DAVID AND BATHSHEBA BAIMliRUCE MNSOLVING I GIFT or Author ^.ULXA. A N^ V ^^"-^ ^ VA ^ Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2007 witii funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation littp://www.archive.org/details/davidbatlisliebaotOOkinsricli DAVID AND BATH-SHEBA By the same author Depths and Shallows, $1.50 The Norman, Remington Co. DAVID AND BATH-SHEBA AND OTHER POEMS BY SALLY BRUCE KINSOLVING BALTIMORE THE NORMAN, REMINGTON COMPANY 1922 Copyrighted, 1922, by THE NORMAN, REMINGTON CO. Published October 1922 Printed in the United States of America at the Press of G. A, PETERS CO. / wish to thank the editors of Poetry, The Reviewer, The New York Sun, and The Baltimore American for their permission to include in this volume the verse which has already appeared in those publications, S. B. K, To A. B. K. ^Who shall end my dream s confusion} Life is a loom weaving illusion, . . . ' CONTENTS PART I. DAVID AND BATH-SHEBA 3 PART II. THREADS OF GOSSAMER Adventure 25 Once 26 The Crossways 27 Tapestry 28 Truth 29 Color 30 If You Should Die 31 "A Chartered Borrower" 32 As The Wind 33 A Word 34 Plaint 35 If I Could Know 36 Heart-Break 37 Chalices 38 December Night 39 Snow 40 When You Go Away 41 Planets 42 Lamplight 43 Silence 44 Beauty Walks Abroad 45 Wounded 46 The Road 47 Unrest 48 Flood-Tide 49 Winter Twilight 51 Anguish 52 Unheard 53 Loneliness 54 February 55 You and I 57 When Spring Returns 58 Scourge 59 Contrast 60 My Thought 61 A Forest 62 Mist 63 Summer Stars 64 Do You Wonder 65 Forgiven 66 Dominoes 67 Prelude 68 What Is Time 69 Wild-Geese 70 A Closed Book 71 March Wind 72 At Times 73 DaflFodils 74 Wizardry 75 The Call 76 April I— Pursuit 77 II— After Rain 77 III— Purple 79 IV— I Have Not Lost You 79 Spring Voices 80 Words Are Too Tattered 82 Search 83 Giving 84 Ghosts 85 Mirrors 86 The Sea I — Downs 90 II — Foreboding 90 III— Like Ships 91 IV— Rhythm 91 V— A Moment 91 VI— Mooring 92 VII— The Beach 92 VIII— Island Fog 93 Sonnets I 96 II 96 III 97 IV 97 A Valley 99 Summer Night 100 What Is Spring 101 Aspiration 103 Thorns 104 PART I David and Bath-Sheba DAVID AND BATH-SHEBA DRAMATIS PERSONAE DAVID, King of Israel and Judah, JOAB, Captain of the Host, URIAH, the Hittite. •,.• !*•: i NATHAN, the Prophet. f' /;, • ; BATH-SHEBA, the wife of Uriah. Soldiers, Messengers, Servants. DAVID AND BATH-SHEBA. PROLOGUE Joab stands talking with a soldier. Joab Ah, wherefore does the King now tarry. . . . He has not deigned to enter his council cham- ber, Although his captains are still there assembled In order to devise a plan to check The enemies of Israel and Judah. Soldier I do not know, my lord, where we may find him. Three dawns have spent their fires and worn to evening. And yet we have not seen him. . . . 3 Joab (gazing tensely at the speaker) And do you not suspect that some strange fever Has attacked his brain to cause him to forget The danger that assails us? Soldier Again My lord, I do not know, but I have seen At times a distant look within his eyes Like that the early morning oft bestows Upon the sea, and though it is apart From my familiar wont at any hour To spy upon his Majesty, the King, While keeping watch alone, I found him troubled In his sleep and calling more than once Upon the name Bath-sheba. Joab {looking up in a startled manner) Pray tell me Who is she ? Soldier The fair young wife, my lord. Of Uriah, the Hittite. Joab I know her not, And therefore bid you to impart to me All knowledge you may have of her. Soldier Her father Gave her hand in marriage to Uriah, According to the habit of our land, Ere she beheld him; and I attended Once of late upon my lord the King When first he sat at supper with Uriah — And as within the silent, hushed blue night, When suddenly appearing over Hermon, The full-moon rises in her majesty — There, with veil thrown back, in pallid beauty Stood Bath-sheba. ... I saw the King Start . . . like a man upon the watch When some strange light breaks forth Upon his vision. His eyes sought hers And when they met, two streams, I knew. Were lost within each other. She brought him Meat and drink, and though he had not broken Fast since morning, he scarcely seemed To see that food was set before him, But looked like one within a dream. . . . Joab Ay then, Though not according to the way I thought. It is a fever that assails his mind. It is a subtle madness seizing upon life That causes one to forget all else — Duty — even God Himself. It is a mist Like that which creeps along the purling streams Through greening meadows in the early spring When willow boughs are tinged with tawny gold, While through the low and overhanging clouds The sun bursts forth with soft enthralling ra- diance. It is the stir within the pulse behind all life — Its essence and its poetry. . . . And yet at times with wild unrest it shakes The sure foundations of our being, and seethes With strange conflicting currents in the blood. If such a madness has beset the King, It is for me to plan the downfall of his enemies. Then let us be about our duty. . . . The King will tarry at Jerusalem. [The curtain rises as they leave the stage. 1 he scene is a roof of the King's palace^ furnished only with a couch and arms nearby. David, the King, reclines upon the couch. The time is near midnight. David {slowly rising) I know not why this tumult ploughs my brain. My limbs are weary, yet I cannot sleep. So new is night she hardly has had time To cool the parched earth. Could I but lose Myself in dreams, then I might wake at dawn To stem the tide of battle with my men. [He sinks back upon his couch, but rises again almost immediately. I barely lay my head upon my couch Ere I behold a vision of such beauty I fain would give the sleep of all the years For but one kiss upon her scarlet lips — If only I might crush her body's self Within my hungry arms. . . . [He walks to and fro with head bowed. Oh God, am I Thy servant David, who can forget Thy mercy and Thy loving kindness, and all The wealth and power Thou hast given me — Or am I now no longer my true self? Two wills contend within me for mastery. Like wrestlers on a plain. . . . Wives Thou hast bestowed upon me, and yet They have no mind wherewith to meet my own; And when I think upon Bath-sheba, I see the dawn lifting her beauty from behind The hills that stand about Jerusalem, Spreading her radiance over all the sea. And bringing in the splendor of new day. . . . For when her eyes meet mine, they sink so deep Into my soul they find my inmost self. And raise me up to heaven's gate with ecstasy. And am I not the King of Thine appointing. With power to fulfill my will? Once I was a shepherd-lad, content with morning And all the freshness of the dew-wet day — Watching my sheep beside the clean bright streams And listening to the song of birds. . . . Weary at noon beneath the sun's hot rays. Yet satisfied to slake my thirst in water, And to appease my hunger with coarse bread; Heavy with slumber when the darkest night Rested upon the hills, and startled only Into wakefulness at some unearthly cry Of bold attacking beast. From this con- tentment Thou hast taken me to wear a crown, And surely Thou wouldst not deny me more Than all my kingdom and my wealth — ay, more Than life itself. It is a part, Bath-sheba, Of fate's malicious trickery to have given you To another, but you are mine alone. And I am now impelled to claim you. [He ascends a turret to look toward the house of Uriah, the Hittite, and at that moment the moon escaping from a cloud reveals Bath-sheba upon the roof of her husband's house. The moon withdraws the curtains of the night. And with a sudden burst of glory Enables me to see you from afar, Bath-sheba. . . . \He hastens forth eagerly. [The stage is darkened for a few moments until there appears as the second scene the roof of the house of Uriah. White oleanders are growing in large pots near a couch where Bath-Sheba is reclining, attired in filmy drapery with a violet robe lightly thrown over her. Beyond stands a marble basin carved like a lotus flower with an ewer resting beside it. The time is shortly after midnight. Bath-sheha {slowly rising from her couch^ with her hands behind her head) It is so warm tonight I cannot sleep, And while the moon is veiling the watchful stars With silver, I'll dip into the whiteness Of my marble bath. . . . [She walks forward and gazes dreamily out into the night. Why should I think Upon the King — treasuring each look and word That he has given me, finding delight In each one separately, yet counting all Together like rubies in a necklace Until they press too heavily upon me. Burning me with their passion and their color. Since that night we met, in thought I dwell Upon him every moment. . . . Then it seemed As if some strange enthralling power had seized me. And had brought me face to face with all That I had been or ever might become, For in his eyes I knew that I had found My end of being. ... I am possessed With thought of him alone who is my life. Has he yet gone to battle, and does he tent Under these midnight skies that are so wan With all the lovely palor of the moon? Can it be tomorrow's sun will stain the earth With blood? [She shudders. My God — not his, not his ! [She approaches the marble basin and pours water into it. Listen to the cooling water trickling As from a stream on Lebanon. [She partly unrobes. How white And fair my limbs are in the moonlight. [Startled at the noise oj footsteps she turns suddenly. What sound is that I hear ! {in terror) Behold the shadow Of a man ! [She seizes the violet robe. The voice oj David Bath-sheba! Bath-sheba {with head thrown back and eyes half- closed^ breathing heavily) Ah, what music Stole upon the night to call my name. . . . [The King draws near. David It is I — the King. [He takes Bath-sheba' s hands into his. Bath-sheba {anxiously) 10 My lord — and wherefore Have you come? David {holding her at arms length) To admire your loveliness. Do you Not know that all my heart goes out in craving To possess you ? You are my own, Bath-sheba. Bath-sheba {breaking away Jrorn him and turning her head aside) My lord, do you forget my husband? David {bending over her passionately) He is but my servant, and you are mine At will. Bath-sheba Yet he is good and kind to me. My lord, and I have loved to serve him, As he to serve the King. David And have you then No love for me? Bath-sheba {with a sob) My lord. . . . David Do you not see That far up in the heavens the moon 11 Has cast aside the mantle that protected her. And reigns effulgent over all the night? Henceforward shall you share my throne, my life. Bath-sheba, do you not love me? [He draws her closer to him. She trembles in his arms^ closing her eyes and resting her head upon his breast. Bath-sheba It is heaven to rest here. . . . I am so much alone, and now the music Of your voice steals over all my being. It is so strange, so new — it seems to me As if I were another. Your breath Upon my cheek is like the incense of the night. And in your arms my heart finds peace in- effable. David Do you not call this love? Bath-sheba I know not love — I only know that I would have this moment Last forever. T>amd Call it by what name you will. But when two souls are lost within each other. High-pinnacled upon a giddy height of time, 12 It is such love as poets dream of endlessly From age to age. [They stand within a long embrace. The stage is again darkened^ and then the third scene ^ an apartment in the Kings palace^ appears. An interval of several months has elapsed since the last scene. David ^ the King, is sitting upon his throne while a messenger kneels before him. The light of sunset falls across the floor. David {waving his hand) Depart — I wish to be alone. . . . [The messenger bows and leaves the room. The King bends forward, letting his head fall into his hands. With child — Bath-sheba now with child — my own. . . . [He looks up suddenly. But what of Uriah since I have summoned him From war.f* [He rises and rings, whereupon a mes- senger enters and makes obeisance. David Bring Uriah, the Hittite, Into my presence. [The messenger bows and departs. If I might only Rid my soul of one I hate. . . . [ Uriah enters the room. 13 Uriah {bowing before the King) My lord the King. ... David Arise and give The news you bring. How fares my captain, Joab, And the people? And does the war yet prosper? Uriah So thick and fast your questions come, my lord, They are like arrows from our enemies. Our captain, Joab, still commands the battle, And though the lurid sun leaves nightly a trail Of blood upon the field, we yet outnumber All our enemies. The war still prospers. David Oh, may the God of battles now be praised For tidings such as these — and yet, Uriah, I know that you must be all worn and weary With the fray. I do beseech you To go to your own house to seek refreshment And the subtle peace that can subdue All warriors at the end of day. I bade My servants follow you with snow-cooled wine — And food — the best my palace offers. Uriah O King, I thank you, but I would rather far Return unto the field of battle. . . . 14 David {in angry amazement) Have you forgot your wife . . . and all The sweet allurement of your home? Uriah I have, My lord, for while the Ark and Israel And Judah abide in tents and are encamped Within the open fields — even your captain, Joab, and all the servants of my lord — Shall I alone go into my house, and eat And drink, and take my wife into my arms? As we both live, I will not do this thing. David {bowing his head for a moment, recovers him- self looking up suddenly) Then tarry here tomorrow and the next day. You may at least refresh your limbs with meat And drink, and rest your soul from battle. . . . {addressing his servants) Seek food and wine, and give this man The portion due a giant. [The servants bow assent before the King. Uriah salutes him, and withdraws, fol- lowed by the two servants. David {alone and musing) I wear a crown, Uriah, while you were born To serve me — and yet you tower so far above me In lonely majesty of spirit, I count myself As but a stone upon the plain of Jordan, 15 And you, the crest of Mount Moriah's height. Yet ruled by some strange force. . . Older than tides or even barren hills, And more mysterious. . . I am compelled To claim you as my own, Bath-sheba. I must, therefore, devise some means to rid me Of this man who stands between us, and checks My royal will. Perchance the fate of battle May end my problem. I will write To Joab, my trusted captain, to place Uriah in the thick of fight, for surely Now he is indifferent to all else. And thus at least may end his life with glory. [He rises, seizes parchment and pen, and begins to write, David {reading aloud) Unto Joab, the Captain of the Hosts Of Israel and Judah: Set Uriah In the forefront of the hottest battle. And retire from him, that he may soon be smitten, And then die. \He bows his head. Can I, the King, even David — Forget so soon all that I owe my people .^ Can this be murder ? {He shudders. Unto what ends Does passion drive her slaves, despite the crowns They wear in their mock majesty! 16 The stage is darkened once more, and then the same apartment in the King*s palace after a week's interval appears as the fourth scene. The King again is sitting upon his throne. A servant is in attendance upon him. The time is noon. David {anxiously) And have you not yet seen the smallest speck Upon the dim horizon's line betokening A message from the war? Servant Not I, my lord — But hark — I think that I now hear the cheering Of men's voices. [A messenger enters, falling breathlessly before the King. David {rising) What news? Messenger For three long days. My lord, the battle has raged furiously. So close we were upon the city's wall, A woman let a mill-stone fall upon Abimelech, The son of Jerubbesheth, and crushed him there To earth as if he were an ant. . . . Uriah too is dead. 17 David {bending forward eagerly) Dead! Ah, say to Joab, "Let not this thing displease you, for the sword Devours one as well as another, but make Your battle still more strong against the city, And overthrow it," and thus encourage him. And now depart, and send to me the wife Of this dead chieftain that I may break These tidings unto her. . . . \The King is left alone. David {musing) My dreams are all fulfilled, Uriah slain. His wife my own, and now, O God, to crown My high ambition. Thou mayest send to us A son. A King's will is supreme — Yet were I but a shepherd-lad again, With Bath-sheba, my cup of joy Would still be running over. . . . \He walks slowly up and down with head bowed. For then we would abide in fields of night. And wonder at the wisdom of the stars. And when your beauty stirred with dawn's first light, I should forget the shadows and the scars That life and battle give, which now despite My happiness, unwillingly I remember. Then we would roam in dewy meadows, white With blossoming, in gaiety together. Seeking the food that heaven alone should send — 18 Fresh pomegranates and the grape's unvintaged wine — Until the passionate warm day would end In golden vapor with the sun's decline. And melt in filmy maze of pale moonbeams, When we should find the day's joy in our dreams. [T/ie King starts. But hark, here comes Bath-sheba. [Bath-sheba enters^ followed by a servant. The King motions to the latter to depart, Bath-sheba {bowing before the King) My Lord, The King. . . . David {gently) I have news to shock you. Arm yourself to bear it. Bath-sheba {looking up anxiously) My lord. . . . David Uriah, your husband, has fallen In the fight. Bath-sheba Oh, no, my lord. . . . It cannot be. . . . [She falls upon her knees, and buries her head in the cushions of the couch. The King kneels beside her, bending over her. 19 Bath-sheba {^sobbing violently) And I unfaithful To him. ... In bitterness of soul I now must reap my sin. Ah, had I been But true to him, I might have given myself — A stainless wife — to you. David Do not reproach Yourself, Bath-sheba. You had no will Apart from mine, and you are yet as pure In my own eyes as that fair snow that rests — Not only in the bitter cold of winter. But even under a raging summer sun — Upon the lonely heights of Hermon. . . . My passion could not stain nor melt your purity, My love — my wife. At last you are my own, And now by day and night, henceforth, I know That I may hold you in my arms and press Your lips to mine without the thin black shadow Of another's wrath to come between us. I love you with such passion, the mountain-bars Of all the earth could never part us. Only death might seem to separate us For a while — one from the other — But on an April night when I should see The moon slip quietly out of her blackened robe Full-lined with silver, then I should know That from the courts of heaven Bath-sheba Was shedding radiance over me. . . . 20 Bath-sheba Speak not of death, my lord — I cannot bear it. \He lifts her up and takes her into his arms David My own Bath-sheba. But hark — who dares To come into this chamber. {Nathan^ the Prophet^ enters making no obeisance to the King. The King re- leases Bath-sheba from his embrace. She Jails upon the floor beside the couch and rests her head upon her hand in a listening attitude. David {with astonishment) Nathan ! Is it you — and wherefore have you come? Nathan {sternly) As the messenger of Jehovah, Lord of Lords And King of Kings. David And the tidings that you bear? [The King ascends his throne and Nathan stands bejore him. Nathan There once were two men dwelling in one city. In flocks and herds the one was rich, the other Poor — and only had one small ewe lamb. Which he had bought and nourished. And then there came 21 A traveller by that way, and he who was so rich Still spared to take of his own flock, and seized The poor man's lamb to dress it for the way- farer. [The King rises in anger. Bath-sheba draws near to him. David As the Lord lives, the man that did this thing Shall surely die. Nathan You are the man. [David bows his head. Nathan Why have you so despised the Lord your God To do this evil in his sight, for with the sword You know full well that you have killed Uriah, And have taken his wife to be your own. . . . The sword, therefore, shall not depart from you, Nor from your house. "For though thou didst it secretly," Saith the Lord, "This thing I now will do Before all Israel and Judah.'* [The King kneels before the Prophet. Bath'Sheba holds out her arms yearn- ingly towards him. David I have sinned against the Lord. . , . 22 Nathan The Lord has put away your sin. . . . You shall not die, yet since by your own sin You now have caused the enemies of Israel To blaspheme, your son shall surely die. {Nathan departs^ while the King falls prostrate burying his head in his arms upon the dais of his throne. Bath- sheba kneels beside him^ and bends helplessly over him. David Against Thee only have I sinned, And done this evil in Thy sight. Have mercy upon me, O God And blot out my transgression. . . . Curtain. 23 PART II Threads of Gossamer / have no gift but song To give yoUy And it is fashioned Jrail as dew Upon some pale sweet-scented flowery Or rain-drops Caught within an hour In silver threads of gossamer. ADVENTURE I have been soaring upon the backs of young eagles Over high mountain- tops, Looking down upon the broad, unknown reaches Of the world. I have been shattered and storm-beaten Like white petals of spent roses After summer rain. I have been caught up and burned In the zig-zag of forked lightning Against the dun sky. I have fallen down the night with a meteor, And choking with star-dust, I have been lost in unlimited space. I have been dreaming at the heart of a flower When gold pollen fell into it From the gauzy wings of a bee. ... I have been reading the poetry of the young. 25 ONCE Once I would have given you With spendthrift recklessness All the strong red wine that youth pours out, But I have now Only the spirit's garnered loveliness From springs and autumns that are gone, And the radiant light The great white ship of Truth Leaves in her wake Upon the seas of life. . . . But youth has no such gentleness As I have to bestow upon you. The airs of morning lack the veiling mist That comes but when the slanting sun has kissed The purple hills. With thought of self Youth fills the fleeting hours And spills in wantonness Her bruised red flowers, While I would shield you from all weariness. Sending your cares away Like swallows on the wind At end of day. 26 THE CROSSWAYS I am standing at the crossways And looking down the lane; Before me beckons pleasure But I see her shadow pain. The autumn sun is dancing Upon the crimson leaves, And I hear the west-wind calling Out among the sheaves. I am standing at the crossways And looking down the lane — Before me beckons pleasure But I see her shadow pain. 27 TAPESTRY Like a rich tapestry- Days I spent with you Dwell in my memory. Caught in its warp and woof Each moment stands aloof Bringing back joy to me. First of its colors are Eyes that I knew Were piercing me through and through With light from afar; And there are the words That tremble and start Like tropical birds In the flower of my heart; And then the clear full tone Of your deep voice alone Reading me poetry. Leaving an impress rare As that in color where Art has burned beauty. . . . Like a rich tapestry Days I have spent with you Dwell in my memory. 28 TRUTH Can day deny the sun on his return, When morning splinters light to silver on the sea, Or night deny the clear-eyed stars and spurn Their age-long message of reality? 29 COLOR Stretch out Your wild impetuous arms to me, Autumn, And draw me Into the heart of your colors. Let me swoon With the stupor Of your red vi^ine In my blood. GiVe me The desperately sweet ripe smell Of your golden apples Falling to the ground. Warm me With your throbbing sunlight. And steep me in mellow radiance. That I may forget The sharp and cruel winds of winter That will soon sever my soul From your passionate beauty. 30 IF YOU SHOULD DIE If you should die tonight, Could I take up the threads Of life, And weave them into bright gay-colored images, Or should I wander blindly As one who treads Through thickly-falling snow. Without a light To beckon. Or home wherein to go? 31 *'A CHARTERED BORROWER" A chartered borrower I would be Of age-long beauty and of wizardry: The light of Helen's eyes that brought Such woe to men, wrought By the will of Zeus; The call of ancient seas to Odysseus; Music that fell from Sappho's lips As magical water drips From moonlit fountains; even the spell that Cleopatra's Turbid passions cast upon Mark Antony; Love like Paola's and Francesca's, Or that for Abelard of Heloise. , . . Sumptuous fabrics such as these Of imperishable lore I would now weave with rich embroideries Out of my own heart's endless store Into recurrent, haunting melodies Singing the restless beauty of your eyes. 32 AS THE WIND I think of you as the wind On a March day When white clouds are racing In giant play. I think of you as the sea, Fierce, unfathomable, bold; Mighty to overcome — Strong to enfold. I think of you as morning- Dazzling in purity — white As an arch-angel's robe In endless light. . . . 33 A WORD I would not have you tell me That you love me — But do not be afraid To send me some quickened word Out of your depth of being, That while not seeing You, It may beat against the casement of my heart, Like an ardent bird That has suddenly made me start In the night With the flutter of its wings Beating against my shutter ere it sings With dawn's first light. 34 PLAINT My heart is worn and sad tonight To think it must grow old, For though it quivers with delight When April hesitant and white. Weaves daffodils of gold — Alas, it trembles now with fright And shivers in the cold — My heart is worn and sad tonight To think it must grow old. 35 IF I COULD KNOW If I could know you loved me, Would it be As if the snows of yesterday Had cooled the airs of memory And wrapped me in a stillness as of morn When winter's light is born ? Or instead Should I be lifted As on wings of storm Against a summer sky, W^hen suddenly From underneath black cloud Flame bursts with proud And passionate ecstasy — If I could know you loved me ? 36 HEART-BREAK The lean moon shrouds the chill dead day. The spent leaves lie on the earth's cold bed; The laughter of summer has melted away, And hope from a woman's heart has fled. 37 CHALICES I have drunk of beauty out of many a cup. . . . I have drained the strong new wine of April to the lees When she shatters the old bottles of old trees; I have stained my lips with purple from mid- summer seas, And sipped the golden honey of sun and bloom with bees. I have quaffed the deep red splendor of October noons, And slaked my thirst with silver from thin har- vest moons; I have been benumbed from winter's crystal chalice Held in white forests by cup-bearers clad in ice. I have drunk of beauty out of many a cup. . . . 38 DECEMBER NIGHT O little quiet sheltered room Safe from winter's hostile gloom, Your shaded lights around me glow Upon the books I love and know — On sculptured beauty born of Greece, On Dante's mediaeval peace, On Botticelli, Giotto, Buonarotti, Sanzio; On English lakes and college-halls With lace- work gates and stately walls; On flowered lanes in fragrant Devon — On church-towers pointing up to heaven; On fir-tree from some forest far Lighted with the Christmas star; Upon red-berried holly wreath And lily-buds in bursting sheath; On pussy-willows wont to fling Their soft arms out to welcome spring; On green downs painted by the sea. On pale sweet branching bay-berry; On ferns from out some woodland deep Where birds were singing love to sleep; On lovely shadows of the night Penciling in grey and white The century old hand-carven door. While Persian colors warm the floor — You are a place of shot and gleam. Of silent thought, enchanted dream, O little quiet sheltered room Safe from winter's hostile gloom. 2>9 SNOW With delicate fingers The soft and treacherous snow Now wraps each twig and leaf and stem Within a pall of silence And of death— But in my heart There is the joyful tumult Of ten thousand silver bells In the music-shaken trees Of a summer dawn. 40 WHEN YOU GO AWAY When you go away Then I enter your room, And suddenly A faint and lingering scent Of cigarettes Stabs me, Like the perfume of bruised violets In the quiet gloom Of twilight, and I begin to look Around me and I see A book That is open on its face In the place Where you laid it. And I find ashes still scattered on the floor, And my heart beats faster when I remember That before you left I loved to kneel and brush them out of the way, Because I knew that you had spilled them And would spill more. . . . And then I look into the mirror until it seems As empty as a house of dreams, Or the white-pillowed bed where recently you lay, And I shut the door Quietly — And go away. 41 PLANETS On windless nights the planets burn Their message in the sky, Without a single star to spurn Their lonely majesty; But I forbear then even to trace Their pathway up on high, Ashamed to look them in the face — So slight a thing am I. 42 LAMPLIGHT Your voice, your lips, your eyes All come before me now — Ah, would that I might rest My hand upon your brow. Night would not seem so dark Nor day so long, For hours would beat to music ' As words to song; And even the lamplit shadows Would steal across my heart As softly as the south-wind Stirring the leaves apart — While words too lightly cadenced For aught but poetry Would burn themselves forever Into my memory. 43 SILENCE Like snow That is falling softly Round a lonely house At midnight, Your silence smothers me. Your words That I have treasured Have grown tenuous and thin With repetition, And are like the pale uncertain blue light Of a candle In a darkened room, Where I shiver alone In the cold. 44 BEAUTY WALKS ABROAD Beauty walks abroad to-night Under the dark fir-trees. Garmented with silvery white Draperies; While with a scimitar of light Cutting the clear blue sky. The moon declares her infinite Majesty. . . . But what do I care for the face of night, Glittering and cold to see — Would that your own instead might Bend over me. 45 WOUNDED I have stript my heart In what I have said, And now it is shrinking Like a wounded thing that*s fled Into a quiet covert Of a deep ferny place, Where shadows lie heavily. Giving the sun no space; And where there is silence At noon or with night falling — But oh, to hear you Calling, calling. 46 THE ROAD The road I travel has no ending — By flower and thorn it winds its way; I know not whither it is tending, And darkness soon must end the day. Yet when I see the farthest star Shine through the dim blue night, I sometimes think perchance there are Meadows whereto it leads with bright Unclouded skies — where it is spring The long years through. And in that lovely far-off blossoming I may again find you. 47 UNREST Would that my heart were like a well That I might see down deep into it, And finding dross there, Might drag it into the upper air, Leaving its waters Limpid and clear. . . . But instead It is like a wave That is struggling to be free, And to cast upon the strand The burden it has brought From the deep and troubled sea — Sea-weed that holds light Like a drowned woman's hair, Or spars that are broken By the ocean's mere ecstasy. Would that my heart were like a well. 48 FLOOD-TIDE Your life is like a current Swift and smooth and strong, Flowing between happy vales along Unconsciously Upon its highway To the sea; And shall I break Upon it with the torrent Of my song — Heedless of right or wrong — Passionately, Driven by a force more strong Than death. And stronger than the breath Of life in spring When bare woods wake To blossoming? Your life is like a current Swift and strong — And shall I break Upon it with the torrent Of my song? What though the sky Be paling in the west, Morning is breaking into color In my breast — Morning and heaven's awakening: 49 And were your heart As cold and still As aisles of ice In dark and lonely forests, Where pine-trees shake In winter winds Their crystal dice, Like long lean-fingered fates At play Upon the chance of life — Ah, were you cold and still As aisles of ice, The crimson rose of dawn Within my heart Would beat with blood-red throb Beneath your breast. Burning the icy stillness Of your rest Into ecstasy. 50 WINTER TWILIGHT When winter twilight comes upon the city, I see blue gentians Blooming beside deep pools Near dark forests, And pink and purple iris Flowering in June gardens. I see great stars One by one in wide skies Over pale deserts, With molten silver gleaming under tall palm-trees. I see mad waters swirling in swift eddies Over sharp stones In great swelling torrents Down steep mountain-sides . . . When winter twilight comes upon the city. 51 ANGUISH Pain is cutting through my heart, Like a thin knife, With the keen abiding smart Men call life. Pillowed cool in marble state, Ah, let me sleep, And afar from love or hate, Bury me deep. 52 UNHEARD Like the keys Of old spinets Once given to music, Or the trees In apple-orchards where linnets Sing in cool wet April dawns, That are now mute and unheard- So is my song. I must be silent As the hushed moment When the round sun Slips quietly Over the rim of the far horizon Into the sea — Since you are lost What song is left to me ? 53 LONELINESS My soul is sighing with the winds That search the winter plain, Remembering that poppies there Once burned the golden grain. She walks the furrowed fields of snow As ghostly clad as they, And in the stark and lonely night Dreams of the sub-robed day. She peers into a forest where No live thing is astir, And shivering she falls asleep Under a frosted fir. 54 FEBRUARY Upon the black wet earth I walk While I listen To the talk Of birds that breast The icy wind Their timid friends Have left behind — And though There is no burgeoning, Nor any bird That dares to sing, Gold willow-wands Bespeak the spring. And point Their magic sceptres to A patch of sky As clear and blue As any late For-get-me-not Half-hidden In a mossy spot. . . . And while the snow Trips over hills As lightly as a child That fills Her lap in June 55 With daisies, Sudden vivid green Amazes Eyes forlorn And city-spent From seeing beauty scorned, Or rent By the many ugly scars Wherewith man His progress mars: Thus in the hovering Moment when Mad swelling streams Divide the glen, And winter cleaves the year With spring, I lift my surging heart And sing. 56 YOU AND I You are like the hoar-frost That comes in winter's train, Cut in stars of crystal On the window pane — And I am like a garden Wet with summer rain, With flowers broken on their stems That will not lift again. 57 When spring returns When spring returns Upon the wind, And blue-birds dart About the sky, Then I shall sing Right merrily. When willows change Their gold to green, And maple-trees With burning tips Press silver clouds Like lovers* lips. And yellow dandelions play With wanton grasses Through the day — Then more glad Then field or tree My very inmost heart will be — When spring returns Upon the wind. 58 SCOURGE Life, I would forget you if I could, For you have cut and bruised me On your sharp grey stones When I have dared to dash upon you In a sea of dreams. You rattle in my mind Like dead men*s bones Sepulchred in a sea-chest That is pounded by the surge, When you lash me With the scourge Of memory. 59 CONTRAST You are like an arrow That is straight and true — I am but a summer wind That would have shaken you. Curved the bow yet taut the string That drives you toward your mark- While like a bird on broken wing I tremble in the dark. 60 MY THOUGHT My thought leans out to you Far in the still blue Night, as a birch- tree Bends over a stream. Have you forgotten me, Or can you still see My face bending over you Out of the still blue Night, as in dream ? Whisper your love to me — Breathe it to flower or tree. Rain-drop or sunlit gleam; My thought bends over you- Life is a dream. 61 A FOREST My heart is like a forest, With hidden recesses And secret places, Where you alone Have found the way. . . 62 MIST Thought, why do you burn me As the street-lamps burn the mists Of evening When they press Their hot red fingers On the tear-wet cheeks of day — Will you not let me forget ? Make me secure in loneliness, And wrap me With the mist That wraps the hills, That I may be As cold and grey. 63 SUMMER STARS Love and peace can never dwell Side by side, For peace is like the snow that fell At Christmastide, And love is but a torch that burns And scars — Trembling with red and blue by turns Like summer stars. 64 DO YOU WONDER Do you wonder that I sing Of spring's returning — Of forest and of star And of all things that are Compact of beauty And of yearning? For though I may not yet find peace Within the strong And uncurbed passion of my song, My soul at least may sing As the waves sing — Or swing through space As planets swing — In harmony With moonlit tides and spring, High-hearted, free, alone and proud. 65 FORGIVEN Like the touch of fur Upon my cheek Is the thought that your love Is mine to keep. My heart is as warm And soft in my breast As a ring-dove asleep In her soft warm nest; And I am as calm And as full of peace As the midnight snow That is falling like fleece. 66 DOMINOES As up and down the world I go I wear a colored domino, And in passing should you ask Why it is I wear a mask, I would answer, ** Would you show To others all your joy or woe?" In the world as at a ball Or midnight frolic one and all — Dressed in blue or black or rose — Are wearing colored dominoes. 67 PRELUDE Spring tells her secrets to the night As she stands at winter's gate, Young and trembling, wan and white, All too prone to hesitate Now to claim her royal state. Over evening hills she tripped By enticing airs beguiled, Young and warm, and rosy-lipped, Slim and naked as a child. With eyes as blue and wild: And she begs of winter room Where she yet may rest unseen, While her weavers at their loom Fashion her bright robe of green, Flecked with threads of silver sheen. Spring tells her secret to the night. Young and trembling, wan and white. 6S WHAT IS TIME What is time — What is space? Time, the hours That interlace To hide from me Your face. What is space But a pathway Made of steel, Where the turning Of a wheel Carries burning Word for word To a distant place. What is time — What is space? 69 WILD-GEESE Lift up your eyes And you will see Wild-geese flying Over pale grey skies — Like souls of the winds Alive and free — Lift up your eyes And you will see. Lift up your heart To the young spring night, And she will open Her own to you — Like a dark blue flower Stabbed with light — Lift up your heart To the young spring night. 70 A CLOSED BOOK Life lies between us Like a closed book. . . . Yet its polished surface Is satin to the touch, And the scent of its leather As the breath of roses On a June night. 71 MARCH WIND Unsheathed from its scabbard The keen blade of the March wind Is searching the bare branches Of the silver beech-trees. Velvet moss is wrapping the chill wet earth As with a blanket. The grey sky leans heavily Upon the strong shoulders of the steel-blue hills. Flashing between the mottled white and tan Of tall sycamores, A turbulent stream plunges madly — Cutting the pale thin green of the meadow. Tawny buds in feathery fountains Are breaking with delicate grace The sharp outline and hard color Of the steep ridges. . . . What is there in the austere beauty Of the young spring — Cold and pure and expectant — That tears me with an agony of aching, And sends my heart searching With the hunger of the March wind.? 72 AT TIMES At times it is a lonely chord — A strange and lovely haunting word, Or flash of color that may bring You back as if on level wing. Again a moon that cleaves the dark May serve as your returning bark — For with all sudden quick delight You come to me by day or night. 73 DAFFODILS Daffodils are knocking At spring's closed door, Impatient of their waiting To carpet her floor. Rude winds of winter, Stop your rough blowing. And give the yellow daffodils Their spring showing. Woo them April sunshine — Kiss them silver rain — Welcome all their blossoming To the earth again. 74 WIZARDRY Love came to me out of the shadow On hushed and stealthy feet, But his face was like the morning, And his eyes were wild and sweet. He led me across the meadows, And over the silver streams. Into a place of silent stars And quiet dreams. He gave me no food or raiment, Nor wreaths to bind my hair, But he wove thin veils of amethyst My spirit might wear. He pressed a lute into my hands. And bade me then to sing — But in that place of silence I waited listening. I heard the noiseless footprints That fall upon new snow, And even the sigh of April When blossoms blow. . . . Love came to me out of the shadow On hushed and stealthy feet, But his face was like the morning. And his eyes were wild and sweet. 75 THE CALL I shall go out To meet the spring Where secret woods Are blossoming, And turn my back On life and duty, That I may keep My tryst with beauty. My tryst with beauty I must keep, To save my sluggard soul From sleep. Lest I should fail To mark each thing That trembles in The lap of spring. Then in the lap of spring I'll lie. While small birds flit About the sky. And listen to Their heralding. With pagan joy. The wild sweet spring. I shall go out To meet the spring Where secret woods Are blossoming. 76 APRIL I — Pursuit I have followed you Through the long year, April, To find you here In this beech-wood. With your green kirtle Spread on the hillside, While you dip Into a silver stream. Must you ever ensnare me With your shy girlhood. And are you not fair enough Without tangling your tawny hair with violets? Why do you still Elude me When I seek to enfold you. Turning your face northward as you trip At twilight Over a misty hill? II — After Rain Light is tremulous again After the fresh spring rain, While numberless little secret buds, 77 Embroidered in silvery gauze And infinitely whorled, Are breaking into fragrance. The passionate purple stain Of judas-trees Protests in vain Against the whiteness — The inviolate bloom — Of dogwood. The hills are splashed with golden broom, And blue violets are wedded to pale crocuses In the cool wet April grass, While in the windless air A thrush sings Of bridals and of blossomings. Can this be Eden here. With Eve hidden Under some sweet-scented rain-drenched apple- bough ? For but a moment now agone I marvelled to see A sleek and indolent serpent — Subtle, malevolent — Pass beside me. Gliding warily through tall grass. 78 Ill — Purple Strip that purple scarf off, April, That you wind so tightly round my heart. Is it not enough that you come to us Trailing your garments of green and silver — Tearing our hearts into shreds With your young beauty? Why must you wound us With the color of grapes That belong to your sister, autumn? Strip that purple scarf off, April. IV — I Have Not Lost You I have not lost you yet, April, For you are still drawing your thin veils Around your bare young limbs, To shield them From the cold air. Dogwood is weaving pearls Into your bright hair, While you tread carelessly upon violets, Lifting your proud head into the skies — And I hear music Still trembling on your lip in dreams In silver harmonies Of gurgling streams. . . . I have not lost you yet, April. 79 SPRING VOICES Ole Mr. Frog got a mighty fine note — Mr. Whip-poor-will sing wid a sob in his throat — But it gives me fear in de dark to hear Mr. Owl holler out, " Who-o-o, who-o-o, who-o-o ?" An' I say, "Mr. Owl, howdy you do.?" But he holler out again Jus* "Who-o-o, who-o-o, who-o-o,?" An* I say right quick, *''Jim Jones an his wife Wuz at my house las' nighty An' Gord knows who-all Wuz at my house las' night." Mr. Frog call out from de edge o' de pond — Mr. Whip-poor-will, he mighty soon to respond — But it gives me fear in de dark to hear Mr. Owl holler out, ** Who-o-o, who-o-o, who-o-o ?" An* I say, "Mr. Owl, its me an' you," But he holler out again, "Who-o-o, who-o-o, who-o-o?" An* I say right quick, "y/w Jones an^ his wife Wuz at my house las' nighty An* Gord knows who-all Wuz at my house las' night." * This refrain is a fragment of a negro folk-song given to the author by an old slave, who recalled having heard it sung in her youth on a Virginian plantation. 80 An' Mr. Frog he say dat he don' know, An* Mr. Whip-poor-will holler, "Dat ain' so." But it gives me fear in de dark to hear Mr. Owl holler out, " Who-o-o, who-o-o, who-o-o?' An' I say, "Mr. Owl, t'ain' nobody but you," An' den I sneeze, " Ker-ketch-er-koo ! " An' I run right quick, 'cause Jim Jones an* his wife Wuz at my house las' nighty An Gord knows who-all Wuz at my house las' nights 81 WORDS ARE TOO TATTERED Words are too tattered and thin To tell my love for you — I could paint it in April sunsets Caught in a mesh of silver laces In the boughs of young trees, Or in gardens that are stained with poppies. I could sing it in the rhythm of high seas Breaking upon sounding beaches, Or be silent as snow That is softer than fleece — Words are too tattered and thin To tell my love for you. 82 SEARCH I have hunted you down the garden-path Out in the soft spring rain, And under. the lovely starlit sky I have looked for you long in vain. But I know that you are as far from me As a star at the heaven's height, That is fixed forever immovably In the changing tides of night. 83 GIVING I gave to him a blood-red rose But he gave it back to me — It pierced my finger with its thorn Till I wept bitterly. I gave to him a white rose — As white as it was fair — He hid it from me in his heart. But I have found it there. 84 GHOSTS I am not the I you think I am — Nor you the you. We marked the flight with the naked eye Of a bird that flew Across the sky, But not its hue — We heard it cry — Ah, that is true, But it sang no song as it passed us by To sparkle down the blue; Its color and flame we never knew. . . . I am not the I you think I am — Nor you the you. 85 MIRRORS I Alone as a child in tall grasses Under mimosas blossoming, Languorous from their sweet scent — As of peaches grown ripe in the sun — With only a cat-bird's complaint Piercing the midsummer silence, Or the wiry monotonous chanting of jar-fiies, I lived in a golden web of dreams. With magic to touch all my thought With light and the hot breath of noon. II Again indoors from a window I gazed at the buff-coated green Of the sumptuous leaves of magnolias, With their soft and velvety petals Spilling pale fragrance from chalices Of lovely and waxen white bloom; Or through the shimmering veils of heat At the yellowing fields of grain, Where color was wont to run riot In a tangle of poppies and larkspur. Ill At times on the edge of old forests I shared in the cool luscious melons, Pink at their hearts as crepe-myrtles, 86 That were offered on tables of stone — Not by Druidical priests, But by laughing and merry sweet girls To youths beguiled by their beauty. IV Then I can remember all my savage joy When the thunder pealed And the lightning stunned, And rivers of rain were pouring In passionate pelting storm, And I marvelled to see The iron-hooped barrels of water Caught from my dreamland the clouds. There were roses at sunset in gardens Afterwards, brimming with rain-drops And sweetness, dropping their petals Like carpets for fairies to dance on. VI But drawing the heart of a child More than beauty was the cow-pen at twilight With its strong warm smell of the stalls, And the black women milking the udders That streamed with their plentiful whiteness; Or the dairy as deep as a dungeon 87 And dank with the stain of stone walls, Where dusky girls balancing milk-pails Were lithe as young caryatides Bearing the weight of carved capitals; Or pouring out cream as if nectar, Where butter was blooming like flowers In rose-patted circles of gold. VII Then evening fell deep in the low-grounds By willow-grown banks of the river — Tawny and sluggish and baflling — Gliding between the tall rows Of corn in voluptuous beauty, While frogs sang loudly in chorus In the rank and weed-scented dusk To the far-away plantation harmony Of a negro alone in the twilight, Returning from work at the end of His long and arduous day, Where under the pointed black cedars Many a comrade lay sleeping — There in the shadows of evening — In graves that would ever be nameless. VIII Yet fairest of all was the moonlight From under the tall Gothic arches. With their slender columns of marble 88 Tripp'ed like birch-boles in forests; Moonlight falling on roadways Winding and white under oak-trees Or evergreens — cedars of Lebanon — Black in the summer-night shadows, While valleys were pale with the mystical Maze that the moon was still weaving, Trailing her silvery gauze, And drenching the world with her beauty. I lived in a crystal globe of dreams, With magic to touch all my thought. 89 THE SEA I — Downs I would have you walk with me Over the green downs to the sea; I would wait and watch with you The white sails flit across the blue; I would see the young gulls flying, And my heart would be replying To their freedom and their ecstasy Because you were alone with me. I would hear the cattle lowing And the south-wind softly blowing; I would watch the evening sky Clothe herself in majesty; I would hear the doves' faint cooing In their plaintive twilight wooing — As in old dead days of Greece, By her beating azure seas. II — Foreboding Evening is slowly creeping across the sea; The waiting beach Receives into her lap The little tired home-returning waves; The golden rocks are barnacled with infinite life; Sea-weed is strewn untidily upon the sand; So was it yesterday and yesterday — So will it be tomorrow When sorrow And I are far awav. 90 Ill — Like Ships Hearts are like ships Pulling at the ropes That hold them To their moorings — Straining to be free. IV — Rhythm Why should I go alone beside the sea In search of peace — Where sound may never cease — But that I feel my heritage to be Part of her age-long rhythm and her unity; And that she by right of her imperious word May still the voices that are stirred Deep in my soul continually, Making them one With her great diapason Of infinite harmony. . . . V — A Moment W^hite cloud, white foam And dark blue sea; Grey-veined sand The tide leaves When it drifts; Winds that shift suddenly Blowing strong and free — 91 A child with lips As scarlet as a marsh-lily Dipped in white spray, And eyes as blue As lapis-lazuli. VI — Mooring O ship now anchored in light With all of your voyaging done, Calm on a grey-blue sea Under a copper sun. And sails as closely furled As the bright petals upcurled Of a sleeping flower — Within this quiet hour You whisper rest To all who are oppressed With the unquenchable fire Of infinite desire. . . . VII — The Beach When I go out alone On the beach In the morning, I see cleanliness, stript and naked, Lying on the firm wet sand. And light glittering With ten thousand swords Flashing in cross-play. 92 And when I watch the waves withdrawing — Trailing their veils of foam . Like brides of the sea — In shining mirrors I find Nausicaa, Shell-pink and white. With gold hair wind-blown, Poised and curved like a lily-flower. Spreading her garments to dry In the quivering path of the sun. VIII — Island Fog The fog is drifting slowly From the sea. While on my ear there falls The sound of bell-buoys Tolling mournfully — Now soft, now loud — As unto souls Of mariners lost at sea; Whose bodies lie Upon the sea's cold bed, Wrapped from head To foot each in a shroud Of sea-moss Green and pink As scale and flesh Of mermaids. Who forever dwell 93 In jewelled caverns Of the deep, And wait to greet The ships that sink — To dive within their hold For precious stones And coin of treasured gold. . . , And as the bell-buoy Tolls and tolls, I seem to see The souls Of mariners Clothed in mystery, Coming from phantom ships New-beached upon the sand Of their once familiar island — With silent lips, Yet yearning to repeat Their tragic history — Haunting deep wells Of fragrance in the island dells, Near lonely cottages Where women weep Upon their knees. While children as they hearken To the bell. Bow their heads together. And whisper to each other The sad sea-tales Their fathers used to tell. . . . 94 The fog is drifting slowly From the sea, While on my ear there falls The sound of bell-buoys Tolling mournfully. 95 SONNETS I I walked serenely over trodden ways, Warmed by kind suns and soothed by quiet moons, Like one in happy trance who often swoons With pure contentment in the drowsy days; Fragile as wind-flowers trembling in a maze Of dreams, the hours achieved, and distant noons. Fainter than through lake-mist, the cry of loons. Or siren-calls from ships on lonely bays. Then out of some remote empyrean plane One lifted me to heaven and high stars. Yet borne by wings too trammelled to maintain That giddy place beyond all mortal bars, Far down the night I fell to earth again. Broken and bruised and wounded with deep scars. II When I am with you I have learned to skim Over life's surface: there I am bound By trivial rules men make that hedge me round And voices whispering within the rim Of my own soul's horizon; in that dim Demesne even as I falter I have found Reason and will true potentates are crowned. Though bare of breast, naked and lean of limb. 96 But in a realm apart from all of these, Where spirit soon with spirit dares to speak, Flame leaps to flame in meeting eyes; the worth Of truth then proves its ancient power to break Each barrier, making us one with hills and seas And stars, and all the old beauty of the earth. Ill I weigh my heart in scales of right and wrong, Like merchandise: for as the wind drives bloom In autumn sunlight through an infinite room Of clear blue space, you drive my thoughts along The highways of the mind with might as strong, Dispelling every questioning cloud of gloom And haunting fear of far impending doom. Scattering my words like petals into song. Yet in my deepest consciousness I know, White are the flowers of love that I now bring To you — white as a mantle of new snow Or blossoms from the altars of young spring; Fair as the altar-bread to one who sips Red sacramental wine with trembling lips. IV Wounded with beauty in this quiet hour Beside a limpid pool I muse alone — No twilight bell could bring to me the tone Of your clear voice more silverly, with a dower 97 Of roses prodigal of scent and flower As those in Persian gardens long since blown, And yet like spectres faded woes are prone To haunt the summer dusk with latent power. But truth that stalks beside me stark and bold Taunts me with sorrow that is sharp and new As morning, cutting like frost in cold December: the years beyond are few — Futile the rose of love I give to you — Separate in doom, apart we must grow old. 98 A VALLEY Life is a lonely valley Where beauty walks with tears Within a hush of silence Like that of quiet spheres — Until she sings in rushes, Wind-stirred beside a stream, Yielding her soul to music Born of a golden dream. 99 SUMMER NIGHT As I came through that lane of honeysuckle In the summer night Where no sound stirred, Suddenly I thought I heard A hundred voices calling your name Through all the sweet, warm dark — Burning it into my brain and heart — Can it be That honeysuckle Has tongues of flame ? 100 WHAT IS SPRING What is spring to me But you? What is summer — What is autumn — What is winter? You sing to me In every note From every misty tree In April; And when moonHght presses Upon the heart of a rose In a June garden, It quivers like my own When you are near. It is your voice That I hear When autumn Treads out color As from a winepress; And when snow Muffles sound With a silence That can be heard. It is your unspoken word. 101 What is spring to me But you? What is summer — What is autumn — What is winter? 102 ASPIRATION With stars I climb The lonely night — I ride the sun To the morning's height. I search the gardens Of the sea For flowers that bloom Continually. I talk to the winds From the ocean-plain — I hear the secrets Of April rain : But joy of joys — I strive as I can To lose myself In the heart of man. 103 THORNS What are these sharp thorns That you give to me, Beauty ? Will you not let me wear your purple flowers Without pain ? Would you have me return again To the dusty street Of life, With noise insistent and loud, To be jostled once more by the crowd — I who have lain At your feet By pools That are still and deep? It is your voice that cools My hot thirst. And leads me to choose Even the pain Of wounds that will not heal Rather than feel I may lose you Out of my life again. . . . Ah, give me your sharp thorns, Beauty. 104 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY WILL INCREASE TO 50 CENTS ON THE FOURTH DAY AND TO $1.00 ON THE SEVENTH DAY OVERDUE. I~''ii 2X :^'i6 LD21-100m-7,'39(402s) YB 76775