiter to remove the dish, + Asking if she’d rather have a “country sausage.” + She showed her baby teeth in a happy smile + And sausages were brought. + She ate them all while he watched her enviously, + Putting a little white pellet in some water + For his second course. + + Champagne was set before them and he filled her glass + While he turned his bottom side up. + She sipped, and made another face, and choked, + Then tried again and laughed. + “I do believe it’s good,” she said, + And finished the glass, + Holding it out for more. + “You’d best look out,” I heard him say + As he slid his hand along the table-cloth. + She cringed away. + “Oh, please, please don’t!” she said; + But he hitched his chair softly around the table. + + I watched it all, + Wondering miserably if it was my duty + To warn the girl, + And whether she would prove clinging if I did. + + Finally to secure her hands he turned himself. + My God, what a mug! + His beady eyes over his glistening cheeks + Blinked like a hurrying pig’s: + His protuberent lips wiggled themselves + In amourous expectancy + While little beads of ecstasy bedewed his brow. + I turned my chair around and raised my paper. + + Suddenly I heard her cry, “Oh, Mister! + That fuzzy stuff you made me drink--my head!” + And she grabbed her coat and slithered along the floor + To the front door, calling over her shoulder. + “Don’t come. I want some air, + I’ll be back in a minute or two.” + + After a startled forward step + He settled back and called the waiter, + Who hurried to busy himself expectantly + With the inevitable reckoning. + By the time it was ready, Mr. Amourous-One + Was deep in the stock reports and dead to the world. + The waiter stood on one foot and then on the other, + Finally wandering off. + + After some twenty minutes of troubled scrutiny + The paper was laid down, + And Mr. Amourous + Looked at his watch and jumped, + Then turned the bill and burrowed in his pocket, + Pulling out change. + Next came a leather wallet-- + And then what a bellowing rent the astonished air! + + “Eight hundred dollars gone!” he yelled. + “Hi! get that girl, I tell you, GET THAT GIRL!” + But nobody stirred. + Exploiter and Exploited-- + + + + +_CONVERSE_ + + + They were two disembodied heads on bath cabinets, + Just like “Une tête de femme” by Rodin, in a show, + Save that each head was topped + By a ruffled rubber cap, + One rose-lined grey, one brown. + They were two female heads, + And yet they were not pretty, + At least not then. + + They fixed their level-fronting eyes on a sanitary wall + In front of them + And waited. + The Bath Attendant turned a crank, + Consulted a thermometer, and vanished. + + Time draggled warmly by. + + Finally one head heaved a heavy sigh and turned itself + And looked at the other head, + Which bit its lip and frowned. + + Since names seem meaningless + When souls converse, + Let us call these souls quite simply Grey and Brown. + The one that heaved and turned itself was Brown; + The one that bit its lip was Grey. + + “Are you pretending that you didn’t see me?” + Queried Brown. + “Oh no!” said Grey. + + “I’ve been meaning to have a talk with you,” said Brown. + “And why not now?” + “And why not now?” said Grey. + + “You may as well understand,” continued Brown, + “You’ve got to give him up.” + “Him up?” said Grey. + + “That’s what I said,” said Brown. + “You very well know + His duty is to me. I bear his name, + I’ve given him seven children and a step, + All likely boys. + He’s very fond of them, you know.” + “I know,” said Grey. + + “Well, what have you got to say?” Brown trembled on. + “Why don’t you speak?” + Grey murmured softly, + “Isn’t it hot in these?” + + Brown looked at her and laughed. + “You’re pretty cool,” she said, + “But I’d like to tell you here and straight and now, + I’m tired of nonsense, + Tired of worrying, + And very, very tired of him and you.” + “Of him and me,” said Grey. + + “I’ve cried and then I’ve laughed + And said I didn’t care,” + Said whimpering Brown. + “I’ve dressed myself up beautifully + And then again I’d slump,” + Said sniffling Brown. + “But nothing mattered. + If he came home bright and gay, of course I’d know + He’d been with you, + And if he came home different, then I’d know + He wished he were, + So gradually it didn’t matter much + Which way he was. + And then I thought I’d try and keep + The boys from knowing, + So I’d make up lies and plan; + With seven and the step + It took considerable planning, + But luckily the little ones don’t notice. + And now I’ve got you here, I’m going to have my say!” + “Your say,” said Grey. + + “I’m going to get your promise here and now + To give him up for good, + Do you understand?” + “For good,” said Grey. + “Oh yes, I understand.” + + “Or else,” and beetling Brown + Grew dark and terrible, + “You’ll be the co-respondent in a suit!” + “A suit,” said Grey. + + “I said a suit,” said Brown, + “I mean a suit. + Moreover, as you haven’t said a word + I’ll bring it soon.” + “It soon,” said Grey. + + And then the Attendant came, + Looked at the clock and then the thermometer, + Got sheets and led them out. + + “Unless--” said Brown. + “Oh yes, unless--” said Grey. + + + + +_WINDOW-WISHING_ + + + Oh yes, we get off regular + By half past six, + And six on Saturdays. + Sister an’ I go marketing on Saturday nights, + Everything’s down. + Besides there’s Sunday comin’; + You can sleep, + Oh my, how you can sleep! + No mother shakin’ you + To “get up now,” + No coffee smell + Hurryin’ you while you dress, + No Beauty Shop to get to on the tick of the minute + Or pony up a fine. + Sister an’ I go window-wishin’ + Sunday afternoon, all over the Loop. + It’s lots of fun. + First she’ll choose what she thinks is the prettiest + Then my turn comes. + You mustn’t ever choose a thing + The other’s lookin’ at, + And when a window’s done + The one that beats + Can choose the first time when we start the next. + The hats are hardest + ’Specially when they’re turnin’ round and round. + But window-wishin’s great! + + Then there’s the pictures, + Bully ones sometimes, + Sometimes they’re queer. + Sister an’ I go in ’most every Sunday. + We took Mother ’long last week, + But she didn’t like ’em any too well. + Mother’s old, you know, + We have to kinda humour her. + Next day she couldn’t remember a single thing + But the lions on the steps. + + You know what happened the other night? + Sister and I didn’t know just what to do,-- + A gentleman came to see us. + He said Jim asked him to + Sometime when he was near. + Jim’s my brother, you know. + He lives down state. + We have to send him part of our wages regular, + Sister an’ I; + He doesn’t seem to get a steady place, + And Mother likes us to. + She’s dotty on Jim. + Sometimes I get real nasty-- + A great big man like that! + Anyway his friend came walkin’ in + And said Jim sent his love. + Sister an’ I didn’t exactly know what to do, + And Mother looked so queer! + Her dress was awful dirty. + He said he was livin’ in Chicago, + And Sister said she hoped + He had a place he liked. + He only stayed a little while, + Till half past eight, + And then he took his hat + From under the chair he was sittin’ on + And went away. + I said just now it happened the other night, + But it was seven weeks ago last Friday evening. + He said he’d come again. + I dunno as he will, + Sister an’ I keep wonderin’. + We dressed up-every night for quite a while + And stayed in Sundays. + Yesterday we thought + We’d go down window-wishin’ + And what do you think? + Just as she’d picked a lovely silver dress + Sister jerked my arm, + Then all of a sudden there she was + Cryin’ and snifflin’ in her handkerchief + Standin’ there on the sidewalk, + And what do you think she said? + “I’d like to kill the woman that wears that gown!” + I tell you I was scared, + She looked so queer, + But she’s all right today. + Oh thank you, two o’clock next Saturday the tenth? + I’ll put it down, + A shampoo and a wave, you said? + I’ll keep the time, + Good-morning. + + + + +_A LITTLE OLD WOMAN_ + + + There’s a twinkling little old woman + Brings me sandwiches after my Turkish bath. + Her cheeks are brown and pink, + And her eyes, behind her gold-bowed spectacles, + Smile in a curious fashion as if to say + “I know you’re worried about that letter in the pocket of your dress, + Hanging out there, but I’ll take care of it.” + + She sets the tray down on a chair beside my couch + And trots away to another languid lady in a sheet, + And as I fall asleep she says to me + “Don’t worry honey, I’ll take care of it.” + Perhaps it’s only in my dreams she says it, + But anyway she’s there. + + Once after she had hooked me up + She raised her sober dress + To show me that she too could wear a lace-trimmed petticoat; + And a dainty thing it was, with tiny rosebuds + Festooned all around. + She dropped her skirt and laughed. + “I’ve got one ... too,” she said. + This was uncanny, so I said Good-day. + + Next time I went I met him at the door + With a market basket! + It seems he brought the dainties every day + She made up into sandwiches for us who lolled about. + I took a look at him,-- + A delicate, chiselled face with soft blue eyes, + Under his chin from ear to ear a fringe of yellow down, + Around a bald spot, curls of whity-gold; + He blinked a little as she gave him charges + Then wandered thoughtfully away + Clutching his basket. + He wore a black frock coat too big for him, + And on his head, a round black hat like a French Curé’s. + + So that was why she wore the petticoat + And smiled so knowingly-- + But how she worked! + I wouldn’t work like that. + Perhaps she kept that little thing for pleasuring. + Well, this is a woman’s world, why not, + If so be that he pleased her? + + The steamy, scented atmosphere that day + Seemed teeming with intrigue; + I looked at the strapping, bare-legged wench + Who brought my sheet + Enquiring mutely, “Have you got a lover?” + And when a person next me roused herself + To ask the time, + I thought, “Ah-ha! He’s waiting!” + + It chanced when sandwiches were brought + I found myself alone + With her of the spectacles and petticoat. + I wanted to go to sleep, + But I wanted more to find out how + She got a lover, + And how she kept him. + + After some skirmishing I asked straight out, + “Was that your husband with the market basket?” + “My husband’s dead,” she said, and grinned + And took a chair beside my couch. + “Who is he, then?” I said. + “He’s mine,” she answered. “Mine! + I paid for him five hundred dollars cool, + And now he likes me!” + + I sat up at that. + “You paid for him?” I gulped. + “Why yes, he lived up-stairs, you know. + His heart is bad; he hadn’t any cash; + He got hauled up on a breach-of-promise suit; + I paid it for him. + Now he lives with me!” + + She emphasized her “me” triumphantly. + I looked her over. + Certainly there was something there of vividness, + Of quick vitality. + He and his funny hat and goldy curls-- + + Well, anything may be. + “Are you happy now?” I asked. + She smiled and bridled. + “The business pays,” she said. + “You ladies pay good prices for your food + And then the tips besides. + He gets the things for me and brings ’em fresh, + Then what do you suppose he does the rest of the time? + (His heart is bad, you know) + Writes verses all day long for the Sunday papers; + Mostly they don’t get in, + But every now and then he gets two dollars. + I bought him an Underwood last week. + He was so pleased, + Only the punctuation isn’t right. + It isn’t a second-hand; cost me a hundred and twenty-five; + I saved it up--” + + The bell rang and she rose. + “Say! please don’t tell them anything about-- + About--my husband.” + And she vanished. + + + + +II + + + + +_DESIGN_ + + + If all the world’s a stage, why do we know + Naught of the drama we the actors play? + Are we but puppets, we who come and go + Mumbling our parts through life’s quick-passing day? + + What if some master hand design the show + Planning a spacious pattern cunningly! + Time, color, drifting human shapes all go + Into a great discordant harmony: + + Let this one’s part be cast in delicate grey, + Let this a heavy purple shadow be, + Here let there come one clear, cold, bluish ray + And here--but hold! one actor suddenly + + In desperate rebellion cries his part-- + A scarlet tumult from his own hot heart. + + + + +_THE WORLD CRY_ + + + Joy, light, and love I crave + And shall discover-- + Life’s wild adventure opening to my will: + High thought and brave, + The rapture of a lover, + The Vision gleaming from yon western hill. + + Beyond my present sight + There lies some sweet allure, + Some crested glory waiting to be won; + Shimmering in light, + Beautiful and sure, + Beckoning bright hands that call me on. + + I know not where it lies, + Nor whither I go, nor how + The way is paved--with pleasure or with pain; + But the search is in my eyes, + And the dust upon my brow + Shall turn to aureoled gold when I attain. + + * * * * * + + Oh, old old hope-- + Unfulfilled desire! + Pitiful the faith, + Beautiful the fire! + + Know, soul who criest, + Thy gleaming from afar, + Thy quest of wild adventure, + Thy sweet far star + + Shall be the bitter path + To a high stern goal; + So bow thy head + To thine own soul. + + + + +_BROWN SANDS_ + + + My stallion impatiently + Stamps at my side, + Into the desert far + We two shall ride. + + Brown sands around us fly, + Winds whistle free, + The desert is sharing + Gladness with me. + + The madness of motion + Is mine again. + Forgotten forever + Sorrow and pain. + + Into the desert far + Swiftly we flee, + Knowing the passionate + Joy of the free. + + + + +_SEEKING_ + + + Swift like the lark + Out of the dark + One cometh, singing; + + Silent in flight + Out of the night + Answer is winging. + + Forth to the dawn + Leaps like a fawn + A cry of high greeting, + + Into the sun + Two that have run + Seeking, are meeting. + + + + +_MAY 11, 1915_ + + + A prayer is forming on my tightened lips-- + Lord grant that I may keep my soul from hate! + I have known love, I have been pitiful, + Lord, I would keep my grief compassionate! + + Pain-maddened cries I hear from out the sea, + Upstaring at me, faces of the dead; + Those silent bodies seem to call aloud, + Those silent souls are still and comforted. + + And we are here to bear the weight of pain-- + Oh, keep the poison from its awful task! + Lord, let me be as they are ere I hate, + Let me love on! this, this is what I ask! + + However long the way, there is a turning, + Somewhere beyond the storm there lies a land + Where Peace abides, where love shall live again, + And men shall greet with friendly outstretched hand + + While little children laugh, and women weep + With happiness--Oh, Lord, until that hour + Keep Thou my hope, keep Thou my tenderness, + Keep Thou my trust in Thy far-seeing power! + + + + +_WATCHERS_ + + + I watch the Eastern sky + For a sign of dawn + Long delayed. + Such stillness is around + That every separate sense + Is twice-attuned, twice-powerful, + And loneliness enwraps me like a sea + Into whose unplumbed depths I must go down: + A sea unsatisfied + Where drifting shapes, wan-eyed, + Reach forth wan arms + Towards them who pause to look at their own souls + Mirrored upon the sea. + + Somewhere a loon + Sends forth its weary cry across the dark. + Oh, wailing bird, I know, I know! + I think tonight the soul of the world is desolate + And you and I its watchers. + + Yet cease! oh cease! + The night air quivers and resounds + To bear your cry across the sleeping lake, + And I would have your silence + While I make + My own complaint. + + For I would ask why we who have so little space + To live and love and wonder + Must go down into eternal mystery + Alone: + And I would know + Why, since that awful loneliness must be, + We go about as strangers here on earth + And meet and laugh and mock and part again + With never a look into each others’ eyes, + With never a question of each others’ pain. + + So, even as I hear your melancholy plaint + Across the sleeping lake, + I send my questing cry across the world-- + And as I watch and listen, + Through the stillness + There comes to me an echoing and a far reverberation + Of the many who have gone + Into the limitless mystery, + And thus they speak-- + + “We too have known your questing, + We too have stretched our arms forth to the night + And clasped its nothingness, + We too have lived and loved and wondered + For a little space + And then gone onward, + And we seek across the silence + To send our voices + Out, out, across the dark.” + + Is it your voice I hear, oh far, strange bird, + Or is it theirs-- + Theirs who have gone onward + Alone and unafraid? + Is there an answer I may sometime find, + Or is it that our lips are dumb, + Our eyes are blind, + When love would come? + + * * * * * + + Now faint light comes upon the shadowy sky, + The East is waking and the day begins. + You send your cry across the quivering lake, + I send my question out across the world, + We watch, we two, + Alone. + + + + +_TO MAURICE BROWNE_ + +(_On his creation of Capulchard in Cloyd Head’s “Grotesques.”_) + + + Shadows are round me as the dawn breaks, + Shadows with long white swaying arms + And anguished faces. + I see them meet and touch and part + Crying their desire, + While a bitter figure moulds them + In a shifting decoration + Which enchants, eludes and maddens, + Imprisoning my dreams. + + Now they plead and droop and cower, + Holding wan hands + To whatever gods there be, + Praying intercession + From the malign enchantment + Of their decorative doom + Whence they weep their silent tears. + + Oh, Draughtsman terrible + Who puts out the moon and stars, + Who smiles and waves a hand + And puppet hearts are broken, + Let them love! + Only a moment in a theater, + Only a moment under the stars, + All there may be before the end-- + Let them love! + + * * * * * + + The show is over. + The swaying puppets of a little longer hour + Go forth and cry out their desire + To a Master of Decoration,-- + Their God unseen, + And He, like you, smiles, puts forth a hand + And blots the moon and stars + And tears the glory from the earth and sky + And cries: + “Back to your places, fools! + You shall not love!” + + + + +_PRAYERS_ + + + Day by day I tread my appointed way + Greeting the sun with dutiful intent, + Seeing his slow decline into the West, + Watching draw near my night of quietude. + + Each day I see fade slowly back to join + Those other days, unlived, unloved, unmourned, + That have passed by in grave processional + With never a golden one to mark their passing. + + Sometimes at night I ask the friendly stars + “Tell me, what do I here? Why have I breath + And this fair body in a world of shadows? + Why do I live?” + But the stars shine silently + And make no answer. + + Sometimes I ask of God, + “Dear Lord, I love Thee well + But Thou art far away-- + Couldst Thou not send to me + Someone on earth to love? + So should I love Thee more.” + But God sends no one. + + Sometimes I ask the far tumultuous sea, + “Oh Sea, give me of your great beating heart! + Let me be swept on the whirlwind, + Let me be lulled and rocked, + Let me be storm-tossed, made mad, + Then--let me perish!” + But the Sea roars on unheeding. + + So day by day I tread my appointed way + Greeting the sun with dutiful intent, + Seeing his slow decline into the West, + Watching draw near my night of quietude. + + + + +_MY BOAT AND I_ + + + My staunch little boat is tugging at its moorings + Eager to be free, + Eager to slip out on the great waters + Beyond the returning tides, + Out to the unknown sea. + + My staunch little boat, unwilling prisoner, + Frets and pulls at the anchor chain + While the wind calls, + “Come! come! + I will bear you + Out to the unknown sea!” + + Long time my boat and I have plied the harbour + On little busy journeyings intent, + Long time with wistful gazing + I have listened to the calling-- + The winds with buffeting caress, + The waves with ceaseless urge-- + Calling “Rest, rest, rest, + Rest on an unknown sea.” + + And now we are away + Into the mystery. + Quietly the swaying waters + Rock and beguile and soothe us + That we may not know + We are so far away. + + Along the shore + Are hands stretched out. + What would you with me now, + Oh pleading hands? + I come not to you any more, + I have set my sail + Out to the unknown sea, + Would you have me stay adventuring? + Would you have me come again + To be amidst you + With alien eyes and a heart unquiet? + + Oh cease your crying! + I come not back. + Long time my little boat and I + Have fretted at the mooring, + Long time we have looked out beyond the bar + With a great questioning, and a great wonder, + And then, an hour came which held the parting + And we slipped + Out, out, to the unknown sea. + + * * * * * + + The hands stretched out have faded from my sight, + The shore is dim, + The mountains fade into the limitless blue, + Only the wind and the sea companion me, + Singing + “Rest, rest, rest, + Rest on an unknown sea.” + + + + +_PICTURES_ + + + I saw a little boy go hurrying + Towards an old man nodding in the sun. + He tweaked him by the sleeve + And gazed at him with insistent frowning eyes + Asking his question. + The old man blinked and muttered + And the child let go his sleeve + And drooped and turned away. + + * * * * * + + I saw a mother counselling her daughter + About her lover, and the girl was sullen, + Looking from out averted eyes + For means to go to him; + And the mother bowed her head + And turned away. + + * * * * * + + I saw two lovers meet with hungry arms, + And kiss and speak and kiss again-- + Then speak with challenging tones and fall apart. + I saw them turn with tightened lips made dumb + And eyes quick-quenched and dark. + Slowly they went their ways. + + * * * * * + + I saw a woman kneeling in a church, + Her head was bent upon worn hands + Clasped tightly. + Her dress was black and poor. + After a time she rose and shook her head, + Then beat her fist upon the rail + And clattered noisily down the aisle. + At the door she paused, + Narrowed her eyes at the holy water + And passed on. + + + + +_FORWARD, SINGING!_ + + + Listen, girl, stand there near me, + Give me your two fluttering hands, + Then listen. + + Little hurrying human beings + Are important and significant + Only in so far as they can stand alone. + Most of them stand sideways, + Propping themselves + Against this brother or that brother + Or this sister or that sister, + Leaving each prop + Only to carom swiftly to the next. + + Now shall not every one of these + Sometime discover + If his prop fall down + He falls as well? + + Listen, beautiful child, + I would carve my destiny alone! + As a keen-eyed captain steers his ship + By the light of the far north star + Awake, alert, alone. + + So, laughing girl + Whom I call to my side, + Hear! + I stand by myself. + I can love, aye, with a fierce flame, + But I love none so much, no man, no woman, + That his passing or his forgetfulness + Shall undo me. + I and my soul + Stand beyond the need of comforting. + None has power to make me + Helpless, incomplete, beholden. + + Now, bright child, golden girl, + Warm woman with the fluttering hands + Whom desire has brought, + Will you come to my arms? + I will give you love, + No other lover can give you love like mine, + Come! + + Ah, that is well: + Quick, your mouth, + And then forward, singing! + + But,--if you had not come, + Laughing girl, + I would have gone forward singing + Alone! + + + + +_BARBERRIES_ + + + You say I touch the barberries + As a lover his mistress? + What a curious fancy! + One must be delicate, you know, + They have bitter thorns. + You say my hand is hurt? + Oh no, it was my breast, + It was crushed and pressed-- + I mean--why yes, of course, of course-- + There is a bright drop, isn’t there? + Right on my finger, + Just the color of a barberry, + But it comes from my heart. + + Do you love barberries? + In the autumn + When the sun’s desire + Touches them to a glory of crimson and gold? + I love them best then. + There is something splendid about them; + They are not afraid + Of being warm and glad and bold, + They flush joyously + Like a cheek under a lover’s kiss, + They bleed cruelly + Like a dagger wound in the breast, + They flame up madly for their little hour, + Knowing they must die-- + Do you love barberries? + + + + +_TWO PATHS_ + + + Today it seemed God bent to me and said, + “Pilgrim, you are weary, are you unaware + You have two paths?” + And I answered, wondering, + “Tell me of them that I may choose.” + And God said + “You have set your face towards a far goal, + To be attained + Only with heartbreak of endeavor. + It is written should you choose this path + Many times you shall faint and falter, + Raising yourself with bruised hands + And bewildered eyes, + And when at last + You see the ending of the journey, + Before eternal silence comes, + You shall hear + A little clamouring and tinkling of men’s voices: + But you will smile quietly + And turn away.” + + “And the other path?” I asked. + In a different voice God said, + “The other path is short, + It ends but a little way ahead, + There is no attainment, no acclaim; + Only darkness, quiet, + Rest from desire, + And memory + In the heart of the beloved.” + + And I answered, + “I have chosen.” + + + + +_WHEN YOU COME_ + + (“There was a girl with him for a time. She took him to her room when + he was desolate and warmed him and took care of him. One day he could + not find her. For many weeks he walked constantly in that locality in + search of her.”--From Life of Francis Thompson.) + + + When you come tonight + To our small room + You will look and listen-- + I shall not be there. + + You will cry out your dismay + To the unheeding gods; + You will wait and look and listen-- + I shall not be there. + + There is a part of you I love + More than your hands in mine at rest; + There is a part of you I love + More than your lips upon my breast. + + There is a part of you I wound + Even in my caress; + There is a part of you withheld + I may not possess. + + There is a part of you I hate-- + Your need of me + When you would be alone, + Alone and free. + + When you come tonight + To our small room + You will look and listen-- + I shall not be there. + + + + +_REST_ + + + Often I have listened curiously + To the sound of a simple word + All seemed to know, + And wondered why I could not find + Its meaning. + + Often I have dreamed + Of that great Nothingness, + That Silence which shall come, + And asked if that + Were rest. + + To the unquiet sea + I have gone down + Seeking companionship, + Calling out to the beating waves + “Do you too ask for rest?” + + Of the wind and the rain + Singing their requiem + Over dead summer + I have asked, + “You will be quiet soon; + Where do you find rest?” + + To the white moon + Sailing serenely + I have said, + “You are dim and old and cold; + Have you found rest?” + + To the eternal sun + Uprising solemnly + I have cried out, + “And this new day you bring, + Will it hold my rest?” + + Once to my heart tumultuous + There came a gleaming, + A far prophecy that like a fairy benison descending + Gave answer to my questioning-- + Strange message lit with wonderment-- + + “Deep in the city’s labyrinthine heart + There shall be moonlight for us and white song.” + So ran the words, + And like a diapason of sweet sound + Across the stillness, + Echoing, profound, + There crept the promise,--rest. + + And then--you came. + I turned to find your hand, your arms, your breast. + Deep in the city’s labyrinthine heart + You held me close, at rest. + + + + +_MORITURUS TE SALUTO_ + + + When one goes hence + By his own hand alone + We look aside. + In a hushed tone + We say--“What pain has gone before + The sudden end?” + + But I shall go + Because I know + No longer can the earth + Hold any other joy for me + Like this. + + One night we had together, + Only one. + In all the years + For all my tears + The gods have given me + Only one night, + And it is over. + + Now I am glad to go + Into the Silence. + I have breathed the heights. + I should but know + The level ways and paths + Of little valleys, + I will not, this should be. + + So, Beloved, + Remember + It is because of happiness, + Not sorrow, + That I go. + From the far coolness + Of eternity + I shall look out + To the grave stars, + Singing. + + + + +_FLASHLIGHTS_ + + + The winter dusk creeps up the Avenue + With biting cold. + Behind bright window panes + In gauzy garments + Waxen ladies smile + As shirt-sleeved men + Hustle them off their pedestals for the night. + + Along the Avenue + A girl comes hurrying, + Holding her shawl. + She stops to look in at the window. + “Oh Gee!” she says, “look at the chiffon muff!” + A whimpering dog + Falters up to cringe against her skirt. + + A man in his shirt sleeves lolls against a tree, + His feet stick out, + His hands lie on the grass, palms up. + He stares ahead. + Now and again he turns himself + As from the enshrouding darkness forms emerge + Dragging their feet, arms interlocked, + Wan faces raised to the flare of light. + Sometimes these kiss, + Scream in brief laughter, or throw their bodies + Prone on the welcoming earth. + The man watches them, then turns his head, + Gets himself upon his feet + And walks away. + + Candles toppling sideways in tomato cans + Sputter and sizzle at head and foot. + The gaudy patterns of a patch-work quilt + Lie smooth and straight + Save where upswelling over a silent shape. + A man in high boots stirs something on a rusty stove + Round and round and round, + As a new cry like a bleating lamb’s + Pierces his brain. + After a time the man busies himself + With hammer and nails and rough-hewn lumber + But fears to strike a blow. + Outside the moonlight sleeps white upon the plain + And the bark of a coyote shrills across the night. + + A woman rocking, rocking, rocking, + A small hand waving, nestling: + Outside, lights blurred to starriness + And summer rain. + + * * * * * + + Little waves slap softly and monotonously + Against the pier: + A triangle of geese honk by; + On the darkening sand + Fresh lines traced with a stick-- + “I am sorry, Forgive,” + And a little oblong mound with a cross of twigs. + Near by a girl’s hat and dainty scarf. + + A smell of musk + Comes to him pungently through the darkness. + On the screen + Scenes from foreign lands + Released by the censor + Shimmer in cool black and white + Historic information. + He shifts his seat sideways, sideways-- + A seeking hand creeps to another hand, + And a leaping flame + Illuminates the historic information. + + Within the room, sounds of weeping + Low and hushed: + Without, a man, beautiful with the beauty + Of young strength, + Holds pitifully to the handle of the door. + He hiccoughs and turns away + While a hand organ plays + “The hours I spend with thee, dear heart.” + + A pink feather atop of a greying white straw hat, + A peek-a-boo waist and skirt showing a line of stocking + Above white shoes, + Stand in front of a judge + Who leans over a desk of golden oak + And summons forward a sulky, slouching boy. + “You are required by this Court,” says the judge, + “To pay over to this woman + One-third of your weekly wage + For the support of your innocent child.” + And the clerk of the court calls out + “Next on the docket?” + + + + +_FLOODGATES_ + + +THE MAN + + Dear, try to understand. + I wish that you could see, + Now I am free + Of all the fret and torment, + The little daily miseries of love, + That I can take you in my arms at night + With a quick tenderness, + With a new delight, + Yet go my way untroubled if I do not find you, + Forgetting in my zest for many things + There is a you. + + I wonder if you can ever understand? + Do you not know + That I would go + Forth now to meet life’s great adventuring + Alone? + + I would be unloosed from why and wherefore, + I would not be stayed + By sorrowing or rejoicing, + Even the enchantment of your nearness, + Or your touch at night + Is powerless any more + To come between my loneliness and me. + + They say that prisoners grow to love their chains, + So now, after long years of bitter reaching out, + Of crying to the winds + And clasping only shadows of my dreaming, + I love my torment. + + We are such old companions, + Loneliness and I! + We have learned to ask but little of each other; + There is no longer any turning away + With hurt, averted eyes; + So, Beloved, + Let me keep my loneliness for friend, + The only friend I trust. + + When you and I first met + And looked to each other’s eyes + Our swift desire, + I gave with reckless hands + My life into your keeping. + Upon your eyes, your words, your body’s grace + I hung, poor fool, a-tremble; + For you had power + To blot the brightening day, + To irradiate the night, + With your sweet hands + To lift me to the mountains where the spirits danced + Or drag me through a hell of furious pain. + + And you would like to have that power again + In your two hands? + Oh no, my little one, + No, my pretty one, + Henceforward + For all your sighing + You shall but have my sudden, strong caresses, + My tenderness, my love, + But know + That out, out, out I go + Into the sun + Alone. + + +THE WOMAN + + So, Man of mine! + I may henceforward ask + Only your strong caresses? + I am your little one, + I am your pretty one, + Even your Beloved, now that you are free + Of little fret and torment. + I may give you pleasuring, + But no more pain. + Is that your meaning? + I would be clear at last. + Oh Man of mine, + We are standing face to face, + Now let there shine + The search-light of our speech + Across the night of silence. + + Before us two + There lie dim years for traversing, + Behind, a mist + Through which we long time groped + With futile hands, + And now, today, we meet. + + Dear, do I not know + That there were gleams across the darkness-- + Swift lightenings + Towards which we onward pressed + As, for an instant, + Seeing our far quest + Within our grasp? + Perhaps these were your beckoning hands, + Your dancing spirits on the mountain peaks, + But not for long we saw them. + And now today it seems + That I must find + What shall be done + When you go out alone + Into the sun. + + I have so often watched your silent face, + Your quiet mouth, + Your smooth, white brow, + And longed for speech! + I have so often wished to tell + Of pent-up treasures in my breast + You could not find! + I would have given you such golden wealth + Had you but come! + Had you but said “I want your all.” + But you were dumb. + + You went your ways silently + And never asked my gift. + Dear, day by day I lifted to your lips + A chalice brimming with rich wine, + And you but sipped a little and turned away, + And the wine was spilled. + + The years have passed: + There may not be upgathering + Of wasted days, + As seasons flushed and waned + We have sown and reaped and harvested. + Now, what shall come? + + I cannot go forth + As you, into the Sun + Alone, + I cannot take + My loneliness by the hand + For chosen friend, as you. + I am a woman and I want + Not tenderness, + Not strong caresses only, + But the soul of you, + My Man. + + +THE MAN + + Dear, give me your hands, + Look into my eyes and tell me + If you can find the soul of me. + I think it has gone questing. + Call it back! + Recapture the wingèd thing, + And I will give it gladly + Into your keeping. + But, dear heart, be fearful-- + Souls are delicate. + What if mine died long since, + What time it gave up seeking + To find your own? + Your eyes are wet, forgive! + Let there be no more hurting, + Joy there has been in our meeting. + I would banish weeping. + Let the still waters wash away pain + Into the sea of forgetting. + Still may we look into each other’s eyes, + Still answer to the senses’ quick demand, + But as the years have marked us in their passing + So must we go onward-- + Hand in hand still, + Yet alone. + + + + +_CHLOROFORM_ + +(_Written in collaboration with Arthur Davison Ficke._) + + + A sickening odour, treacherously sweet, + Steals through my sense heavily. + Above me leans an ominous shape, + Fearful, white-robed, hooded and masked in white. + The pits of his eyes + Peer like the portholes of an armoured ship, + Merciless, keen, inhuman, dark. + The hands alone are of my kindred; + Their slender strength, that soon shall press the knife + Silver and red, now lingers slowly above me, + The last links with my human world ... + + ... The living daylight + Clouds and thickens. + Flashes of sudden clearness stream before me,--and then + A menacing wave of darkness + Swallows the glow with floods of vast and indeterminate grey. + But in the flashes + I see the white form towering, + Dim, ominous, + Like some apostate monk whose will unholy + Has renounced God; and now + In this most awful secret laboratory + Would wring from matter + Its stark and appalling answer. + At the gates of a bitter hell he stands, to wrest with eager fierceness + More of that dark forbidden knowledge + Wherefrom his soul draws fervor to deny. + + The clouds have grown thicker; they sway around me + Dizzying, terrible, gigantic; pressing in upon me + Like a thousand monsters of the deep with formless arms. + I cannot push them back, I cannot! + From far, far off, a voice I knew long ago + Sounds faintly thin and clear. + Suddenly in a desperate rebellion I strive to answer,-- + I strive to call aloud,-- + But darkness chokes and overcomes me: + None may hear my soundless cry. + A depth abysmal opens, + Receives, enfolds, engulfs me,-- + Wherein to sink at last seems blissful + Even though to deeper pain.... + + O respite and peace of deliverance! + The silence + Lies over me like a benediction. + As in the earth’s first pale creation-morn + Among winds and waters holy + I am borne as I longed to be borne. + I am adrift in the depths of an ocean grey + Like seaweed, desiring solely + To drift with the winds and waters; I sway + Into their vast slow movements; all the shores + Of being are laved by my tides. + I am drawn out toward spaces wonderful and holy + Where peace abides, + And into golden æons far away. + + But over me + Where I swing slowly, + Bodiless in the bodiless sea, + Very far, + Oh very far away, + Glimmeringly + Hangs a ghostly star + Toward whose pure beam I must flow resistlessly. + Well do I know its ray! + It is the light beyond the worlds of space, + By groping, sorrowing man yet never known-- + The goal where all men’s blind and yearning desire + Has vainly longed to go + And has not gone:-- + Where Eternity has its blue-walled dwelling-place, + And the crystal ether opens endlessly + To all the recessed corners of the world, + Like liquid fire + Pouring a flood through the dimness revealingly; + Where my soul shall behold, and in lightness of wonder rise higher + Out of the shadow that long ago + Around me with mortality was furled. + + I rise where have winds + Of the night never flown; + Shaken with rapture + Is the vault of desire. + The weakness that binds + Like a shadow is gone. + The bonds of my capture + Are sundered with fire! + + This is the hour + When the wonders open! + The lightning-winged spaces + Through which I fly + Accept me, a power + Whose prisons are broken-- + + * * * * * + + ... But the wonder wavers-- + The light goes out. + I am in the void no more; changes are imminent. + Time with a million beating wings + Deafens the air in migratory flight + Like the roar of seas--and is gone ... + And a silence + Lasts deafeningly. + In darkness and perfect silence + I wander groping in my agony, + Far from the light lost in the upper ether-- + Unknown, unknowable, so nearly mine. + And the ages pass by me, + Thousands each instant, yet I feel them all + To the last second of their dragging time. + Thus have I striven always + Since the world began. + And when it dies I still must struggle ... + + * * * * * + + The voice I knew so long ago, like a muffled echo under the sea + Is coming nearer. + Strong hands + Grip mine. + And words whose tones are warm with some forgotten consolation, + Some unintelligible hope, + Drag me upward in horrible mercy; + And the cold once-familiar daylight glares into my eyes. + + He stands there, + The white apostate monk, + Speaking low lying words to soothe me. + And I lift my voice out of its vales of agony + And laugh in his face, + Mocking him with astonishment of wonder. + For he has denied; + And I have come so near, so near to knowing.... + Then as his hand touches me gently, I am drawn up from the lonely abysses, + And suffer him to lead me back into the green valleys of the living. + + + + +_THE BEGINNING OF THE JOURNEY_ + + + Where are you, Dear? + What is it that I hold-- + A shape, a phantom, who will not ease my pain? + O Beloved! My beloved! + What is it comes between our seeking arms? + Lip to lip we press + And breast to breast, + Straining to overleap the barrier, + And all the while we know + We are apart. + We know tomorrow we shall be + More horribly + Alone. + + Do you remember + When we first cried out each to each? + How the valleys rang with laughter and gay words + And eager promises? + Do you remember how we told each other + Pain was over, + That nothing now could come + We could not still with kisses? + Do you remember those first days + When the world was lost in a dream and a forgetting + And eternity was ours? + + Then, as the years followed, + Do you remember how we found + That pain must be? + How, heavy-hearted, we gazed bewildered + Into each other’s eyes, + Asking, why? + + One night you would not speak, + And when I pressed you for your cause of silence + You said “I tried to tell you once + My heart’s dim heaviness, + But you are a man, you can never understand.” + And then I saw + That we were far away from one another, + For I had thought the same. + + And after + In a quick ache of sympathy + We kissed and clung, + And then you slept. + I heard the little sobbing breaths + Like a hurt child’s + Of a loneliness I had no power to soothe. + We asked so much! + We looked to each other as some look to God, + And when God came not + And our lifted hands were empty + We cried out that love was dead. + + We have grown patient since + And pitifully wise, + We see how little may be given, + And we are thankful + Lest there be nothing. + Yet even when I lay my wearied head + Upon your knees and fall asleep + To waken with your hand on my hot brow, + Then, when I thank God, if there be a God, + For you-- + We are apart. + + Yesterday I watched you + Protect the child against the winter cold. + Warmly you wrapped him + While his baby face laughed back at you + From its frame of softest fur: + I think a great hand comes and wraps us so, + Each in his loneliness as in an enfolding garment, + That we shall be ready + To make our last great journeying + Alone. + + As the years go onward + Little by little we turn + And draw away from love’s dominion, + Little by little we loose the clinging hands + That hinder from adventuring, + Oftener and more often + We go apart + To ask ourselves + The inevitable question. + The friends we seek are questioners + Who strive, like us, to cross with thoughts + The illimitable void: + + Therefore, Dear, give over + Trying to comfort, + Give over the wish to yield me + All I need-- + + Once long ago I lost myself in you, + Once long ago I was but part of you, + Bereft without you, + Mad for lack of you, + Now I am I, + Preparing to go onward + When the end shall come + Alone. + + + + +III + +STORIES IN METRE + + + + +_THE PRISONER_ + + + “We had a prisoner once,” the Warden said, + “Who was no common man. I could not say + To make it clear, where lay the difference, + And yet, and yet,--something was there I know.” + + “Tell me of him,” I said, drawing a chair, + Knowing that in the old man’s heart there lay + Many a story. + + “Willingly,” he answered, + “Yet when all’s said, you’ll know no more than I + Why his words puzzle me; why, when I pass + His cell, I always think that I can see + His eyes, his following eyes, that seemed to ask + Over and over again, some kind of question.” + + He thought a moment, then began his story + As if by careful measuring of his words + He tried to make me see what he found dim. + + “You know the row of cells,” he said, “they built + To make the fourth row ’round the hollow square? + They front the East, and so I put him there. + I’d hardly like to say what was the reason,-- + It seems so foolish; but, the day he came, + Just as the big door opened, I had seen + Him turn his head, and this is what he said: + ‘And it is I,--I, who have loved the Dawn!’ + A queer thing, wasn’t it? I suppose he thought + That he would never see it any more. + + “It’s strange how little things come back to you! + I can remember when he saw his cell + He bent his head, making a kind of greeting, + Then quickly stepped across and glanced around: + ‘And this is what I have to call my home’ + Was what he thought, I guess. It always seems + To sicken me somehow, to show ’em in, + The hopeful ones the most, I know so well + How soon the eager look will disappear!” + + “But tell me what he was in prison for?” + I said, and met the old man’s quick “What for? + Oh well, there wasn’t room enough outside. + Why do you want to know? What does it matter? + He was no common man. You’d think by now + I’d stop my foolish bothering. I’m used + Enough, God knows, to tangled human threads-- + Oh what’s the use to try and tell it now? + I’m such a fool! I can’t go by his cell + Without the wondering clutching at me here!” + He laid his hand upon his breast; I thought + His mind had dwelt too long with pain, and now + His fancies troubled him. “Mad then, perhaps?” + I asked, and saw my blundering words had been + Salt to a wound. He turned away and said + “No, no, he was not that, not mad,” and stepped + Beside a shelf of little useless things + Fumbling among them. + + Presently he turned + And placed within my hands a woman’s picture. + I took it silently, afraid to comment. + “Think what you please,” he said, “for I don’t know, + As no one came to take away his things + I kept the picture. It was dear to him.” + + A gentle woman’s face looked up at me; + A tender face, lips parted, young grave eyes. + I seemed to see within their depths a question, + And turned to meet the old man’s twisted smile. + Nodding, he murmured, “So, you see it too?” + Then took the picture from me and began + Again, though haltingly, his troubled tale. + + “At first he read and spoke and ate his food + As if he thought he would not be here long + And must be patient. Often he would ask + What time it was, or if it rained or shone, + Begging for outside news, and when I brought + Letters or papers, seized them greedily + And strained his eyes to get the contents quickly. + Sometimes he’d hail me as I passed along + With such a flow of eager questioning talk, + I wondered anyone so rich in words + Could bear his solitude and not go mad + With silence; but--our prison rules are stern. + I shot the bolts that dulled that silver voice, + And now I hear it echoing down the years.” + + The old man rose and made a little pretence + To put the picture back upon the shelf. + + “Well, time went on,” seating himself, he said, + “And as I made my rounds each day I thought + The prisoner seemed to draw himself away. + Not rudely; more as if he could not break + The current of his thoughts, and up and down + He’d walk; they all do that, but he as if + He had some light inside his mind. Don’t think + I’m crazy, but,--it’s hard to put in words. + Sometimes I’d have my little try to break + Across the distance. With a sudden smile + He’d lay his hand upon me--‘Yes, I know, + I know,’ and so would push me to the door. + I feared to go to him, and yet I loved + The man as if he’d been my son. I knew + The end was coming soon. My heart was sore, + But I was powerless. + + “One thing alone + Could wean him from his strange expectancy, + A little written word that came half-yearly. + I knew that it was due, and when it came + I beat upon his door; I had the letter-- + Slowly he turned to meet me and I stopped, + Seeing it was too late. + + “Then from my hands + He took the letter, lifting it silently, + The way a priest lifts up the sacrament, + Then gave it slowly back to me and said, + ‘Why bring me bread? So little, little bread? + Why eke my life along so grudgingly? + Take back the letter, I am far away, + Keep back the bread and I shall sooner know.’ + And followed by his eyes, I left the cell + And soon he died. + + “No no, he was not mad, + But only one to whom the Dawn was real.” + + + + +_ELLIE_ + + + She came to do my nails. + Came in my door and stood before me waiting, + A great big lummox of a girl-- + A continent. + Her dress was rusty black + And scant, + Her hat, a melancholy jumble of basement counter bargains. + Her sullen eyes, + Like a whipped animal’s, + Shone out between her silly bulging cheeks and puffy forehead. + + She dropped her coat upon a chair + And waited; + Then, at a word, busied herself + With files and delicate scissors, + Sweet-smelling oils and my ten finger-tips. + + She proved so deft and silent + I bade her come again; + And twice a week + While summer dawned and flushed and waned + She used me in her parasitic trade. + The dress grew rustier, + The hat more melancholy, + And Ellie fatter. + + Each time she came I wondered as she worked + If thought lay anywhere + Behind that queer uncouthness. + She had a trick of seizing with her eyes + Each passing thing, + An insatiate greediness for something out of reach; + And yet she seemed enwrapped + In a kind of solemn patience, + Large, aloof and waiting. + We hardly ever spoke-- + I could not think of anything worth saying; + One does not chatter with a continent. + Finally it was homing time; + The seashore town was raw and desolate + And idlers flitted. + The last day Ellie came + Her calm was gone, she had been crying. + Fat people never ought to cry; + It’s awful.... + The hot drops fell upon my hand + While Ellie dropped the scissors suddenly + And sniffed and blew and sobbed + In disconcerting and unreserved abandonment. + I said the usual things; + I would have patted her but for the grease, + But Ellie was not comforted. + + Not until the storm was spent + And only little catching breaths were left + I got the reason. + “I’m so fat,” she gulped, “so awful, awful fat + The boys won’t look at me.” + And then it came, the stammered, passionate cry: + Could I not help? + Could I not find a medicine? + We talked and talked + And when at dusk she went, a teary smile + Hovered a moment on her mouth + And in those sullen, swollen eyes + A little hope perhaps; + I did not know. + + The city and its interests soon engulfed me. + A letter or two, + A doctor’s vague advice to bant and exercise, + And Ellie and her woes passed from my mind + Until, as summer dawned again, + I heard that she was dead. + A curious letter written stiffly, + From Ellie’s mother, + Told me I was invited to the funeral + “By wish of the Deceased.” + + Wondering I travelled to the little town + Where the sea beat and groaned + And sorrowed endlessly, + And made my way down the steep street + To Ellie’s door. + Her mother met me in the hall + And motioned, + “She wanted you to see her,” + Then ushered me into an awful place, the parlor-- + A place of emerald plush and golden oak + Set round with pride and symmetry, + And in the midst + A black and silver coffin-- + Ellie’s coffin. + Raising the lid she pointed and I looked. + + Somewhere in Florence Mino da Fiesole + Has made a tomb + Where deathless beauty lies with upturned face. + Two gentle hands, palms meeting, + Touch with their pointed forefingers + A delicate chin, and over the vibrant body + Clings a white robe + Enshrouding chastely + Warm curving lines of adolescent grace. + No sleeper this,-- + The figure glows, alert, awake, aware, + As if some sudden ecstacy had stolen life + And held imprisoned there + The moment of attainment + Rapt, imperishable and fair. + + Even so lay Ellie, + And when from somewhere far I heard + The mother’s voice + I listened vacantly. + + The woman chattered on, + “The dress you know, white chiffon, like a wedding dress-- + I never knew she had it, + She must ’a made it by herself. + It’s queer it fitted perfectly + An’ her all thin like that-- + She must ’a thought--” + + Then black-robed relatives came streaming in + To look at Ellie. + I watched them start + And glance around for explanation. + The mother pinched my arm: + “Don’t ask me anything now,” she whispered; + “Come back tonight.” + + Then old, old words were sung and prayed and droned, + While everybody dutifully cried, + And when the village parson + Rhythmically proclaimed, + And this mortal shall put on immortality,-- + With a great welcoming + And a great lightening + I knew at last the ancient affirmation. + + When evening came I found the mother + Sitting amidst her golden oak and plush + In a kind of isolated stateliness. + She led me in. + “’Twas the stuff she took that did it,” + She began; “I never knew till after she was dead. + The bottles in the woodshed, hundreds of ’em + All labelled ‘Caldwell’s Great Obesity Cure + Warranted Safe and Rapid.’ + Oh ain’t it awful?” and she fell to crying miserably; + “But wasn’t she real pretty in her coffin?” + And then she cried again + And clung to me. + + + + +_THE PARK BENCH_ + + +A STRANGER, A MAN, A WOMAN + + _The pallid night wind touched their burning cheeks + With fetid breath, whispered a dim distress + And flickered out; while whirling insects danced + Their crazy steps with death around the light._ + +THE STRANGER + + The night is hot and the crowds intolerable, + May I sit here between you on this bench? + +THE MAN + + I s’pose the bench is free to anybody. + +THE STRANGER + + I’ve been walking up and down and wondering + If I should speak. You sat here silently, + You two. I could not tell what troubled you. + +THE WOMAN + + I guess I was thinkin’, Mister. I didn’t know + There was any other person anywhere near. + +THE MAN + + I don’t know who she is. She’s nothin’ to me. + She’s got a kid there in her shawl, maybe + Her trouble’s there. + +THE STRANGER + + It’s hard to keep up courage; + The heat is sickening, it weighs you down. + I’d like to see the child; may I see its face? + +THE WOMAN + + He’s two weeks old today. + +THE STRANGER + + A sturdy youngster! + What do you call him? What’s his name, I mean? + Don’t turn away. I meant no harm, you know. + +THE MAN + + Didn’t I tell you? Something’s wrong, I guess. Maybe + He’s deserted, with another comin’ on. + Ask her again; likely she’s needin’ help. + +THE STRANGER + + You seem unhappy. Can’t you tell me why? + I’d like to help you if I can, because-- + Well, once I had a little son like that. + Come! what have you got to tell? Out with the story. + See there, the boy is stretching out a hand, + He knows a friend is somewhere ’round, eh, Sonny? + +THE WOMAN + + You’d like to know what I have got to tell? + I guess you don’t know what you’re askin’, Mister. + You see that big house over there? You see + This baby blinkin’ here? Well, that’s the house + His father lives in. I just found it out, + Found where it was, I mean, then I come here-- + Oh, what’s the sense o’ tellin’ any more? + That’s all there is, I guess. + +THE STRANGER + + I’d like the story; + Sometimes the pain is eased by speaking out. + +THE WOMAN + + I don’t know why you want to know about me, + It’s no concern of yours, but if you’ll promise + You’ll let him be, I’ll tell you all there is. + +THE STRANGER + + You have my promise. + +THE WOMAN + + More’n a year ago + It was, I seen him first, an’ ’twasn’t long + Before I thought a lot and so did he. + He said he’d take a flat and furnish it + And we’d keep house together all alone. + He said he had to travel, but he’d come + As often as he could, and stay as long. + I’d worked, you know; I never had a place + I liked to live in, an’ he let me buy + A lot of things I wanted; then he’d laugh + And say I liked the flat so much, perhaps + He’d better stay away and not muss up + The tidies on the chairs. He always had + A lot of money. When he gave me some + He’d never say how much it was, but just, + “Here’s more to buy the tidies with,” and laugh. + It wasn’t long--that little time. I like + To think about it, but it seems so far! + Just like another city or a place + That wasn’t any more; I don’t know why, + I guess the flat’s there still, if I should go-- + Hush, honey, hush--don’t you be cryin’ now. + + I s’pose I’d ought to tell you that he said + I mustn’t have the kid. I didn’t care; + I didn’t want it, neither. When I knew, + I had to tell, because I got so sick. + He didn’t say a word to make me cry, + Not much of anything. He put a lot + Of money in the drawer and went away-- + I never seen him since, until--today. + Until--today--over there, this afternoon + I seen him laughin’ with another kid, + And mine right here, right here, do you understand? + +THE STRANGER + + I think I understand, but please go on. + +THE WOMAN + + I told you he’d put money in the drawer; + I hated takin’ it; but o’ course it lasted + For quite a while,--until I had to go + And be took care of at a hospital. + At first I tried to find him, but I knew + He didn’t want me to. I thought perhaps + When I could take the kid, he’d like it then. + When I was packin’ up I found a paper, + A bill, I guess, all rumpled, in a coat + He left. It had a name I didn’t know. + At first I didn’t think, but lyin’ there + All quiet in the hospital I saw + It was his name, his truly name, and where + He lived and all. This afternoon my time + Was up--by rights I’d oughta left the ward + Four days ago. They gave me this, for the food, + Directions how to fix it right, you know, + And told me I could go, and so I came. + I thought he’d surely want to see me now, + When I was well again, just like I was. + + I waited in the park and watched the house, + It looked so big I couldn’t ring the bell. + Maybe ’twas six o’clock I saw him come; + Just by the steps a baby carriage turned + And waited for him comin’ up the street. + The woman wheelin’ it called out “Look there! + There’s Daddy! Can’t you throw a kiss to him?” + I saw him lift the baby ’way up high, + And carry it in the house. Then I come here. + +THE STRANGER + + I see. And that is all you plan to do? + I mean, you won’t go back? + +THE WOMAN + + What can I do? + You see, he doesn’t want me any more. + I’d like to die, but here’s the kid! I guess + I can’t leave him. An’ anyway I’m ’fraid + To die alone. I don’ know what I’ll do. + +THE MAN + + I wish that I could think of anything + To say that maybe’d help a little bit. + May I just--shake your hand?--Excuse me, Mister. + +THE WOMAN + + I didn’t know as you was listenin’ too. + +THE MAN + + Perhaps you’d like to hear what’s happened to me. + You’ll see that somebody has known the like + Of what you’re feelin’, maybe it will help. + +THE STRANGER + + Ah! I was right then? Both of you are troubled? + The night has brought us three together here; + We must be friends. It’s queer how loneliness + Makes one reach one, as I have reached, to you. + I think each one of us needs both the others. + +THE MAN + + Well, Mister, you don’t look as if you’d need + Our help, but maybe you do, maybe, who knows? + I’ll tell you what’s been happening to me. + I’m sick of thoughts goin’ round and round and round, + I wonder if anybody’ll ever know, + I mean to understand, what I’ve been thinkin’. + +THE STRANGER + + Why don’t you start? We’ll try to understand. + +THE MAN + + I’ll tell you first that I’m a drinking man, + And that’s a thing that causes lots of trouble. + She’s not to blame, she stood it for a while. + She had the children, there are two, you know, + But I was pretty bad. I hated it, + But there it was, and every day a fight, + And oftener and oftener I’d lose. + One day she went away and took the children. + They served some papers on me; I was drunk + And didn’t care; but pretty soon I knew + That she had gone for good. A lawyer came + And talked to me, after she’d talked to him. + And afterwards I saw her in the Court. + The Judge said I must leave our house, and if, + For two years, I could cut the liquor out + She’d let me back. + + And so I got a room + About two blocks away where I could see + The children as they passed along to school. + Sometimes I’d walk a little way with them, + But when I couldn’t answer all their questions + I’d think I’d better let ’em be, and so + I’d only watch ’em from behind the blind. + Well, Ma’am, I tried my best; I made a calendar + To mark the days. I got a good promotion. + The time went by, and all the while I thought + Two years are only seven hundred days + And thirty over! I can stick it out! + And then one day I’ll dress myself up clean + And meet the children and we’ll go back home. + I’d marked the calendar six hundred off + And eighty-six, and forty-four were left. + The heat came on and took the starch all out + Of everything. I didn’t care what happened. + I thought she didn’t mean to keep her promise-- + A week ago--oh, well, you know the rest. + I don’t know where I’ve been. I’d like to die, + Only I’ve been so lonesome in that room. + I seem to be afraid to die alone! + +THE WOMAN + + I’m awful sorry, Mister, awful sorry. + Seems like tonight most everybody’s luck + Has all gone back on ’em. Thank you for tellin’! + +THE STRANGER + + There’s no use sitting here in silence, is there? + We’ve got to find some way to help you both. + I’d like to if I can, but anyhow, + We’ve helped each other just by speaking out. + If you’ll wait here I’ll get a cab and take + You and the baby to the Sisters’ Home. + Perhaps you’ll come to my office in the morning; + I’d like to talk to you; I’m sure we’ll find + There’s something we can plan. Here is the address. + I sha’n’t be long, keep talking so’s to cheer her, + It was a kindly thought of yours to tell + Your story after hers. We’ll find some way. + +THE WOMAN + + What ’ud he mean? About the Sisters’ Home? + +THE MAN + + Some place where you an’ the kid can go, I s’pose. + +THE WOMAN + + It’s queer how everybody’s good to you + ’Ceptin’ the only one you want to be. + +THE MAN + + He said it wasn’t any use to sit + Here silent; that you’d better speak it out; + It always helped. He said he’d find a way. + Do you believe there’s anything ahead + For you or me? I wonder if there is. + +THE WOMAN + + I’m done with wonderin’ long ago, I know! + I want to die! God, how I want to die! + But here’s the kid, he didn’t ask to come, + And he’s so little, what ’ud become of him? + +THE MAN + + Do you believe there’s anything--over there? + +THE WOMAN + + There’s rest. + +THE MAN + + I know there’s rest, but when I’ve sat + All by myself there in that little room + Thinking things out, sometimes it seemed there must + Be something more. I’d mighty well like to know. + +THE WOMAN + + If I could find someone to take the kid + I’d like to rest, just rest, I wouldn’t want + Much of anything more. There isn’t anything. + I wish I wasn’t scared to die alone. + +THE MAN + + You said that once before. Do you mean it, really? + +THE WOMAN + + What are you thinkin’ about? Say it out, say it out! + +THE MAN + + What if we went together, you and I? + There ain’t any use of livin’ any more. + We’d find out something, anyhow. + +THE WOMAN + + You mean-- + +THE MAN + + I mean I’m sick o’ livin’, so are you. + Put the kid down there by the evergreens. + He’ll come and find it--he said he’d get a cab; + He’ll take it to the Sisters. Oh, I’m crazy! + Don’t put it there! Take it up again, I say! + A little kid like that! Don’t listen to me. + +THE WOMAN + + He’s sleeping now; he’ll never know what’s happened. + +THE MAN + + You’re goin’ to? Well, come along then fast + Or he’ll come back. We’re both of us crazy now, + But what’s the sense of livin’ any more? + Maybe there’s something better--over there. + +THE WOMAN + + Wait till I fix him comfortable. Say, Mister, + I was lookin’ at the river, by the pier, + Only I was afraid. Will you stay beside me? + +THE MAN + + Yes, that’s the place, come quickly, ’twon’t take long. + +THE WOMAN + + Maybe we could find a piece of iron + Or something heavy, so’s they wouldn’t find us; + There’s lots around the pier. + +THE MAN + + I’ll tell you what: + I’ll tie our hands together to the iron + So the waves won’t-- + + + + +_THE SISTERS_ + + + We four + Live here together + My three old sisters and I + In a white cottage + With flowers on each side of the path up to the door. + It is here we eat together, + At eight, one, and seven, + All the year round, + It is here we sew together + On garments for the Church sewing society + Here,--behind our fresh white dimity curtains + That I’ll soon have to do up and darn again. + It is this cottage we mean + When we use the word Home. + Is it not here we lie down and sleep + Each night all near together? + + We never meet + My three old sisters and I. + We never look into each others’ eyes + We never look into each others’ souls, + Or if we do for a moment + We quickly begin to talk about the jam + How much sugar to put in and when. + We run away and hide, like mice before the light; + We are afraid to look into each others’ souls + So we keep on sewing, sewing. + + My three old sisters are old + Very old. + It is not such a great while since they were born + Yet they are old. + I think it is because they will not look and see. + I am not old + But pretty soon I will be. + I was thinking of that when I went to him + Where he was waiting. + + My sisters had been talking together all the long afternoon + While I sat sewing and silent, + Clacking, clacking away while the lilac scent came in at the window + And the branches beckoned and sighed. + This is what they said-- + “How did that paper come into our house?” + “Fit to be burnt, don’t you think?” + Then the third, “It’s a shameless sheet + To print such a sensual thing.” + The paper lay on the table there, between my three sisters + With my poem in it,-- + My little happy poem without any name. + I had been with him when I wrote it and I wanted him again. + The words arose in my heart clamouring for birth-- + And there they were, between my three sisters. + Each read it in turn + Holding the paper far off with the tips of her fingers. + Then they hustled it into the fire + Giving it an extra poke with the tongs, a vicious poke. + Then each sister settled back to her sewing + With a satisfied air. + I looked at them and I wondered. + I looked at each one, + And I went to him that night-- + Where he was waiting. + + My three old sisters are dying + Though they do not know it. + They are not dying serenely + After life is over, + They are just getting dryer and dryer + And sharper and sharper; + Soon there will not be any more of them at all. + + I am not like them + I cannot be + For I have a reason for living. + While they were picking their little pale odourless blossoms + I gathered my great red flower + And oh I am glad, glad, + For now when the time comes I can die serenely, + I can die after living. + But first what is to come? + I am going to give my three old sisters a shock + Then what a rumpus there will be! + They will upbraid and reproach + And then they will whisper to each other, nodding slowly and sadly + Telling each other it is not theirs to judge. + So they will become kind and pitiful + Affirming that I am their sister + And that they will stick by and see me through. + But underneath they will be touching me with the lifted tips of their fingers. + They would like to hustle me into the fire + With an extra poke of the tongs. + + Perhaps I will pretend to hang my head, + Perhaps I will to please them, + I am very obliging-- + But in my heart I shall be laughing with a great laughter, + A great exaltation. + + Yes they will upbraid and reproach + In grave and sisterly accents + And mourn over me, + One who has fallen; + Yet I suspect + As each one goes to her cold little room, + Deep in her breast she will envy + With a terrible envy + The child that is mine + And the night + The incredible night + When the sun and the moon and the stars + Bent down + And gave me their secrets. + + + + +_REASON_ + + + Doctor! Doctor! I want you to come in. + Doctor! Don’t you hear me? Don’t go by! + That’s right, come in here now and shut the door. + Sit down there in that chair + And listen. + Don’t sit there with that silly smile all over you. + I’m going to make you listen. + + You know when I first came they wanted me to talk. + I could see them trying, with little tricks and questions. + Well, now I will,-- + I’ll tell you if you’ll let me out. + Will you, Doctor? Will you? + Those bars there at the window make me sick, + And the screaming all around. + You have to holler too, to keep from hearing! + The nurse said I’d be in the padded room + If I kept on-- + Say, Doctor, will you let me out + After I’ve told you everything there is? + Will you? Will you? Will you? + + Oh very well, + You can open the door then now. + I don’t want you any more; I’ll never tell-- + Say, Doctor, don’t go yet awhile; + Turn round, don’t go, I want to talk to you. + There, please sit down again, I’ll promise not to holler. + I’ll tell you all about it and then you’ll see-- + You’ll let me go, I know you will. + I tell you I’ve got to go and find ’em, + Find ’em all--Father and Grandfather, + All that made me go back home, + That made me do it-- + But you don’t know, + I’ll have to find some place to start at. + + The first night that he tried to get at me, and he like that, + I cried, + Soon as he saw me crying he went off + And got a quilt + And made a bed out in the sitting-room. + He got up early so I didn’t see him. + I thought all day, + And I kissed him when he came at supper time. + + That night he seemed just like he was at first, + I mean when we were married first, + I thought he wouldn’t do it ever again-- + Say, Doctor, don’t you tell, + But somebody came when I was out + And fixed his food up so’s he’d want the stuff, + I know who it was, but I won’t tell, + Not till I’m out of here. + + She did it out of spite, I know, I know-- + Doctor, who is that hollerin’? Make her stop-- + I guess you’d think it “mattered” some + If you heard it all the time-- + Well, finally I couldn’t keep him in the sitting-room, + I had to let him in, he hammered so, + And then--Oh, Doctor, stop her please! + I don’t see what she’s hollerin’ for, + Nobody got in her bed reeling drunk-- + I couldn’t help him coming--I couldn’t, an’ I tried! + + Next day I went around and did the dishes up, + And cooked the dinner ready, and all the time I thought + “Supposing it’s happened--what’ll the child be then? + What’ll I have to bring into the world? + Supposing it’s happened--” + + Perhaps it was nearly supper time, + I don’t know clearly, + But I couldn’t stay, I couldn’t! + I left a letter for him and went home. + I walked around the corner of the house and there they were + Sitting at supper, Father and Grandfather + And Ma and little Ben. + I stood and looked at them. + It seemed such a little while since I was sitting there + Not thinkin’ anything, + Finally I went in and said + “I’ve come home,--I’ve come away from Jim, I mean. + Don’t everybody look at me like that-- + I tell you I’ve come home.” + + Then Ma got up and took me in her room + And fixed the bed for me-- + She said we’d talk it over in the morning. + + I stayed pretty near two months at home, + And all the while Father and Grandfather + And even little Ben + Were at me to go back, + Father kept saying all he wanted was my happiness. + And then they got the clergyman + And he talked just the same. + And then Jim came. + They all were nice to him and Jim was dreadfully sorry. + He hadn’t had a drop, he said, and if I’d come + He’d never touch a single thing again-- + Oh, Doctor, make her stop! + Go make her stop, I say, what’s she got to holler for? + Don’t forget you promised if I’d tell + You’d let me out-- + Do you want to hear the rest? + I’m telling you straight enough, more’n I told the family-- + I never told them anything, + I mean what I thought might happen, + And nobody ever had the sense to guess + What I was afraid of, + Nobody but Ma, + And after the first she didn’t do anything but cry + And say Father knew best. + + The second time Jim came, I said I’d go, + I was so tired of everybody talkin’ at me-- + Oh I don’t want to tell you any more-- + I’m crazy with her hollerin’. + You know the rest--I squeezed his eyes out-- + ’Cause he was lookin’ at me + When I let him in--after his hammerin’-- + Then they brought me here-- + + Doctor, I’ve told you everything. + Doctor, let me out! + Let me out! Let me out! Let me out! + + + + +_HER SECRET_ + + + My secret and I stand here in front of the glass. + We are bedecking ourselves for an evening of gayety. + We look down and make our lips smile-- + We look up and make ourselves laugh, + And then we turn and look into the glass again + To see if others will believe that our eyes are smiling too. + + How long will it last, the evening? + It will be three hours at least, maybe four. + There will be music and bright dresses and clinking and chattering + And everybody will laugh; there will be a great deal of laughter. + Everybody will go about with smiling lips, + But if you stop and look + You will see that everybody’s eyes are hungry. + + None of them shall know my secret + No one knows that-- + Not any one in all the world. + + There was one other knew + But he is dead. + I heard that he was dead just now-- + + A little while ago-- + Just a few minutes ago by the clock. + I was putting on my beautiful dress + When I heard a list read out from the paper, many names, + A long, long list. + I went on fastening my embroidered slippers + While they read and read-- + It came while I was buttoning my gloves, my long gloves; + There are a number of buttons. + No one shall guess my secret. + + There is a woman somewhere, + I do not know where she is; + But all her friends are hastening, + Coming from all about + To surround her with their melancholy faces. + + Soon they will get for her a black dress and a long black veil. + They will lead her faltering to a church, + Her two wondering children held to her side, one by each hand. + She will be very important. + They will say beautiful things about him-- + Beautiful sad things-- + And all the time, hid by her long black veil, + Her eyes will be smiling--smiling. + + And what have I of him? + What shall I take with me to the party? + Only the memory of that last dawn + When I gave him all and bade him go. + + + + +_A LITTLE GIRL_ + + +I + + I see a little girl sitting bent over + On a white stone door-step. + In the street are other children running about; + The shadows of the waving trees flicker on their white dresses. + + Some one opens the door of the house + And speaks to the child on the steps. + She looks up and asks an eager question. + The figure shakes her head and shuts the door. + The child covers up her face + To hide her tears. + + +II + + Three children are playing in a garden-- + Two boys and an awe-struck little girl; + They have plastered the summer-house with clay, + Making it an unlovely object. + + A grown-up person comes along the path. + The little girl runs to her and stops, + Asking the same question--“Where is my Mother?” + The grown-up person does not make any answer. + She looks at the summer-house and passes along the path. + + The little girl goes slowly into the house + And climbs the stairs. + + +III + + The little girl is alone in the garden. + A white-haired lady of whom she is afraid + Comes to find her and tell her a joyful thing. + + The little girl runs to the nursery. + The young nurse is doing her hair in front of the glass. + The little girl sees how white her neck is + And her uplifted arms. + + Tomorrow they will be gone--they will not be here-- + They are going to find--Her. + The young nurse turns and smiles + And takes the little girl in her arms. + + +IV + + The little girl is travelling on a railway train, + Everything rushes by very fast,-- + Houses, and children in front of them, + Children who are just staying at home. + + The train cannot go fast enough, + The little girl is saying over and over again, + “My Mother--My onliest Mother-- + I am coming to you, coming very fast.” + + +V + + The little girl looks up at a great red building + With a great doorway. + It opens and the little girl is led in, + Looking all about her. + A Lady in a white dress and white cap comes. + + After a long time + A man in a black coat comes in. + He says “She is not well enough, I am afraid.” + The little girl is led away. + She always remembers the words + The man in the black coat said. + + +VI + + The little girl is waiting in the big hallway, + In the house of the white-haired lady. + At the end of the path she can see the summer-house + With its queer grey cover. + + The hall clock ticks very slowly. + The hands must go all around again + Before the mother will come. + + Now it is night. + The little girl is lying in her bed. + There is a piano going somewhere downstairs. + She is telling herself a story and waiting. + Soon She will come in at the door. + + There will be a swift shaft of light + Across the floor. + And She will come in with a rustling sound. + She will lie down on the bed + And the little girl will stroke her dress and crinkle it + To make the sound again. + + Pretty soon the mother will step slowly and softly to the door, + And quietly turn the handle. + The little girl will speak and stop her, + Asking something she has asked many times before,--“My Father?” + But the mother has never anything to answer. + + +VII + + The mother and the little girl are sitting together sewing. + Outside there is snow. + A woman with a big white apron + Comes to the door of the room and speaks. + + The mother drops her work on the floor + And runs down the stairs. + The little girl stands at the head of the stairs + And cries out “My Father!” but no one hears. + They pass along the hall-- + + The little girl creeps down the stairs, + But the door is closed. + + +VIII + + The little girl is held and rocked, + Held so tightly it hurts her. + She moves herself free. + + Then quickly she puts her face up close, + And there is a taste of salt on her tongue. + + +IX + + In a bed in an upper chamber, + A bed with high curtains, + A woman sits bowed over. + Her hair streams over her shoulders, + Her arms are about two children. + + The older one is trying to say comforting things, + The little girl wants to slip away,-- + There are so many people at the foot of the bed-- + + Out of the window, across the yellow river + There are houses climbing up the hillside. + The little girl wonders if anything like this + Is happening in any of those houses. + + +X + + Many children and grown-up people + Are standing behind their chairs around a bright table + Waiting for the youngest child to say grace. + + It is very troublesome for the youngest child + To get the big words out properly. + The little girl interrupts and says the grace quickly. + + The white-haired lady of whom the little girl is afraid + Is angry. + The little girl breaks away and runs + To the room of the bed with the high curtains. + + She rushes in-- + The room is empty. + She comes back to the table, + But she does not dare to ask the question. + She remembers the great red building + With the great doorway. + + +XI + + The little girl is trying to read a fairy story. + There is nobody in the garden. + There is nobody in the house but the white-haired lady. + + Someone comes to tell her her father is there-- + She does not want to see him, + She is afraid. + + +XII + + The front door is open. + There is rain, leaves are whirling about. + A carriage with two horses + And a coachman high up, holding a long whip, + Stands waiting in front of the door. + + The little girl is holding onto the banisters. + They take away her hands from the banisters + And lead her to the carriage in front of the door. + Someone gets in behind her, + The carriage door is shut, + The little girl draws herself to the far corner. + They drive away. + The little girl looks back out of the window. + + +XIII + + The little girl is in a strange house + Where there are young men called uncles + Who talk to her and laugh. + A large lady sits by the table and knits and smiles, + In her basket are different coloured balls of wool, + Pretty colours, but not enough to make a pattern. + There is a curly soft little black dog + That hides under the table. + The uncles pull him out, + And he tries to hold onto the carpet with his claws. + The little girl laughs-- + But at the sound she turns away + And goes up to her room and shuts the door. + Pretty soon the large lady comes to her + And takes her on her lap and rocks and sings. + + * * * * * + + + +XIV + + The little girl has grown taller, + She is fair and sweet and ready for love, + But over her is a great fear + As she remembers her mother’s weeping. + + + THE END + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75630 *** |