Kitabı oku: «The House of the Trees & Other Poems», sayfa 7

Philippa

 
A GENEROUS gentleness that flowed,
Stream-like, beside a dusty road;
Gave laborers shade, and prisoners sun,
And easeful joy to every one;
With liquid melodies for such
As worked or wearied overmuch,
And ministrations cool and sweet
For fevered hands and aching feet.
 
 
So delicately fair she moved—
That stream-like girl, of all beloved.
Along her path no grief nor care
But lulled and lightened unaware.
She bore the sky within her breast,
And child-like winds her soul caressed,
Until her spring of life was dried,
And with a smile Philippa died.
 

The Student

 
THE student sits within his room,
So small and worn and white;
His lamp flames out remote and strange
Through all the hours of night.
 
 
And all day long within his face,
So small and worn and white,
His eyes flame out—those lamp-like eyes,
So weirdly, strangely bright.
 

Unspoken

 
MY lover comes down the long leafy street
Through tenderly falling rain;
His footsteps near our portal veer,
Go past—then turn again.
 
 
O can it be he is knocking below,
Or here at my door above?
So gentle and small it sounds in the hall,
So loud in the ear of love.
 
 
But never a word of love has he said,
And never a word crave I,
For why should one long for the daylight strong
When the dawn is in the sky?
 
 
O a dewy rose-garden is the house,
A garden shut from the sun;
The breath of it sweet floats up, as my feet
Float down to my waiting one.
 
 
But if ever a word of love thinks he,
It falls from his heart still-born;
Who bends to the rose does not haste to close
His hand around bud and thorn.
 
 
The beautiful soul that is in him turns
His beautiful face agleam;
My own soul flies to feast in his eyes,
Where the silent love-words teem.
 
 
Our talk is of books, and of thoughts and moods,
Of the wild flowers in the rain;
And he leans his cheek, when we do not speak,
On his chair where my hand had lain.
 
 
Yet never a word of love does he say,
And never a word crave I;
For the faint green May would wither away
At the quick touch of July.
 
 
And at last—at last we look our last,
And the dim day grows more dim;
But his eyes still shine in these eyes of mine,
And my soul goes forth with him.
 
 
For though not a word of love does he say,
Still never a word crave I;
For the words of earth are of little worth
When a song drops out of the sky.
 

Under the King

 
LOVE with the deep eyes and soft hair,
Love with the lily throat and hands,
Is done to death, and free as air
Am I of all my King’s commands.
 
 
How shall I celebrate my joy?
Or dance with feet that once were fleet
In his adorable employ?
Or laugh with lips that felt his sweet?
 
 
How can I at his lifeless face
Aim any sharp or bitter jest,
Since roguish destiny did place
That tender target in my breast?
 
 
Nay, let me be sincere and strong;
I cannot rid me of my chains,
I cannot to myself belong,
My King is dead—his soul still reigns.
 

The Secret

 
SOME chance moment life confesses
That her insect nothingnesses
Carry honey with their stings,
But ’tis only to their kings—
Those who know how best to use them,
Those who know how to refuse them—
That the secret is made free,
And souls are loosed from tyranny.
 

Limitation

 
BEYOND the far horizon’s farthest bound
A farther boundary lies;
No spirit wing can reach the utmost round,
No spirit eyes.
 
 
The soul has limitations such as space,
Such as eternity;
The farthest star to which thou setst thy face
Belongs to thee.
 

Three Years Old

 
WHAT is it like, I wonder, to roam
Down through the tall grass hidden quite?
To feel very far away from home
When the dear house is out of sight?
 
 
To want to play with the broken moon
In the star garden of the skies?
To sleep through twilight eves of June
Beneath the sound of lullabies?
 
 
To hold up hurts for all to see,
Sob at imaginary harms,
To clasp in welcome a father’s knee,
And fit so well to a mother’s arms?
 
 
To have life bounded by one dull road,
A wood and a pond, and to feel no lack,
To gaze with pleasure upon a toad,
And caress a mud-turtle’s horny back?
 
 
To follow the robin’s cheerful hop
With all the salt small hands can hold,
And plead in vain for it to stop—
What is it like to be three years old?
 
 
Ah, once I knew, but ’twas long ago;
I try to recall it in vain—in vain!
And now I know I shall never know
What it is to be a child again.
 

Sometime, I Fear

 
SOMETIME, I fear, but God alone knows when,
Mine eyes shall gaze on your unseeing eyes,
On your unheeding ears shall fall my cries,
Your clasp shall cease, your soul go from my ken,
Your great heart be a fire burned out.—Ah, then,
What shall remain for me beneath the skies
Of glad, or good, or beautiful, or wise,
That can relume and thrill my life again?
 
 
This shall remain, a love that cannot fail,
A life that joys in your great joy, yet grieves
In memory of sweet days fled too soon.
Sadness divine! as when November pale
Sits broken-hearted ’mong her withered leaves,
And feels the wind about her warm as June.
 

Joy

 
WHEN airy joy doth hail me
I follow on behind,
And lest my feet should fail me
I follow on the wind;
I hear her lightsome laughter
Go floating past the door,
And swift I follow after
As she flies on before.
 
 
When I am faint and falling,
And lose her skyey wings,
I hear her liquid calling,
And feel the charm she flings
On all the earth and o’er me,
Then eagerly I rise,
And see her skirts before me
Go glittering up the skies.
 
 
The best of life would daunt me
Ungirdled by her grace,
And foreign demons haunt me
Whene’er she hides her face.
Up roughest steeps with laughter
My airy joy doth soar,
As wind-like I come after,
And she flies on before.
 

In the Dark

 
ALL in the dark he crossed the border!
All in the dark, for the lamp of faith
Had never been used, and was not in order—
So all in the dark he encountered Death.