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Articles
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Renascence
and Other Poems and Contents: Renascence All I could see from where I stood Interim The room is full of you! -- As I came in The Suicide "Curse thee, Life, I will live with
thee no more! God's World O world, I cannot hold thee close enough! Afternoon on a Hill I will be the gladdest thing Sorrow Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Tavern I'll keep a little tavern Ashes of Life Love has gone and left me and the days are
all alike; The Little Ghost I knew her for a little ghost Kin to Sorrow Am I kin to Sorrow, Three Songs of Shattering I The first rose on my rose-tree II Let the little birds sing; III All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree! The Shroud Death, I say, my heart is bowed The Dream Love, if I weep it will not matter, Indifference I said, -- for Love was laggard, O, Love
was slow to come, -- Witch-Wife She is neither pink nor pale, Blight Hard seeds of hate I planted When the Year Grows Old I cannot but remember Sonnets I Thou art not lovelier than lilacs, -- no, II Time does not bring relief; you all have
lied III Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring, IV Not in this chamber only at my birth -- V VI Bluebeard This door you might not open, and you did; Renascence and Other Poems Renascence All I could see from where
I stood Was three long mountains
and a wood; I turned and looked another
way, And saw three islands
in a bay. So with my eyes I traced
the line Of the horizon, thin and
fine, Straight around till I
was come Back to where I'd started
from; And all I saw from where
I stood Was three long mountains
and a wood. Over these things I could
not see; These were the things
that bounded me; And I could touch them
with my hand, Almost, I thought, from
where I stand. And all at once things
seemed so small My breath came short,
and scarce at all. But, sure, the sky is
big, I said; Miles and miles above
my head; So here upon my back I'll
lie And look my fill into
the sky. And so I looked, and,
after all, The sky was not so very
tall. The sky, I said, must
somewhere stop, And -- sure enough! --
I see the top! The sky, I thought, is
not so grand; I 'most could touch it
with my hand! And reaching up my hand
to try, I screamed to feel it
touch the sky. I screamed, and -- lo!
-- Infinity Came down and settled
over me; Forced back my scream
into my chest, Bent back my arm upon
my breast, And, pressing of the Undefined The definition on my mind, Held up before my eyes
a glass Through which my shrinking
sight did pass Until it seemed I must
behold Immensity made manifold; Whispered to me a word
whose sound Deafened the air for worlds
around, And brought unmuffled
to my ears The gossiping of friendly
spheres, The creaking of the tented
sky, The ticking of Eternity. I saw and heard, and knew
at last The How and Why of all
things, past, And present, and forevermore. The Universe, cleft to
the core, Lay open to my probing
sense That, sick'ning, I would
fain pluck thence But could not, -- nay!
But needs must suck At the great wound, and
could not pluck My lips away till I had
drawn All venom out. -- Ah,
fearful pawn! For my omniscience paid
I toll In infinite remorse of
soul. All sin was of my sinning,
all Atoning mine, and mine
the gall Of all regret. Mine was
the weight Of every brooded wrong,
the hate That stood behind each
envious thrust, Mine every greed, mine
every lust. And all the while for
every grief, Each suffering, I craved
relief With individual desire,
-- Craved all in vain!
And felt fierce fire About a thousand people
crawl; Perished with each, --
then mourned for all! A man was starving in
Capri; He moved his eyes and
looked at me; I felt his gaze, I heard
his moan, And knew his hunger as
my own. I saw at sea a great fog
bank Between two ships that
struck and sank; A thousand screams the
heavens smote; And every scream tore
through my throat. No hurt I did not feel,
no death That was not mine; mine
each last breath That, crying, met an answering
cry From the compassion that
was I. All suffering mine, and
mine its rod; Mine, pity like the pity
of God. Ah, awful weight!
Infinity Pressed down upon the
finite Me! My anguished spirit, like
a bird, Beating against my lips
I heard; Yet lay the weight so
close about There was no room for
it without. And so beneath the weight
lay I And suffered death, but
could not die. Long had I lain thus,
craving death, When quietly the earth
beneath Gave way, and inch by
inch, so great At last had grown the
crushing weight, Into the earth I sank
till I Full six feet under ground
did lie, And sank no more, -- there
is no weight Can follow here, however
great. From off my breast I felt
it roll, And as it went my tortured
soul Burst forth and fled in
such a gust That all about me swirled
the dust. Deep in the earth I rested
now; Cool is its hand upon
the brow And soft its breast beneath
the head Of one who is so gladly
dead. And all at once, and over
all The pitying rain began
to fall; I lay and heard each pattering
hoof Upon my lowly, thatched
roof, And seemed to love the
sound far more Than ever I had done before. For rain it hath a friendly
sound To one who's six feet
underground; And scarce the friendly
voice or face: A grave is such a quiet
place. The rain, I said, is kind
to come And speak to me in my
new home. I would I were alive again To kiss the fingers of
the rain, To drink into my eyes
the shine Of every slanting silver
line, To catch the freshened,
fragrant breeze From drenched and dripping
apple-trees. For soon the shower will
be done, And then the broad face
of the sun Will laugh above the rain-soaked
earth Until the world with answering
mirth Shakes joyously, and each
round drop Rolls, twinkling, from
its grass-blade top. How can I bear it; buried
here, While overhead the sky
grows clear And blue again after the
storm? O, multi-colored, multiform, Beloved beauty over me, That I shall never, never
see Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold, That I shall never more
behold! Sleeping your myriad magics
through, Close-sepulchred away
from you! O God, I cried, give me
new birth, And put me back upon the
earth! Upset each cloud's gigantic
gourd And let the heavy rain,
down-poured In one big torrent, set
me free, Washing my grave away
from me! I ceased; and through
the breathless hush That answered me, the
far-off rush Of herald wings came whispering Like music down the vibrant
string Of my ascending prayer,
and -- crash! Before the wild wind's
whistling lash The startled storm-clouds
reared on high And plunged in terror
down the sky, And the big rain in one
black wave Fell from the sky and
struck my grave. I know not how such things
can be; I only know there came
to me A fragrance such as never
clings To aught save happy living
things; A sound as of some joyous
elf Singing sweet songs to
please himself, And, through and over
everything, A sense of glad awakening. The grass, a-tiptoe at
my ear, Whispering to me I could
hear; I felt the rain's cool
finger-tips Brushed tenderly across
my lips, Laid gently on my sealed
sight, And all at once the heavy
night Fell from my eyes and
I could see, -- A drenched and dripping
apple-tree, A last long line of silver
rain, A sky grown clear and
blue again. And as I looked a quickening
gust Of wind blew up to me
and thrust Into my face a miracle Of orchard-breath, and
with the smell, -- I know not how such things
can be! -- I breathed my soul back
into me. Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I And hailed the earth with
such a cry As is not heard save from
a man Who has been dead, and
lives again. About the trees my arms
I wound; Like one gone mad I hugged
the ground; I raised my quivering
arms on high; I laughed and laughed
into the sky, Till at my throat a strangling
sob Caught fiercely, and a
great heart-throb Sent instant tears into
my eyes; O God, I cried, no dark
disguise Can e'er hereafter hide
from me Thy radiant identity! Thou canst not move across
the grass But my quick eyes will
see Thee pass, Nor speak, however silently, But my hushed voice will
answer Thee. I know the path that tells
Thy way Through the cool eve of
every day; God, I can push the grass
apart And lay my finger on Thy
heart! The world stands out on
either side No wider than the heart
is wide; Above the world is stretched
the sky, -- No higher than the soul
is high. The heart can push the
sea and land Farther away on either
hand; The soul can split the
sky in two, And let the face of God
shine through. But East and West will
pinch the heart That can not keep them
pushed apart; And he whose soul is flat
-- the sky Will cave in on him by
and by.
Interim The room is full of you!
-- As I came in And closed the door behind
me, all at once A something in the air,
intangible, Yet stiff with meaning,
struck my senses sick! -- Sharp, unfamiliar odors
have destroyed Each other room's dear
personality. The heavy scent of damp,
funereal flowers, -- The very essence, hush-distilled,
of Death -- Has strangled that habitual
breath of home Whose expiration leaves
all houses dead; And wheresoe'er I look
is hideous change. Save here.
Here 'twas as if a weed-choked gate Had opened at my touch,
and I had stepped Into some long-forgot,
enchanted, strange, Sweet garden of a thousand
years ago And suddenly thought,
"I have been here before!" You are not here.
I know that you are gone, And will not ever enter
here again. And yet it seems to me,
if I should speak, Your silent step must
wake across the hall; If I should turn my head,
that your sweet eyes Would kiss me from the
door. -- So short a time To teach my life its transposition
to This difficult and unaccustomed
key! -- The room is as you left
it; your last touch -- A thoughtless pressure,
knowing not itself As saintly -- hallows
now each simple thing; Hallows and glorifies,
and glows between The dust's grey fingers
like a shielded light. There is your book, just
as you laid it down, Face to the table, --
I cannot believe That you are gone! --
Just then it seemed to me You must be here.
I almost laughed to think How like reality the dream
had been; Yet knew before I laughed,
and so was still. That book, outspread,
just as you laid it down! Perhaps you thought, "I
wonder what comes next, And whether this or this
will be the end"; So rose, and left it,
thinking to return. Perhaps that chair, when
you arose and passed Out of the room, rocked
silently a while Ere it again was still.
When you were gone Forever from the room,
perhaps that chair, Stirred by your movement,
rocked a little while, Silently, to and fro.
. . And here are the last
words your fingers wrote, Scrawled in broad characters
across a page In this brown book I gave
you. Here your hand, Guiding your rapid pen,
moved up and down. Here with a looping knot
you crossed a "t", And here another like
it, just beyond These two eccentric "e's".
You were so small, And wrote so brave a hand! How strange it seems That of all words these
are the words you chose! And yet a simple choice;
you did not know You would not write again.
If you had known -- But then, it does not
matter, -- and indeed If you had known there
was so little time You would have dropped
your pen and come to me And this page would be
empty, and some phrase Other than this would
hold my wonder now. Yet, since you could not
know, and it befell That these are the last
words your fingers wrote, There is a dignity some
might not see In this, "I picked
the first sweet-pea to-day." To-day! Was there an opening bud beside it You left until to-morrow?
-- O my love, The things that withered,
-- and you came not back! That day you filled this
circle of my arms That now is empty.
(O my empty life!) That day -- that day you
picked the first sweet-pea, -- And brought it in to show
me! I recall With terrible distinctness
how the smell Of your cool gardens drifted
in with you. I know, you held it up
for me to see And flushed because I
looked not at the flower, But at your face; and
when behind my look You saw such unmistakable
intent You laughed and brushed
your flower against my lips. (You were the fairest
thing God ever made, I think.)
And then your hands above my heart Drew down its stem into
a fastening, And while your head was
bent I kissed your hair. I wonder if you knew.
(Beloved hands! Somehow I cannot seem
to see them still. Somehow I cannot seem
to see the dust In your bright hair.)
What is the need of Heaven When earth can be so sweet?
-- If only God Had let us love, -- and
show the world the way! Strange cancellings must
ink th' eternal books When love-crossed-out
will bring the answer right! That first sweet-pea!
I wonder where it is. It seems to me I laid
it down somewhere, And yet, -- I am not sure.
I am not sure, Even, if it was white
or pink; for then 'Twas much like any other
flower to me, Save that it was the first.
I did not know, Then, that it was the
last. If I had known -- But then, it does not
matter. Strange how few, After all's said and done,
the things that are Of moment. Few indeed! When I can make Of ten small words a rope
to hang the world! "I had you and I
have you now no more." There, there it dangles,
-- where's the little truth That can for long keep
footing under that When its slack syllables
tighten to a thought? Here, let me write it
down! I wish to see Just how a thing like
that will look on paper! "*I had you and I
have you now no more*." O little words, how can
you run so straight Across the page, beneath
the weight you bear? How can you fall apart,
whom such a theme Has bound together, and
hereafter aid In trivial expression,
that have been So hideously dignified?
-- Would God That tearing you apart
would tear the thread I strung you on!
Would God -- O God, my mind Stretches asunder on this
merciless rack Of imagery!
O, let me sleep a while! Would I could sleep, and
wake to find me back In that sweet summer afternoon
with you. Summer? 'Tis summer still by the calendar! How easily could God,
if He so willed, Set back the world a little
turn or two! Correct its griefs, and
bring its joys again! We were so wholly one
I had not thought That we could die apart.
I had not thought That I could move, --
and you be stiff and still! That I could speak, --
and you perforce be dumb! I think our heart-strings
were, like warp and woof In some firm fabric, woven
in and out; Your golden filaments
in fair design Across my duller fibre.
And to-day The shining strip is rent;
the exquisite Fine pattern is destroyed;
part of your heart Aches in my breast; part
of my heart lies chilled In the damp earth with
you. I have been torn In two, and suffer for
the rest of me. What is my life to me?
And what am I To life, -- a ship whose
star has guttered out? A Fear that in the deep
night starts awake Perpetually, to find its
senses strained Against the taut strings
of the quivering air, Awaiting the return of
some dread chord? Dark, Dark, is all I find
for metaphor; All else were contrast,
-- save that contrast's wall Is down, and all opposed
things flow together Into a vast monotony,
where night And day, and frost and
thaw, and death and life, Are synonyms.
What now -- what now to me Are all the jabbering
birds and foolish flowers That clutter up the world?
You were my song! Now, let discord scream!
You were my flower! Now let the world grow
weeds! For I shall not Plant things above your
grave -- (the common balm Of the conventional woe
for its own wound!) Amid sensations rendered
negative By your elimination stands
to-day, Certain, unmixed, the
element of grief; I sorrow; and I shall
not mock my truth With travesties of suffering,
nor seek To effigy its incorporeal
bulk In little wry-faced images
of woe. I cannot call you back;
and I desire No utterance of my immaterial
voice. I cannot even turn my
face this way Or that, and say, "My
face is turned to you"; I know not where you are,
I do not know If Heaven hold you or
if earth transmute, Body and soul, you into
earth again; But this I know: -- not
for one second's space Shall I insult my sight
with visionings Such as the credulous
crowd so eager-eyed Beholds, self-conjured,
in the empty air. Let the world wail!
Let drip its easy tears! My sorrow shall be dumb! -- What do I say? God! God! -- God pity
me! Am I gone mad That I should spit upon
a rosary? Am I become so shrunken?
Would to God I too might feel that
frenzied faith whose touch Makes temporal the most
enduring grief; Though it must walk a
while, as is its wont, With wild lamenting!
Would I too might weep Where weeps the world
and hangs its piteous wreaths For its new dead!
Not Truth, but Faith, it is That keeps the world alive.
If all at once Faith were to slacken,
-- that unconscious faith Which must, I know, yet
be the corner-stone Of all believing, -- birds
now flying fearless Across would drop in terror
to the earth; Fishes would drown; and
the all-governing reins Would tangle in the frantic
hands of God And the worlds gallop
headlong to destruction! O God, I see it now, and
my sick brain Staggers and swoons!
How often over me Flashes this breathlessness
of sudden sight In which I see the universe
unrolled Before me like a scroll
and read thereon Chaos and Doom, where
helpless planets whirl Dizzily round and round
and round and round, Like tops across a table,
gathering speed With every spin, to waver
on the edge One instant -- looking
over -- and the next To shudder and lurch forward
out of sight -- * *
* * * Ah, I am worn out -- I
am wearied out -- It is too much -- I am
but flesh and blood, And I must sleep.
Though you were dead again, I am but flesh and blood
and I must sleep. The Suicide "Curse thee, Life,
I will live with thee no more! Thou hast mocked me, starved
me, beat my body sore! And all for a pledge that
was not pledged by me, I have kissed thy crust
and eaten sparingly That I might eat again,
and met thy sneers With deprecations, and
thy blows with tears, -- Aye, from thy glutted
lash, glad, crawled away, As if spent passion were
a holiday! And now I go.
Nor threat, nor easy vow Of tardy kindness can
avail thee now With me, whence fear and
faith alike are flown; Lonely I came, and I depart
alone, And know not where nor
unto whom I go; But that thou canst not
follow me I know." Thus I to Life, and ceased;
but through my brain My thought ran still,
until I spake again: "Ah, but I go not
as I came, -- no trace Is mine to bear away of
that old grace I brought!
I have been heated in thy fires, Bent by thy hands, fashioned
to thy desires, Thy mark is on me!
I am not the same Nor ever more shall be,
as when I came. Ashes am I of all that
once I seemed. In me all's sunk that
leapt, and all that dreamed Is wakeful for alarm,
-- oh, shame to thee, For the ill change that
thou hast wrought in me, Who laugh no more nor
lift my throat to sing! Ah, Life, I would have
been a pleasant thing To have about the house
when I was grown If thou hadst left my
little joys alone! I asked of thee no favor
save this one: That thou wouldst leave
me playing in the sun! And this thou didst deny,
calling my name Insistently, until I rose
and came. I saw the sun no more.
-- It were not well So long on these unpleasant
thoughts to dwell, Need I arise to-morrow
and renew Again my hated tasks,
but I am through With all things save my
thoughts and this one night, So that in truth I seem
already quite Free and remote from thee,
-- I feel no haste And no reluctance to depart;
I taste Merely, with thoughtful
mien, an unknown draught, That in a little while
I shall have quaffed." Thus I to Life, and ceased,
and slightly smiled, Looking at nothing; and
my thin dreams filed Before me one by one till
once again I set new words unto an
old refrain: "Treasures thou hast
that never have been mine! Warm lights in many a
secret chamber shine Of thy gaunt house, and
gusts of song have blown Like blossoms out to me
that sat alone! And I have waited well
for thee to show If any share were mine,
-- and now I go! Nothing I leave, and if
I naught attain I shall but come into
mine own again!" Thus I to Life, and ceased,
and spake no more, But turning, straightway,
sought a certain door In the rear wall.
Heavy it was, and low And dark, -- a way by
which none e'er would go That other exit had, and
never knock Was heard thereat, --
bearing a curious lock Some chance had shown
me fashioned faultily, Whereof Life held content
the useless key, And great coarse hinges,
thick and rough with rust, Whose sudden voice across
a silence must, I knew, be harsh and horrible
to hear, -- A strange door, ugly like
a dwarf. -- So near I came I felt upon my
feet the chill Of acid wind creeping
across the sill. So stood longtime, till
over me at last Came weariness, and all
things other passed To make it room; the still
night drifted deep Like snow about me, and
I longed for sleep. But, suddenly, marking
the morning hour, Bayed the deep-throated
bell within the tower! Startled, I raised my
head, -- and with a shout Laid hold upon the latch,
-- and was without. * *
* * * Ah, long-forgotten, well-remembered
road, Leading me back unto my
old abode, My father's house!
There in the night I came, And found them feasting,
and all things the same As they had been before.
A splendour hung Upon the walls, and such
sweet songs were sung As, echoing out of very
long ago, Had called me from the
house of Life, I know. So fair their raiment
shone I looked in shame On the unlovely garb in
which I came; Then straightway at my
hesitancy mocked: "It is my father's
house!" I said and knocked; And the door opened.
To the shining crowd Tattered and dark I entered,
like a cloud, Seeing no face but his;
to him I crept, And "Father!"
I cried, and clasped his knees, and wept. Ah, days of joy that followed!
All alone I wandered through the
house. My own, my own, My own to touch, my own
to taste and smell, All I had lacked so long
and loved so well! None shook me out of sleep,
nor hushed my song, Nor called me in from
the sunlight all day long. I know not when the wonder
came to me Of what my father's business
might be, And whither fared and
on what errands bent The tall and gracious
messengers he sent. Yet one day with no song
from dawn till night Wondering, I sat, and
watched them out of sight. And the next day I called;
and on the third Asked them if I might
go, -- but no one heard. Then, sick with longing,
I arose at last And went unto my father,
-- in that vast Chamber wherein he for
so many years Has sat, surrounded by
his charts and spheres. "Father," I
said, "Father, I cannot play The harp that thou didst
give me, and all day I sit in idleness, while
to and fro About me thy serene, grave
servants go; And I am weary of my lonely
ease. Better a perilous journey
overseas Away from thee, than this,
the life I lead, To sit all day in the
sunshine like a weed That grows to naught,
-- I love thee more than they Who serve thee most; yet
serve thee in no way. Father, I beg of thee
a little task To dignify my days, --
'tis all I ask Forever, but forever,
this denied, I perish." "Child," my father's voice replied, "All things thy fancy
hath desired of me Thou hast received.
I have prepared for thee Within my house a spacious
chamber, where Are delicate things to
handle and to wear, And all these things are
thine. Dost thou love song? My minstrels shall attend
thee all day long. Or sigh for flowers?
My fairest gardens stand Open as fields to thee
on every hand. And all thy days this
word shall hold the same: No pleasure shalt thou
lack that thou shalt name. But as for tasks --"
he smiled, and shook his head; "Thou hadst thy task,
and laidst it by", he said. God's World O world, I cannot hold
thee close enough! Thy winds, thy wide grey skies! Thy mists, that roll and rise! Thy woods, this autumn
day, that ache and sag And all but cry with colour!
That gaunt crag To crush!
To lift the lean of that black bluff! World, World, I cannot
get thee close enough! Long have I known a glory
in it all, But never knew I this; Here such a passion is As stretcheth me apart,
-- Lord, I do fear Thou'st made the world
too beautiful this year; My soul is all but out
of me, -- let fall No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.
Afternoon on a Hill I will be the gladdest
thing Under the sun! I will touch a hundred
flowers And not pick one. I will look at cliffs
and clouds With quiet eyes, Watch the wind bow down
the grass, And the grass rise. And when lights begin
to show Up from the town, I will mark which must
be mine, And then start down!
Sorrow Sorrow like a ceaseless
rain Beats upon my heart. People twist and scream
in pain, -- Dawn will find them still
again; This has neither wax nor
wane, Neither stop nor start. People dress and go to
town; I sit in my chair. All my thoughts are slow
and brown: Standing up or sitting
down Little matters, or what
gown Or what shoes I wear.
Tavern I'll keep a little tavern Below the high hill's crest, Wherein all grey-eyed
people May set them down and rest. There shall be plates
a-plenty, And mugs to melt the chill Of all the grey-eyed people Who happen up the hill. There sound will sleep
the traveller, And dream his journey's end, But I will rouse at midnight The falling fire to tend. Aye, 'tis a curious fancy
-- But all the good I know Was taught me out of two
grey eyes A long time ago.
Ashes of Life Love has gone and left
me and the days are all alike; Eat I must, and sleep I will, -- and would
that night were here! But ah! -- to lie awake
and hear the slow hours strike! Would that it were day again! -- with twilight
near! Love has gone and left
me and I don't know what to do; This or that or what you will is all the same
to me; But all the things that
I begin I leave before I'm through, -- There's little use in anything as far as I
can see. Love has gone and left
me, -- and the neighbors knock and borrow, And life goes on forever like the gnawing of
a mouse, -- And to-morrow and to-morrow
and to-morrow and to-morrow There's this little street and this little house.
The Little Ghost I knew her for a little
ghost That in my garden walked; The wall is high -- higher
than most -- And the green gate was locked. And yet I did not think
of that Till after she was gone -- I knew her by the broad
white hat, All ruffled, she had on. By the dear ruffles round
her feet, By her small hands that hung In their lace mitts, austere
and sweet, Her gown's white folds among. I watched to see if she
would stay, What she would do -- and oh! She looked as if she liked
the way I let my garden grow! She bent above my favourite
mint With conscious garden grace, She smiled and smiled
-- there was no hint Of sadness in her face. She held her gown on either
side To let her slippers show, And up the walk she went
with pride, The way great ladies go. And where the wall is
built in new And is of ivy bare She paused -- then opened
and passed through A gate that once was there.
Kin to Sorrow Am I kin to Sorrow, That so oft Falls the knocker of my
door -- Neither loud nor soft, But as long accustomed, Under Sorrow's hand? Marigolds around the step And rosemary stand, And then comes Sorrow
-- And what does Sorrow care For the rosemary Or the marigolds there? Am I kin to Sorrow? Are we kin? That so oft upon my door
-- *Oh, come in*!
Three Songs of Shattering I The first rose on my rose-tree Budded, bloomed, and shattered, During sad days when to
me Nothing mattered. Grief of grief has drained
me clean; Still it seems a pity No one saw, -- it must
have been Very pretty.
II Let the little birds sing; Let the little lambs play; Spring is here; and so
'tis spring; -- But not in the old way! I recall a place Where a plum-tree grew; There you lifted up your
face, And blossoms covered you. If the little birds sing, And the little lambs play, Spring is here; and so
'tis spring -- But not in the old way!
III All the dog-wood blossoms
are underneath the tree! Ere spring was going -- ah, spring is gone! And there comes no summer
to the like of you and me, -- Blossom time is early, but no fruit sets on. All the dog-wood blossoms
are underneath the tree, Browned at the edges, turned in a day; And I would with all my
heart they trimmed a mound for me, And weeds were tall on all the paths that led that way!
The Shroud Death, I say, my heart
is bowed Unto thine, -- O mother! This red gown will make
a shroud Good as any other! (I, that would not wait
to wear My own bridal things, In a dress dark as my
hair Made my answerings. I, to-night, that till
he came Could not, could not wait, In a gown as bright as
flame Held for them the gate.) Death, I say, my heart
is bowed Unto thine, -- O mother! This red gown will make
a shroud Good as any other! The Dream Love, if I weep it will
not matter, And if you laugh I shall not care; Foolish am I to think
about it, But it is good to feel you there. Love, in my sleep I dreamed
of waking, -- White and awful the moonlight reached Over the floor, and somewhere,
somewhere, There was a shutter loose, -- it screeched! Swung in the wind, --
and no wind blowing! -- I was afraid, and turned to you, Put out my hand to you
for comfort, -- And you were gone! Cold, cold as dew, Under my hand the moonlight
lay! Love, if you laugh I shall not care, But if I weep it will
not matter, -- Ah, it is good to feel you there! Indifference I said, -- for Love was
laggard, O, Love was slow to come, -- "I'll hear his step and know his step when I am warm in bed; But I'll never leave my
pillow, though there be some As would let him in -- and take him in with
tears!" I said. I lay, -- for Love was
laggard, O, he came not until dawn, -- I lay and listened for his step and could not
get to sleep; And he found me at my
window with my big cloak on, All sorry with the tears some folks might weep! Witch-Wife She is neither pink nor
pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands
in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine. She has more hair than
she needs; In the sun 'tis a woe to me! And her voice is a string
of colored beads, Or steps leading into the sea. She loves me all that
she can, And her ways to my ways resign; But she was not made for
any man, And she never will be all mine. Blight Hard seeds of hate I planted That should by now be grown, -- Rough stalks, and from
thick stamens A poisonous pollen blown, And odors rank, unbreathable, From dark corollas thrown! At dawn from my damp garden I shook the chilly dew; The thin boughs locked
behind me That sprang to let me through; The blossoms slept, --
I sought a place Where nothing lovely grew. And there, when day was
breaking, I knelt and looked around: The light was near, the
silence Was palpitant with sound; I drew my hate from out
my breast And thrust it in the ground. Oh, ye so fiercely tended, Ye little seeds of hate! I bent above your growing Early and noon and late, Yet are ye drooped and
pitiful, -- I cannot rear ye straight! The sun seeks out my garden, No nook is left in shade, No mist nor mold nor mildew Endures on any blade, Sweet rain slants under
every bough: Ye falter, and ye fade. When the Year Grows Old | |||
