Poems
Clara Shanafelt
I have no thoughts, no more desires—It is green and gray like a gardenStirred by apple-scented wind,Quick with the sense of cool and silver joysThat come in a rainy danceWhen soft hands of clouds have pushed awayThe round red stupid face of the sun.In one day, I think, the windWill not have had his will of the gleaming rain—They run about with tossed hair,The garden is silvered with their pleasure,Cool and sweet, shiningAs with arch laughter a beloved face.The musing poolShattered in glancing flight by a sudden wing—This, which no words can name,This is my heart’s delight,Winging I know not whither;It has no measure.
I have no thoughts, no more desires—It is green and gray like a gardenStirred by apple-scented wind,Quick with the sense of cool and silver joysThat come in a rainy danceWhen soft hands of clouds have pushed awayThe round red stupid face of the sun.In one day, I think, the windWill not have had his will of the gleaming rain—They run about with tossed hair,The garden is silvered with their pleasure,Cool and sweet, shiningAs with arch laughter a beloved face.The musing poolShattered in glancing flight by a sudden wing—This, which no words can name,This is my heart’s delight,Winging I know not whither;It has no measure.
I have no thoughts, no more desires—It is green and gray like a gardenStirred by apple-scented wind,Quick with the sense of cool and silver joysThat come in a rainy danceWhen soft hands of clouds have pushed awayThe round red stupid face of the sun.
I have no thoughts, no more desires—
It is green and gray like a garden
Stirred by apple-scented wind,
Quick with the sense of cool and silver joys
That come in a rainy dance
When soft hands of clouds have pushed away
The round red stupid face of the sun.
In one day, I think, the windWill not have had his will of the gleaming rain—They run about with tossed hair,The garden is silvered with their pleasure,Cool and sweet, shiningAs with arch laughter a beloved face.The musing poolShattered in glancing flight by a sudden wing—This, which no words can name,This is my heart’s delight,Winging I know not whither;It has no measure.
In one day, I think, the wind
Will not have had his will of the gleaming rain—
They run about with tossed hair,
The garden is silvered with their pleasure,
Cool and sweet, shining
As with arch laughter a beloved face.
The musing pool
Shattered in glancing flight by a sudden wing—
This, which no words can name,
This is my heart’s delight,
Winging I know not whither;
It has no measure.
To sink deeper yetIn the green flood of twilight—I grope for the rich chord of the full darknessThat drowns the piping cries of light,For silence fretted by cadent rainAnd the monotonous cries of insectsThat lull the tortured sense in drowsy veils.I am weary of lights dancingIn limpid streets,Lemon and gold and amethyst,The jewelled laughter and the scent,Weaving of uneasy colors.I would rest now in green and grayOf an abandoned gardenWhere no more flowers are,Only grass and crabbed trees,Night—And the bitter aroma of herbsTrod out by myriad, whispering feet of the rain—Night and no stars.
To sink deeper yetIn the green flood of twilight—I grope for the rich chord of the full darknessThat drowns the piping cries of light,For silence fretted by cadent rainAnd the monotonous cries of insectsThat lull the tortured sense in drowsy veils.I am weary of lights dancingIn limpid streets,Lemon and gold and amethyst,The jewelled laughter and the scent,Weaving of uneasy colors.I would rest now in green and grayOf an abandoned gardenWhere no more flowers are,Only grass and crabbed trees,Night—And the bitter aroma of herbsTrod out by myriad, whispering feet of the rain—Night and no stars.
To sink deeper yetIn the green flood of twilight—I grope for the rich chord of the full darknessThat drowns the piping cries of light,For silence fretted by cadent rainAnd the monotonous cries of insectsThat lull the tortured sense in drowsy veils.I am weary of lights dancingIn limpid streets,Lemon and gold and amethyst,The jewelled laughter and the scent,Weaving of uneasy colors.
To sink deeper yet
In the green flood of twilight—
I grope for the rich chord of the full darkness
That drowns the piping cries of light,
For silence fretted by cadent rain
And the monotonous cries of insects
That lull the tortured sense in drowsy veils.
I am weary of lights dancing
In limpid streets,
Lemon and gold and amethyst,
The jewelled laughter and the scent,
Weaving of uneasy colors.
I would rest now in green and grayOf an abandoned gardenWhere no more flowers are,Only grass and crabbed trees,Night—And the bitter aroma of herbsTrod out by myriad, whispering feet of the rain—Night and no stars.
I would rest now in green and gray
Of an abandoned garden
Where no more flowers are,
Only grass and crabbed trees,
Night—
And the bitter aroma of herbs
Trod out by myriad, whispering feet of the rain—
Night and no stars.