Eunice Tietjens
ScherzoCome, sprite, and dance! The sun is up,The wind runs laughing down the skyThat brims with morning like a cup.Sprite, we must race him,We must chase him—You and I!And skim across the fuzzy heather—You and joy and I togetherWhirling by!You merry little roll of fat!—Made warm to kiss, and smooth to pat,And round to toy with, like a cub;To put one’s nozzle in and rubAnd breathe you in like breath of kine,Like juice of vine,That sets my morning heart a-tingling,Dancing, jingling,All the glad abandon minglingOf wind and wine!Sprite, you are love, and you are joy,A happiness, a dream, a toy,A god to laugh with,Love to chaff with,The sun come down in tangled gold,The moon to kiss, and spring to hold.There was a time once, long ago,Long—oh, long since ... I scarcely know.Almost I had forgot ...There was a time when you were not,You merry sprite, save as a strain,The strange dull painOf green buds swellingIn warm, straight dwellingThat must burst to the April rain.A little heavy I was then,And dull—and glad to rest. And whenThe travail cameIn searing flame ...But, sprite, that was so long ago!—A century!—I scarcely know.Almost I had forgotWhen you were not.So, little sprite, come dance with me!The sun is up, the wind is free!Come now and trip it,Romp and skip it,Earth is young and so are we.Sprite, you and I will dance togetherOn the heather,Glad with all the procreant earth,With all the fruitage of the trees,And golden pollen on the breeze,With plants that bring the grain to birth,With beast and bird,Feathered and furred,With youth and hope and life and love,And joy thereof—While we are part of all, we two—For my glad burgeoning in you!So, merry little roll of fat,Made warm to kiss and smooth to patAnd round to toy with, like a cub,To put one’s nozzle in and rub,My god to laugh with,Love to chaff with,Come and dance beneath the sky,You and I!Look out with those round wondering eyes,And squirm, and gurgle—and grow wise!
ScherzoCome, sprite, and dance! The sun is up,The wind runs laughing down the skyThat brims with morning like a cup.Sprite, we must race him,We must chase him—You and I!And skim across the fuzzy heather—You and joy and I togetherWhirling by!You merry little roll of fat!—Made warm to kiss, and smooth to pat,And round to toy with, like a cub;To put one’s nozzle in and rubAnd breathe you in like breath of kine,Like juice of vine,That sets my morning heart a-tingling,Dancing, jingling,All the glad abandon minglingOf wind and wine!Sprite, you are love, and you are joy,A happiness, a dream, a toy,A god to laugh with,Love to chaff with,The sun come down in tangled gold,The moon to kiss, and spring to hold.There was a time once, long ago,Long—oh, long since ... I scarcely know.Almost I had forgot ...There was a time when you were not,You merry sprite, save as a strain,The strange dull painOf green buds swellingIn warm, straight dwellingThat must burst to the April rain.A little heavy I was then,And dull—and glad to rest. And whenThe travail cameIn searing flame ...But, sprite, that was so long ago!—A century!—I scarcely know.Almost I had forgotWhen you were not.So, little sprite, come dance with me!The sun is up, the wind is free!Come now and trip it,Romp and skip it,Earth is young and so are we.Sprite, you and I will dance togetherOn the heather,Glad with all the procreant earth,With all the fruitage of the trees,And golden pollen on the breeze,With plants that bring the grain to birth,With beast and bird,Feathered and furred,With youth and hope and life and love,And joy thereof—While we are part of all, we two—For my glad burgeoning in you!So, merry little roll of fat,Made warm to kiss and smooth to patAnd round to toy with, like a cub,To put one’s nozzle in and rub,My god to laugh with,Love to chaff with,Come and dance beneath the sky,You and I!Look out with those round wondering eyes,And squirm, and gurgle—and grow wise!
Scherzo
Scherzo
Come, sprite, and dance! The sun is up,The wind runs laughing down the skyThat brims with morning like a cup.Sprite, we must race him,We must chase him—You and I!And skim across the fuzzy heather—You and joy and I togetherWhirling by!
Come, sprite, and dance! The sun is up,
The wind runs laughing down the sky
That brims with morning like a cup.
Sprite, we must race him,
We must chase him—
You and I!
And skim across the fuzzy heather—
You and joy and I together
Whirling by!
You merry little roll of fat!—Made warm to kiss, and smooth to pat,And round to toy with, like a cub;To put one’s nozzle in and rubAnd breathe you in like breath of kine,Like juice of vine,That sets my morning heart a-tingling,Dancing, jingling,All the glad abandon minglingOf wind and wine!
You merry little roll of fat!—
Made warm to kiss, and smooth to pat,
And round to toy with, like a cub;
To put one’s nozzle in and rub
And breathe you in like breath of kine,
Like juice of vine,
That sets my morning heart a-tingling,
Dancing, jingling,
All the glad abandon mingling
Of wind and wine!
Sprite, you are love, and you are joy,A happiness, a dream, a toy,A god to laugh with,Love to chaff with,The sun come down in tangled gold,The moon to kiss, and spring to hold.
Sprite, you are love, and you are joy,
A happiness, a dream, a toy,
A god to laugh with,
Love to chaff with,
The sun come down in tangled gold,
The moon to kiss, and spring to hold.
There was a time once, long ago,Long—oh, long since ... I scarcely know.Almost I had forgot ...There was a time when you were not,You merry sprite, save as a strain,The strange dull painOf green buds swellingIn warm, straight dwellingThat must burst to the April rain.A little heavy I was then,And dull—and glad to rest. And whenThe travail cameIn searing flame ...But, sprite, that was so long ago!—A century!—I scarcely know.Almost I had forgotWhen you were not.
There was a time once, long ago,
Long—oh, long since ... I scarcely know.
Almost I had forgot ...
There was a time when you were not,
You merry sprite, save as a strain,
The strange dull pain
Of green buds swelling
In warm, straight dwelling
That must burst to the April rain.
A little heavy I was then,
And dull—and glad to rest. And when
The travail came
In searing flame ...
But, sprite, that was so long ago!—
A century!—I scarcely know.
Almost I had forgot
When you were not.
So, little sprite, come dance with me!The sun is up, the wind is free!Come now and trip it,Romp and skip it,Earth is young and so are we.Sprite, you and I will dance togetherOn the heather,Glad with all the procreant earth,With all the fruitage of the trees,And golden pollen on the breeze,With plants that bring the grain to birth,With beast and bird,Feathered and furred,With youth and hope and life and love,And joy thereof—While we are part of all, we two—For my glad burgeoning in you!
So, little sprite, come dance with me!
The sun is up, the wind is free!
Come now and trip it,
Romp and skip it,
Earth is young and so are we.
Sprite, you and I will dance together
On the heather,
Glad with all the procreant earth,
With all the fruitage of the trees,
And golden pollen on the breeze,
With plants that bring the grain to birth,
With beast and bird,
Feathered and furred,
With youth and hope and life and love,
And joy thereof—
While we are part of all, we two—
For my glad burgeoning in you!
So, merry little roll of fat,Made warm to kiss and smooth to patAnd round to toy with, like a cub,To put one’s nozzle in and rub,My god to laugh with,Love to chaff with,Come and dance beneath the sky,You and I!Look out with those round wondering eyes,And squirm, and gurgle—and grow wise!
So, merry little roll of fat,
Made warm to kiss and smooth to pat
And round to toy with, like a cub,
To put one’s nozzle in and rub,
My god to laugh with,
Love to chaff with,
Come and dance beneath the sky,
You and I!
Look out with those round wondering eyes,
And squirm, and gurgle—and grow wise!
Beneath my window in a city streetA monster lairs, a creature huge and grimAnd only half believed: the strength of him—Steel-strung and fit to meetThe strength of earth—Is mighty as men’s dreams that conquer force.Steam belches from him. He is the new birthOf old Behemoth, late-sprung from the sourceWhence Grendel sprang, and all the monster clanDead for an age, now born again of man.The iron head,Set on a monstrous, jointed neck,Glides here and there, lifts, settles on the redMoist floor, with nose dropped in the dirt, at beckOf some incredible control.He snorts, and pauses couchant for a space,Then slowly lifts, and tears the gaping holeYet deeper in earth’s flank. A sudden raceOf loosened earth and pebbles trickles thereLike blood-drops in a wound.But he, the monster, swings his load around—Weightless it seems as air.His mammoth jawDrops widely open with a rasping sound,And all the red earth vomits from his maw.O thwarted monster, born at man’s decree,A lap-dog dragon, eating from his handAnd doomed to fetch and carry at command,Have you no longing ever to be free?In warm, electric days to run a-muck,Ranging like some mad dinosaur,Your fiery heart at warWith this strange world, the city’s restless ruck,Where all drab things that toil, save you alone,Have life;And you the semblance only, and the strife?Do you not yearn to rip the roots of stoneOf these great piles men build,And hurl them down with shriek of shattered steel,Scorning your own sure doom, so you may feel,You too, the lust with which your fathers killed?Or is your soul in very deed so tame,The blood of Grendel watered to a gruel,That you are well contentWith heart of flameThus placidly to chew your cud of fuelAnd toil in peace for man’s aggrandizement?Poor helpless creature of a half-grown god,Blind of yourself and impotent!At night,When your forerunners, sprung from quicker sod,Would range through primal woods, hot on the scent,Or wake the stars with amorous delight,You stand, a soiled, unwieldy mass of steel,Black in the arc-light, modern as your name,Dead and unsouled and trite;Till I must feelA quick creator’s pity for your shame:That man, who made you and who gave so much,Yet cannot give the last transforming touch;That with the work he cannot give the wage—For day, no joy of night,For toil, no ecstasy of primal rage.
Beneath my window in a city streetA monster lairs, a creature huge and grimAnd only half believed: the strength of him—Steel-strung and fit to meetThe strength of earth—Is mighty as men’s dreams that conquer force.Steam belches from him. He is the new birthOf old Behemoth, late-sprung from the sourceWhence Grendel sprang, and all the monster clanDead for an age, now born again of man.The iron head,Set on a monstrous, jointed neck,Glides here and there, lifts, settles on the redMoist floor, with nose dropped in the dirt, at beckOf some incredible control.He snorts, and pauses couchant for a space,Then slowly lifts, and tears the gaping holeYet deeper in earth’s flank. A sudden raceOf loosened earth and pebbles trickles thereLike blood-drops in a wound.But he, the monster, swings his load around—Weightless it seems as air.His mammoth jawDrops widely open with a rasping sound,And all the red earth vomits from his maw.O thwarted monster, born at man’s decree,A lap-dog dragon, eating from his handAnd doomed to fetch and carry at command,Have you no longing ever to be free?In warm, electric days to run a-muck,Ranging like some mad dinosaur,Your fiery heart at warWith this strange world, the city’s restless ruck,Where all drab things that toil, save you alone,Have life;And you the semblance only, and the strife?Do you not yearn to rip the roots of stoneOf these great piles men build,And hurl them down with shriek of shattered steel,Scorning your own sure doom, so you may feel,You too, the lust with which your fathers killed?Or is your soul in very deed so tame,The blood of Grendel watered to a gruel,That you are well contentWith heart of flameThus placidly to chew your cud of fuelAnd toil in peace for man’s aggrandizement?Poor helpless creature of a half-grown god,Blind of yourself and impotent!At night,When your forerunners, sprung from quicker sod,Would range through primal woods, hot on the scent,Or wake the stars with amorous delight,You stand, a soiled, unwieldy mass of steel,Black in the arc-light, modern as your name,Dead and unsouled and trite;Till I must feelA quick creator’s pity for your shame:That man, who made you and who gave so much,Yet cannot give the last transforming touch;That with the work he cannot give the wage—For day, no joy of night,For toil, no ecstasy of primal rage.
Beneath my window in a city streetA monster lairs, a creature huge and grimAnd only half believed: the strength of him—Steel-strung and fit to meetThe strength of earth—Is mighty as men’s dreams that conquer force.Steam belches from him. He is the new birthOf old Behemoth, late-sprung from the sourceWhence Grendel sprang, and all the monster clanDead for an age, now born again of man.
Beneath my window in a city street
A monster lairs, a creature huge and grim
And only half believed: the strength of him—
Steel-strung and fit to meet
The strength of earth—
Is mighty as men’s dreams that conquer force.
Steam belches from him. He is the new birth
Of old Behemoth, late-sprung from the source
Whence Grendel sprang, and all the monster clan
Dead for an age, now born again of man.
The iron head,Set on a monstrous, jointed neck,Glides here and there, lifts, settles on the redMoist floor, with nose dropped in the dirt, at beckOf some incredible control.He snorts, and pauses couchant for a space,Then slowly lifts, and tears the gaping holeYet deeper in earth’s flank. A sudden raceOf loosened earth and pebbles trickles thereLike blood-drops in a wound.But he, the monster, swings his load around—Weightless it seems as air.His mammoth jawDrops widely open with a rasping sound,And all the red earth vomits from his maw.
The iron head,
Set on a monstrous, jointed neck,
Glides here and there, lifts, settles on the red
Moist floor, with nose dropped in the dirt, at beck
Of some incredible control.
He snorts, and pauses couchant for a space,
Then slowly lifts, and tears the gaping hole
Yet deeper in earth’s flank. A sudden race
Of loosened earth and pebbles trickles there
Like blood-drops in a wound.
But he, the monster, swings his load around—
Weightless it seems as air.
His mammoth jaw
Drops widely open with a rasping sound,
And all the red earth vomits from his maw.
O thwarted monster, born at man’s decree,A lap-dog dragon, eating from his handAnd doomed to fetch and carry at command,Have you no longing ever to be free?In warm, electric days to run a-muck,Ranging like some mad dinosaur,Your fiery heart at warWith this strange world, the city’s restless ruck,Where all drab things that toil, save you alone,Have life;And you the semblance only, and the strife?Do you not yearn to rip the roots of stoneOf these great piles men build,And hurl them down with shriek of shattered steel,Scorning your own sure doom, so you may feel,You too, the lust with which your fathers killed?Or is your soul in very deed so tame,The blood of Grendel watered to a gruel,That you are well contentWith heart of flameThus placidly to chew your cud of fuelAnd toil in peace for man’s aggrandizement?
O thwarted monster, born at man’s decree,
A lap-dog dragon, eating from his hand
And doomed to fetch and carry at command,
Have you no longing ever to be free?
In warm, electric days to run a-muck,
Ranging like some mad dinosaur,
Your fiery heart at war
With this strange world, the city’s restless ruck,
Where all drab things that toil, save you alone,
Have life;
And you the semblance only, and the strife?
Do you not yearn to rip the roots of stone
Of these great piles men build,
And hurl them down with shriek of shattered steel,
Scorning your own sure doom, so you may feel,
You too, the lust with which your fathers killed?
Or is your soul in very deed so tame,
The blood of Grendel watered to a gruel,
That you are well content
With heart of flame
Thus placidly to chew your cud of fuel
And toil in peace for man’s aggrandizement?
Poor helpless creature of a half-grown god,Blind of yourself and impotent!At night,When your forerunners, sprung from quicker sod,Would range through primal woods, hot on the scent,Or wake the stars with amorous delight,You stand, a soiled, unwieldy mass of steel,Black in the arc-light, modern as your name,Dead and unsouled and trite;Till I must feel
Poor helpless creature of a half-grown god,
Blind of yourself and impotent!
At night,
When your forerunners, sprung from quicker sod,
Would range through primal woods, hot on the scent,
Or wake the stars with amorous delight,
You stand, a soiled, unwieldy mass of steel,
Black in the arc-light, modern as your name,
Dead and unsouled and trite;
Till I must feel
A quick creator’s pity for your shame:That man, who made you and who gave so much,Yet cannot give the last transforming touch;That with the work he cannot give the wage—For day, no joy of night,For toil, no ecstasy of primal rage.
A quick creator’s pity for your shame:
That man, who made you and who gave so much,
Yet cannot give the last transforming touch;
That with the work he cannot give the wage—
For day, no joy of night,
For toil, no ecstasy of primal rage.
I cannot always feel his greatness.Sometimes he walks beside me, step by step,And paces slowly in the ways—The simple, wingless waysThat my thoughts tread. He gossips with me then,And finds it good;Not as an eagle might, his great wings folded, be contentTo walk a little, knowing it his choice,But as a simple man,My friend.And I forget.Then suddenly a call floats downFrom the clear airy spaces,The great keen, lonely heights of being.And he who was my comrade hears the callAnd rises from my side, and soars,Deep-chanting, to the heights.Then I remember.And my upward gaze goes with him, and I seeFar off against the skyThe glint of golden sunlight on his wings.
I cannot always feel his greatness.Sometimes he walks beside me, step by step,And paces slowly in the ways—The simple, wingless waysThat my thoughts tread. He gossips with me then,And finds it good;Not as an eagle might, his great wings folded, be contentTo walk a little, knowing it his choice,But as a simple man,My friend.And I forget.Then suddenly a call floats downFrom the clear airy spaces,The great keen, lonely heights of being.And he who was my comrade hears the callAnd rises from my side, and soars,Deep-chanting, to the heights.Then I remember.And my upward gaze goes with him, and I seeFar off against the skyThe glint of golden sunlight on his wings.
I cannot always feel his greatness.Sometimes he walks beside me, step by step,And paces slowly in the ways—The simple, wingless waysThat my thoughts tread. He gossips with me then,And finds it good;Not as an eagle might, his great wings folded, be contentTo walk a little, knowing it his choice,But as a simple man,My friend.And I forget.
I cannot always feel his greatness.
Sometimes he walks beside me, step by step,
And paces slowly in the ways—
The simple, wingless ways
That my thoughts tread. He gossips with me then,
And finds it good;
Not as an eagle might, his great wings folded, be content
To walk a little, knowing it his choice,
But as a simple man,
My friend.
And I forget.
Then suddenly a call floats downFrom the clear airy spaces,The great keen, lonely heights of being.And he who was my comrade hears the callAnd rises from my side, and soars,Deep-chanting, to the heights.Then I remember.And my upward gaze goes with him, and I seeFar off against the skyThe glint of golden sunlight on his wings.
Then suddenly a call floats down
From the clear airy spaces,
The great keen, lonely heights of being.
And he who was my comrade hears the call
And rises from my side, and soars,
Deep-chanting, to the heights.
Then I remember.
And my upward gaze goes with him, and I see
Far off against the sky
The glint of golden sunlight on his wings.