One dawn she woke me when the darkness layFaint on the Summer fields. The airWas like a question. Green was greyWith dew distilled in delitesence whereCovert, the night-folk wrought. She said: “Dear one,It is our holiday.” Forth we wentFinding new kindred, new bequest of sun,Inheriting again the firmament.Long ago ...The old years lie upon her grave like flowers.The alchemy of hoursHas made me someone whom she would not know.How strangely that frail morning lives and towersWhen I am other and when she lies low.
One dawn she woke me when the darkness layFaint on the Summer fields. The airWas like a question. Green was greyWith dew distilled in delitesence whereCovert, the night-folk wrought. She said: “Dear one,It is our holiday.” Forth we wentFinding new kindred, new bequest of sun,Inheriting again the firmament.Long ago ...The old years lie upon her grave like flowers.The alchemy of hoursHas made me someone whom she would not know.How strangely that frail morning lives and towersWhen I am other and when she lies low.
One dawn she woke me when the darkness layFaint on the Summer fields. The airWas like a question. Green was greyWith dew distilled in delitesence whereCovert, the night-folk wrought. She said: “Dear one,It is our holiday.” Forth we wentFinding new kindred, new bequest of sun,Inheriting again the firmament.
Long ago ...The old years lie upon her grave like flowers.The alchemy of hoursHas made me someone whom she would not know.How strangely that frail morning lives and towersWhen I am other and when she lies low.
There are within us lives we never liveBy sense or soul, for being does not knowTo tell their depth or breast their flowOr to taste the sweetness that they give.And now in distance, now in voices still,In pity or in harmony, in sleep,We lead unconscious lives, old, deep,Upon the far slope of an unknown hill.Is it not here that life walks wreathed at last?Many a soul meets many a soul with this:That muted lips and wistful eyes are passedIn silence; yet a sign there isBurning in air, though but a shadow fallOr some pale sunbeam steal along the wall.
There are within us lives we never liveBy sense or soul, for being does not knowTo tell their depth or breast their flowOr to taste the sweetness that they give.And now in distance, now in voices still,In pity or in harmony, in sleep,We lead unconscious lives, old, deep,Upon the far slope of an unknown hill.Is it not here that life walks wreathed at last?Many a soul meets many a soul with this:That muted lips and wistful eyes are passedIn silence; yet a sign there isBurning in air, though but a shadow fallOr some pale sunbeam steal along the wall.
There are within us lives we never liveBy sense or soul, for being does not knowTo tell their depth or breast their flowOr to taste the sweetness that they give.And now in distance, now in voices still,In pity or in harmony, in sleep,We lead unconscious lives, old, deep,Upon the far slope of an unknown hill.
Is it not here that life walks wreathed at last?Many a soul meets many a soul with this:That muted lips and wistful eyes are passedIn silence; yet a sign there isBurning in air, though but a shadow fallOr some pale sunbeam steal along the wall.
Last night I dreamed I saw my mother young.I never knew her till her hair was grey;Last night I saw the shadows lit awayAnd pearls about her shoulders strung.Out from our haunts of home amongShe came as if she knew them not. There layOld hope in her young eyes. And gayHer speech came in some laughing tongue.I who had watched the stolen march of daysAnd would not see the theft which was their signMoved happily to meet her, mute with praiseFor this the witchery that made her fair.But yet the pretty hand that lay in mineWas not the one I love upon my hair.
Last night I dreamed I saw my mother young.I never knew her till her hair was grey;Last night I saw the shadows lit awayAnd pearls about her shoulders strung.Out from our haunts of home amongShe came as if she knew them not. There layOld hope in her young eyes. And gayHer speech came in some laughing tongue.I who had watched the stolen march of daysAnd would not see the theft which was their signMoved happily to meet her, mute with praiseFor this the witchery that made her fair.But yet the pretty hand that lay in mineWas not the one I love upon my hair.
Last night I dreamed I saw my mother young.I never knew her till her hair was grey;Last night I saw the shadows lit awayAnd pearls about her shoulders strung.Out from our haunts of home amongShe came as if she knew them not. There layOld hope in her young eyes. And gayHer speech came in some laughing tongue.
I who had watched the stolen march of daysAnd would not see the theft which was their signMoved happily to meet her, mute with praiseFor this the witchery that made her fair.But yet the pretty hand that lay in mineWas not the one I love upon my hair.
Why am I silent? Tell me how to speakWith all the sweet familiars of the way;Call Summer by her name; and with the DayWalk royally companioned cheek on cheekFor that faint speech awhile withheld, that weakTask of the Word undone is the great Nay,The winged thunder that denies the ray.Yet once when first I saw the hapless GreekBy present impulse of the god urged onSeek out the shadow of the awful grove,I felt the word. I caught it once againIn a sweet flash of arrowy sun that shoneThickening on flowers. But whenYou sorrowed, Love,I knew it then....
Why am I silent? Tell me how to speakWith all the sweet familiars of the way;Call Summer by her name; and with the DayWalk royally companioned cheek on cheekFor that faint speech awhile withheld, that weakTask of the Word undone is the great Nay,The winged thunder that denies the ray.Yet once when first I saw the hapless GreekBy present impulse of the god urged onSeek out the shadow of the awful grove,I felt the word. I caught it once againIn a sweet flash of arrowy sun that shoneThickening on flowers. But whenYou sorrowed, Love,I knew it then....
Why am I silent? Tell me how to speakWith all the sweet familiars of the way;Call Summer by her name; and with the DayWalk royally companioned cheek on cheekFor that faint speech awhile withheld, that weakTask of the Word undone is the great Nay,The winged thunder that denies the ray.Yet once when first I saw the hapless GreekBy present impulse of the god urged onSeek out the shadow of the awful grove,I felt the word. I caught it once againIn a sweet flash of arrowy sun that shoneThickening on flowers. But whenYou sorrowed, Love,I knew it then....
I wandered where the wonder of the skyWas wide upon me. Isle beyond isle the eastWas signing that the Summer night had ceasedUpon the dawn. Then came a stranger byImmersed in the magic as was I.We stood together at the sorcerer’s feastSaying half-words; and as the day increasedWe parted with a farewell almost shy.Something was there. There was drawn silentlyThrough into life some fiery, clouded thing.O wiseFor one sweet flash of time we stood to seeDeath and the InbeingLie dreaming in each other’s eyes.
I wandered where the wonder of the skyWas wide upon me. Isle beyond isle the eastWas signing that the Summer night had ceasedUpon the dawn. Then came a stranger byImmersed in the magic as was I.We stood together at the sorcerer’s feastSaying half-words; and as the day increasedWe parted with a farewell almost shy.Something was there. There was drawn silentlyThrough into life some fiery, clouded thing.O wiseFor one sweet flash of time we stood to seeDeath and the InbeingLie dreaming in each other’s eyes.
I wandered where the wonder of the skyWas wide upon me. Isle beyond isle the eastWas signing that the Summer night had ceasedUpon the dawn. Then came a stranger byImmersed in the magic as was I.We stood together at the sorcerer’s feastSaying half-words; and as the day increasedWe parted with a farewell almost shy.
Something was there. There was drawn silentlyThrough into life some fiery, clouded thing.O wiseFor one sweet flash of time we stood to seeDeath and the InbeingLie dreaming in each other’s eyes.
Here a still field. I move within the green,It lies aloof. Look where I willThe steady glory of noon on the hillLays its divine indifference on the scene.I seem too far. I listen and I lean,Yet never will the burying hours fulfillOne hope of nearness to the Far and Still,But wound me with the sweet that they might mean.Is there no keener speech for us than thisOld incommunicable urge to knowThe speech of silence.... Yes—here a still field!What more—what more? For here the Comrade is,The God who waits alone and would have sealedOur compact with glad laughter long ago.
Here a still field. I move within the green,It lies aloof. Look where I willThe steady glory of noon on the hillLays its divine indifference on the scene.I seem too far. I listen and I lean,Yet never will the burying hours fulfillOne hope of nearness to the Far and Still,But wound me with the sweet that they might mean.Is there no keener speech for us than thisOld incommunicable urge to knowThe speech of silence.... Yes—here a still field!What more—what more? For here the Comrade is,The God who waits alone and would have sealedOur compact with glad laughter long ago.
Here a still field. I move within the green,It lies aloof. Look where I willThe steady glory of noon on the hillLays its divine indifference on the scene.I seem too far. I listen and I lean,Yet never will the burying hours fulfillOne hope of nearness to the Far and Still,But wound me with the sweet that they might mean.
Is there no keener speech for us than thisOld incommunicable urge to knowThe speech of silence.... Yes—here a still field!What more—what more? For here the Comrade is,The God who waits alone and would have sealedOur compact with glad laughter long ago.
How they come back ... I never see retreatDown the long beach the phalanx of bright foamBut faint across the fields that fold them homeI hear the rhythmic fall of speeding feet.And they who loved the garden of the seaAnd died, come back. I never know a landOf cities but there come to meTheir dead to touch my hand.Dead, who dare not let your eyesFlower from the dusk and flame into our own,Yet come you as hushed notes in harmoniesTo ways of life that you have known:Virgil in blowing spray round swift-prowed ships,Dante in every cry of lips for lips.
How they come back ... I never see retreatDown the long beach the phalanx of bright foamBut faint across the fields that fold them homeI hear the rhythmic fall of speeding feet.And they who loved the garden of the seaAnd died, come back. I never know a landOf cities but there come to meTheir dead to touch my hand.Dead, who dare not let your eyesFlower from the dusk and flame into our own,Yet come you as hushed notes in harmoniesTo ways of life that you have known:Virgil in blowing spray round swift-prowed ships,Dante in every cry of lips for lips.
How they come back ... I never see retreatDown the long beach the phalanx of bright foamBut faint across the fields that fold them homeI hear the rhythmic fall of speeding feet.And they who loved the garden of the seaAnd died, come back. I never know a landOf cities but there come to meTheir dead to touch my hand.
Dead, who dare not let your eyesFlower from the dusk and flame into our own,Yet come you as hushed notes in harmoniesTo ways of life that you have known:Virgil in blowing spray round swift-prowed ships,Dante in every cry of lips for lips.
By my side all day another went.We breathed the cold spiced air of the Spring darkBefore the dawn; together at the harkOf noon we listened; and we bentTo borrow from still grasses the warm scentOf afternoon and dusk. We stood to markThe deathless arkUnveiled before the light was spent.Prodigal of sweetness that old dayI passed, nor mightSee how that one beside me stooped to laySomething aside. Now in the nightThe gleaner hunts me downBringing regret. I wear it for a crown.
By my side all day another went.We breathed the cold spiced air of the Spring darkBefore the dawn; together at the harkOf noon we listened; and we bentTo borrow from still grasses the warm scentOf afternoon and dusk. We stood to markThe deathless arkUnveiled before the light was spent.Prodigal of sweetness that old dayI passed, nor mightSee how that one beside me stooped to laySomething aside. Now in the nightThe gleaner hunts me downBringing regret. I wear it for a crown.
By my side all day another went.We breathed the cold spiced air of the Spring darkBefore the dawn; together at the harkOf noon we listened; and we bentTo borrow from still grasses the warm scentOf afternoon and dusk. We stood to markThe deathless arkUnveiled before the light was spent.
Prodigal of sweetness that old dayI passed, nor mightSee how that one beside me stooped to laySomething aside. Now in the nightThe gleaner hunts me downBringing regret. I wear it for a crown.
Here a vine, there a voice,Then a violin;All the quiet is astirLike a flute within.Here a light, there a leaf,Little boughs that lean;And the people who move byWonder what they mean.“Look,” they say, “there a starWatching in a well;Line and green and melody——”Then they try to tell.O why ask what they mean?What is there to win?Have we not the light, the leafAnd the violin?
Here a vine, there a voice,Then a violin;All the quiet is astirLike a flute within.Here a light, there a leaf,Little boughs that lean;And the people who move byWonder what they mean.“Look,” they say, “there a starWatching in a well;Line and green and melody——”Then they try to tell.O why ask what they mean?What is there to win?Have we not the light, the leafAnd the violin?
Here a vine, there a voice,Then a violin;All the quiet is astirLike a flute within.
Here a light, there a leaf,Little boughs that lean;And the people who move byWonder what they mean.
“Look,” they say, “there a starWatching in a well;Line and green and melody——”Then they try to tell.
O why ask what they mean?What is there to win?Have we not the light, the leafAnd the violin?
All the air is liveriedIn a kind of white;It is not like the darknessOr the light;It is like the covenantOf a clearer sight.Now a sudden bud is bornBurning in the dew;There the fog rose palely liftingAll as if it knewThe faint flowing speechOf the friendly blue.Oh the little hurrying wingLike a blowing leaf;Oh the shadows gathering inMany a sheaf;There a cloud is carved like someAiry coral reef.Like a new sense these ventureIn the veins and lo,All the blood is musicalIn its beat and flow;And we wait wonderingWhat new thing we know.
All the air is liveriedIn a kind of white;It is not like the darknessOr the light;It is like the covenantOf a clearer sight.Now a sudden bud is bornBurning in the dew;There the fog rose palely liftingAll as if it knewThe faint flowing speechOf the friendly blue.Oh the little hurrying wingLike a blowing leaf;Oh the shadows gathering inMany a sheaf;There a cloud is carved like someAiry coral reef.Like a new sense these ventureIn the veins and lo,All the blood is musicalIn its beat and flow;And we wait wonderingWhat new thing we know.
All the air is liveriedIn a kind of white;It is not like the darknessOr the light;It is like the covenantOf a clearer sight.
Now a sudden bud is bornBurning in the dew;There the fog rose palely liftingAll as if it knewThe faint flowing speechOf the friendly blue.
Oh the little hurrying wingLike a blowing leaf;Oh the shadows gathering inMany a sheaf;There a cloud is carved like someAiry coral reef.
Like a new sense these ventureIn the veins and lo,All the blood is musicalIn its beat and flow;And we wait wonderingWhat new thing we know.
Woo a little choir of words,Teach them to sing;Let them thrill the air like birdsLove-summoning.Thread the silence with a lute,Sound the spiral of a flute.... Vain, but vain. The words are mute.Open now your own heartWhere a rose may be;Live your love and use your art,Make melody,For your joy, your joy is there,Sing the secret thing you bear!... Only silence everywhere.... Show the ancient pain that liesWith remembered thingsDown the dark within your eyesWhere nothing sings.Now at last there throngImages that waited long,And the silence flowers in song.
Woo a little choir of words,Teach them to sing;Let them thrill the air like birdsLove-summoning.Thread the silence with a lute,Sound the spiral of a flute.... Vain, but vain. The words are mute.Open now your own heartWhere a rose may be;Live your love and use your art,Make melody,For your joy, your joy is there,Sing the secret thing you bear!... Only silence everywhere.... Show the ancient pain that liesWith remembered thingsDown the dark within your eyesWhere nothing sings.Now at last there throngImages that waited long,And the silence flowers in song.
Woo a little choir of words,Teach them to sing;Let them thrill the air like birdsLove-summoning.Thread the silence with a lute,Sound the spiral of a flute.... Vain, but vain. The words are mute.
Open now your own heartWhere a rose may be;Live your love and use your art,Make melody,For your joy, your joy is there,Sing the secret thing you bear!... Only silence everywhere.
... Show the ancient pain that liesWith remembered thingsDown the dark within your eyesWhere nothing sings.Now at last there throngImages that waited long,And the silence flowers in song.
The air is purged of gold and in its steadIs poured a fire of silver on the green;And now the moon new-risen from the deadOf dearer nights than this finds her demesneLonely of stars, as they to greet their queenHad rushed in argent riot from the blueTo spill themselves like flowers or waste unseenIn stealing perfumes that elude and wooAs now eludes now woos the wind the sweet night through.Down from her turret when the dusk was newThe Lady Margot stepped and lured by wileOf faint near things that croon of what they doWith wandering touch she thought to walk the whileThe hours were printless on the idle dial.Deep in a garden lamped with lily bellsWhich hold the light as does some opal vialShe took her way near where a fountain wellsAnd wakes its rainbow ribbons into madrigals.Fluttering she peered within the hollow gloomThat cloistered a wild wood beyond the wall;For shapes are woven by the troubled loomOf night; and tremulous tapestries oft fallAcross familiar paths and make them allAstir with effigies that snarl and grinAnd take strange steps along a horrid hallWhich is by day a lane of leaves within;As if at night a holy nun should dream of sin.At length she reached a little windless gladeFragrant with natal April not long flownAnd dreamful of the days when lips were laidOn lips that trembled as they found their own.There where the mooned close was thickest sownWith shadows was the lady met with oneWho sat with drooping head and made soft moan.He was a stranger knight whose armour shoneBright as the molten golden javelins of the sun.“What things are griefs?” the Lady Margot sighedAnd moved a little nearer pityingly.“The wonder wasteth from my days,” he cried,“The burden of my blessings wearieth me!Lo I have journeyed from an unoared seaIn the white north to where the winds caressWarm sail-sown oceans murmuring round a keyOdorous with wine and fruit in fragrant dress——And yet I passion for some little happiness.”“Ay, now,” the lady cried, “most strangely comeAre you, Sir Knight, for I am one who longsAs never heart has longed before for someStrange world, strange tongue tuneful with alien songs,Strange mad old cities brooding on their wrongs,With unfamiliar streets which smile and showMe many a colonnade and porticoWhere some unclaimed and starry hour belongs.O you who know all that I long for—bid me go!”No strange thing seemed her prayer unto the knightWho knew her father’s little court by name,And pitied her that all her beauty brightMust fail and fade in such confined fame.Swiftly he knelt to her and with no shameShe gave her hand the while he led her whereWithin the close the moon took silvery aimAnd lured a sickle bed of bloom to bearIn bloom’s sweet stead a birth of stars pearly as air.The lady stooped and laid her little handUpon a dreaming lily whose faint creamAnd gold, stirred at the fingers’ soft demand,Dreamed that the white touch was their sweetest dream.The lady rose and every opiate beamMade lucent pillage from her unbound hairAnd moths brushed lightly through the saffron streamIn quest of stars. The lady was so fairThat the dusk swooned with passion and the light with prayer.“Nay, now, my child,” the knight said courteously,“Would that your joy lay in your castle home,In phantom folk who pace your broidery,In haunted parchment of a pictured tome.But if you are of those whose hearts must roamAfar afield to meet the hushed advanceOf spheres and win from the blown spray and foamWhat weaker some leave to impotent chanceThen, by my blade, that blade shall bring deliverance!”A little door, covert in creeping green,Gave from the court upon the room where layThe aged doting nurse who wept, I ween,At all the Lady Margot strove to say.But when it had proved vain to weep or pray,She rose and bade her trembling fingers lightHer taper and thereby she led the wayThrough secret gates till, soberly bedight,The three set forth together in the faery night.O many a league for many a day they went,And some magician kind they were awareDelivered captive treasuries and spentHis lavish store of beauty everywhere:Slim brazen towers that taught the sun to shareIts shining he revealed; and odorous gloomPacking with odours the receiving air;Flowered silken sails that set the sea abloom;Isles spread with fabrics from the moon’s high loom.Sometimes the lady knelt in a fleet prowThat flung the gaudy bubbles from the blue,And joyed to hear the lean blade of the bowPlunging the thundering sundered breakers through;Keen swept the foam-born breaths of salt, to doSweet violence to her pale cheek; and allThe spirit of her fancy peopled newThe perilous sea’s impermanent citadelThat kindled into spray with the ship’s rise and fall.Sometimes she stepped within a pillared wayDim grey with shade and honey-bright with sunWhere all the costly stuffs for barter lay,And she might hear how many a drowsing one,Stretched on a pea-cock patterned skin, would runSoft syllable along soft syllablePraising the violet and vermilionOf gems and cloths, right eager-tongued to tellNews musical with names to one who loved them well.Meanwhile the stranger knight was by her sideBurning to serve and welcoming command;And never wish of hers might be deniedFor his swift sword was like a dexterous wand.And by her side in all that alien landThe old nurse journeyed plaintive and perplexed,Condemning what she did not understandAnd with all other understanding vexed;Palsied and muttering charms for what should tide them next.Then it befell that as they fared the knightForgot his weariness and many a mornHe faced with joy the lottery of lightAnd walked no more apart in mood forlorn.And now, her tremulous shyness half outworn,The Lady Margot oft passed through a townAnd saw therein but trinkets to adornHer little bodice and her silken gown;And when he spoke she looked up swiftly and looked down.O sweet it was to see the two dream on.She wistful of the runes that he could teachOf men and cities dreamed that in such wanDelights lay life; and he for her sweet speechWith all its faery fancies would beseechAnd dreamed that in such fancies lay delight!And all the time the heart of each for eachWas calling with the ancient urge of nightFor night what time the lotus of the dawn is white.At length they came to a melodious margeWhere with sweet perturbation the moved seaCrept lovingly about the land in largeEmbrace and from such soft nativityThe music mounted in dissolving keyAnd wed with wind. There in a crescent coveSun-lorn and still, the eyes of each leaped freeAnd all the world in a wild silence stroveTo bare its spirit in their breathed words of love.“O Sweet, my Sweet,” the knight quoth reverently,“Lo now the marvel: That I wearied soreOn such a singing earth as this to beOne whom the gods give ever one gift more!There is no spot from shore to patient shoreThat is not burdened with its waiting bliss;O yet, dear love, how little bliss it boreWere you not near to tremble at my kiss.At last we know the truth: The best of life is this.”Slow-dipped the idle sail without the baySun-smitten in the drowsy afternoon;Unimaged in the ripples’ purple playWhite reefs of clouds on airy shores were strewn.All fairly the shadows fell and soonWhen gloaming was poured soft on beach and foamThe sea gave up a silver shell—the moon.Then tenderly she turned who longed to roamAfar and whispered: “Love, would that our way led home!”Nearby upon a rainbow drift of weedsThe old nurse mumbled at her prayers and charms,And now her shaking fingers felt her beads,And now in incantation her old armsWere raised to shadowy powers. O grim alarmsBeset the gaping ones when love appears!And never lovers’ glance or kiss half warmsThe world but that some dotard nods and leersAnd all the charnel souls are tip-toe with their fears.Now silently across the glimmering sandsSlow-paced the lady and the stranger knight,And there were clinging lips and clinging handsAnd all the uses of the hour were bright;But when they came to where the moon was whiteUpon the wet weeds, there the old dame layStark on the sea-moss and the labyrinth lightReceived her soul that knew it not. There mayBe heaven for such as mock at love but none can say.Upon the sands the lady knelt and wept;Her lover kissed away her pitying tears;“Nay, tender soul,” he said, “we have but keptThe truce of nature with the yester-years.Now are the old things passed away, and fearsFor the new day are vain. Therefore arise.Love vanquishes the past itself. Love hearsThe siren cities chant of home. Love’s eyesHave lit a sullen world for me to Paradise.”Into the silver dark the lovers went,Over the silver sea to golden isles,Piping their songs of heavenly wondermentAnd fabling the unhaunted age with smiles.And ever with the swift melodious milesA sterner harmony breathed through their bliss;“The old shall be outworn. That which revilesThe gods shall perish by their ministries.But we will walk with truth: The best of life is this.”
The air is purged of gold and in its steadIs poured a fire of silver on the green;And now the moon new-risen from the deadOf dearer nights than this finds her demesneLonely of stars, as they to greet their queenHad rushed in argent riot from the blueTo spill themselves like flowers or waste unseenIn stealing perfumes that elude and wooAs now eludes now woos the wind the sweet night through.Down from her turret when the dusk was newThe Lady Margot stepped and lured by wileOf faint near things that croon of what they doWith wandering touch she thought to walk the whileThe hours were printless on the idle dial.Deep in a garden lamped with lily bellsWhich hold the light as does some opal vialShe took her way near where a fountain wellsAnd wakes its rainbow ribbons into madrigals.Fluttering she peered within the hollow gloomThat cloistered a wild wood beyond the wall;For shapes are woven by the troubled loomOf night; and tremulous tapestries oft fallAcross familiar paths and make them allAstir with effigies that snarl and grinAnd take strange steps along a horrid hallWhich is by day a lane of leaves within;As if at night a holy nun should dream of sin.At length she reached a little windless gladeFragrant with natal April not long flownAnd dreamful of the days when lips were laidOn lips that trembled as they found their own.There where the mooned close was thickest sownWith shadows was the lady met with oneWho sat with drooping head and made soft moan.He was a stranger knight whose armour shoneBright as the molten golden javelins of the sun.“What things are griefs?” the Lady Margot sighedAnd moved a little nearer pityingly.“The wonder wasteth from my days,” he cried,“The burden of my blessings wearieth me!Lo I have journeyed from an unoared seaIn the white north to where the winds caressWarm sail-sown oceans murmuring round a keyOdorous with wine and fruit in fragrant dress——And yet I passion for some little happiness.”“Ay, now,” the lady cried, “most strangely comeAre you, Sir Knight, for I am one who longsAs never heart has longed before for someStrange world, strange tongue tuneful with alien songs,Strange mad old cities brooding on their wrongs,With unfamiliar streets which smile and showMe many a colonnade and porticoWhere some unclaimed and starry hour belongs.O you who know all that I long for—bid me go!”No strange thing seemed her prayer unto the knightWho knew her father’s little court by name,And pitied her that all her beauty brightMust fail and fade in such confined fame.Swiftly he knelt to her and with no shameShe gave her hand the while he led her whereWithin the close the moon took silvery aimAnd lured a sickle bed of bloom to bearIn bloom’s sweet stead a birth of stars pearly as air.The lady stooped and laid her little handUpon a dreaming lily whose faint creamAnd gold, stirred at the fingers’ soft demand,Dreamed that the white touch was their sweetest dream.The lady rose and every opiate beamMade lucent pillage from her unbound hairAnd moths brushed lightly through the saffron streamIn quest of stars. The lady was so fairThat the dusk swooned with passion and the light with prayer.“Nay, now, my child,” the knight said courteously,“Would that your joy lay in your castle home,In phantom folk who pace your broidery,In haunted parchment of a pictured tome.But if you are of those whose hearts must roamAfar afield to meet the hushed advanceOf spheres and win from the blown spray and foamWhat weaker some leave to impotent chanceThen, by my blade, that blade shall bring deliverance!”A little door, covert in creeping green,Gave from the court upon the room where layThe aged doting nurse who wept, I ween,At all the Lady Margot strove to say.But when it had proved vain to weep or pray,She rose and bade her trembling fingers lightHer taper and thereby she led the wayThrough secret gates till, soberly bedight,The three set forth together in the faery night.O many a league for many a day they went,And some magician kind they were awareDelivered captive treasuries and spentHis lavish store of beauty everywhere:Slim brazen towers that taught the sun to shareIts shining he revealed; and odorous gloomPacking with odours the receiving air;Flowered silken sails that set the sea abloom;Isles spread with fabrics from the moon’s high loom.Sometimes the lady knelt in a fleet prowThat flung the gaudy bubbles from the blue,And joyed to hear the lean blade of the bowPlunging the thundering sundered breakers through;Keen swept the foam-born breaths of salt, to doSweet violence to her pale cheek; and allThe spirit of her fancy peopled newThe perilous sea’s impermanent citadelThat kindled into spray with the ship’s rise and fall.Sometimes she stepped within a pillared wayDim grey with shade and honey-bright with sunWhere all the costly stuffs for barter lay,And she might hear how many a drowsing one,Stretched on a pea-cock patterned skin, would runSoft syllable along soft syllablePraising the violet and vermilionOf gems and cloths, right eager-tongued to tellNews musical with names to one who loved them well.Meanwhile the stranger knight was by her sideBurning to serve and welcoming command;And never wish of hers might be deniedFor his swift sword was like a dexterous wand.And by her side in all that alien landThe old nurse journeyed plaintive and perplexed,Condemning what she did not understandAnd with all other understanding vexed;Palsied and muttering charms for what should tide them next.Then it befell that as they fared the knightForgot his weariness and many a mornHe faced with joy the lottery of lightAnd walked no more apart in mood forlorn.And now, her tremulous shyness half outworn,The Lady Margot oft passed through a townAnd saw therein but trinkets to adornHer little bodice and her silken gown;And when he spoke she looked up swiftly and looked down.O sweet it was to see the two dream on.She wistful of the runes that he could teachOf men and cities dreamed that in such wanDelights lay life; and he for her sweet speechWith all its faery fancies would beseechAnd dreamed that in such fancies lay delight!And all the time the heart of each for eachWas calling with the ancient urge of nightFor night what time the lotus of the dawn is white.At length they came to a melodious margeWhere with sweet perturbation the moved seaCrept lovingly about the land in largeEmbrace and from such soft nativityThe music mounted in dissolving keyAnd wed with wind. There in a crescent coveSun-lorn and still, the eyes of each leaped freeAnd all the world in a wild silence stroveTo bare its spirit in their breathed words of love.“O Sweet, my Sweet,” the knight quoth reverently,“Lo now the marvel: That I wearied soreOn such a singing earth as this to beOne whom the gods give ever one gift more!There is no spot from shore to patient shoreThat is not burdened with its waiting bliss;O yet, dear love, how little bliss it boreWere you not near to tremble at my kiss.At last we know the truth: The best of life is this.”Slow-dipped the idle sail without the baySun-smitten in the drowsy afternoon;Unimaged in the ripples’ purple playWhite reefs of clouds on airy shores were strewn.All fairly the shadows fell and soonWhen gloaming was poured soft on beach and foamThe sea gave up a silver shell—the moon.Then tenderly she turned who longed to roamAfar and whispered: “Love, would that our way led home!”Nearby upon a rainbow drift of weedsThe old nurse mumbled at her prayers and charms,And now her shaking fingers felt her beads,And now in incantation her old armsWere raised to shadowy powers. O grim alarmsBeset the gaping ones when love appears!And never lovers’ glance or kiss half warmsThe world but that some dotard nods and leersAnd all the charnel souls are tip-toe with their fears.Now silently across the glimmering sandsSlow-paced the lady and the stranger knight,And there were clinging lips and clinging handsAnd all the uses of the hour were bright;But when they came to where the moon was whiteUpon the wet weeds, there the old dame layStark on the sea-moss and the labyrinth lightReceived her soul that knew it not. There mayBe heaven for such as mock at love but none can say.Upon the sands the lady knelt and wept;Her lover kissed away her pitying tears;“Nay, tender soul,” he said, “we have but keptThe truce of nature with the yester-years.Now are the old things passed away, and fearsFor the new day are vain. Therefore arise.Love vanquishes the past itself. Love hearsThe siren cities chant of home. Love’s eyesHave lit a sullen world for me to Paradise.”Into the silver dark the lovers went,Over the silver sea to golden isles,Piping their songs of heavenly wondermentAnd fabling the unhaunted age with smiles.And ever with the swift melodious milesA sterner harmony breathed through their bliss;“The old shall be outworn. That which revilesThe gods shall perish by their ministries.But we will walk with truth: The best of life is this.”
The air is purged of gold and in its steadIs poured a fire of silver on the green;And now the moon new-risen from the deadOf dearer nights than this finds her demesneLonely of stars, as they to greet their queenHad rushed in argent riot from the blueTo spill themselves like flowers or waste unseenIn stealing perfumes that elude and wooAs now eludes now woos the wind the sweet night through.
Down from her turret when the dusk was newThe Lady Margot stepped and lured by wileOf faint near things that croon of what they doWith wandering touch she thought to walk the whileThe hours were printless on the idle dial.Deep in a garden lamped with lily bellsWhich hold the light as does some opal vialShe took her way near where a fountain wellsAnd wakes its rainbow ribbons into madrigals.
Fluttering she peered within the hollow gloomThat cloistered a wild wood beyond the wall;For shapes are woven by the troubled loomOf night; and tremulous tapestries oft fallAcross familiar paths and make them allAstir with effigies that snarl and grinAnd take strange steps along a horrid hallWhich is by day a lane of leaves within;As if at night a holy nun should dream of sin.
At length she reached a little windless gladeFragrant with natal April not long flownAnd dreamful of the days when lips were laidOn lips that trembled as they found their own.There where the mooned close was thickest sownWith shadows was the lady met with oneWho sat with drooping head and made soft moan.He was a stranger knight whose armour shoneBright as the molten golden javelins of the sun.
“What things are griefs?” the Lady Margot sighedAnd moved a little nearer pityingly.“The wonder wasteth from my days,” he cried,“The burden of my blessings wearieth me!Lo I have journeyed from an unoared seaIn the white north to where the winds caressWarm sail-sown oceans murmuring round a keyOdorous with wine and fruit in fragrant dress——And yet I passion for some little happiness.”
“Ay, now,” the lady cried, “most strangely comeAre you, Sir Knight, for I am one who longsAs never heart has longed before for someStrange world, strange tongue tuneful with alien songs,Strange mad old cities brooding on their wrongs,With unfamiliar streets which smile and showMe many a colonnade and porticoWhere some unclaimed and starry hour belongs.O you who know all that I long for—bid me go!”
No strange thing seemed her prayer unto the knightWho knew her father’s little court by name,And pitied her that all her beauty brightMust fail and fade in such confined fame.Swiftly he knelt to her and with no shameShe gave her hand the while he led her whereWithin the close the moon took silvery aimAnd lured a sickle bed of bloom to bearIn bloom’s sweet stead a birth of stars pearly as air.
The lady stooped and laid her little handUpon a dreaming lily whose faint creamAnd gold, stirred at the fingers’ soft demand,Dreamed that the white touch was their sweetest dream.The lady rose and every opiate beamMade lucent pillage from her unbound hairAnd moths brushed lightly through the saffron streamIn quest of stars. The lady was so fairThat the dusk swooned with passion and the light with prayer.
“Nay, now, my child,” the knight said courteously,“Would that your joy lay in your castle home,In phantom folk who pace your broidery,In haunted parchment of a pictured tome.But if you are of those whose hearts must roamAfar afield to meet the hushed advanceOf spheres and win from the blown spray and foamWhat weaker some leave to impotent chanceThen, by my blade, that blade shall bring deliverance!”
A little door, covert in creeping green,Gave from the court upon the room where layThe aged doting nurse who wept, I ween,At all the Lady Margot strove to say.But when it had proved vain to weep or pray,She rose and bade her trembling fingers lightHer taper and thereby she led the wayThrough secret gates till, soberly bedight,The three set forth together in the faery night.
O many a league for many a day they went,And some magician kind they were awareDelivered captive treasuries and spentHis lavish store of beauty everywhere:Slim brazen towers that taught the sun to shareIts shining he revealed; and odorous gloomPacking with odours the receiving air;Flowered silken sails that set the sea abloom;Isles spread with fabrics from the moon’s high loom.
Sometimes the lady knelt in a fleet prowThat flung the gaudy bubbles from the blue,And joyed to hear the lean blade of the bowPlunging the thundering sundered breakers through;Keen swept the foam-born breaths of salt, to doSweet violence to her pale cheek; and allThe spirit of her fancy peopled newThe perilous sea’s impermanent citadelThat kindled into spray with the ship’s rise and fall.
Sometimes she stepped within a pillared wayDim grey with shade and honey-bright with sunWhere all the costly stuffs for barter lay,And she might hear how many a drowsing one,Stretched on a pea-cock patterned skin, would runSoft syllable along soft syllablePraising the violet and vermilionOf gems and cloths, right eager-tongued to tellNews musical with names to one who loved them well.
Meanwhile the stranger knight was by her sideBurning to serve and welcoming command;And never wish of hers might be deniedFor his swift sword was like a dexterous wand.And by her side in all that alien landThe old nurse journeyed plaintive and perplexed,Condemning what she did not understandAnd with all other understanding vexed;Palsied and muttering charms for what should tide them next.
Then it befell that as they fared the knightForgot his weariness and many a mornHe faced with joy the lottery of lightAnd walked no more apart in mood forlorn.And now, her tremulous shyness half outworn,The Lady Margot oft passed through a townAnd saw therein but trinkets to adornHer little bodice and her silken gown;And when he spoke she looked up swiftly and looked down.
O sweet it was to see the two dream on.She wistful of the runes that he could teachOf men and cities dreamed that in such wanDelights lay life; and he for her sweet speechWith all its faery fancies would beseechAnd dreamed that in such fancies lay delight!And all the time the heart of each for eachWas calling with the ancient urge of nightFor night what time the lotus of the dawn is white.
At length they came to a melodious margeWhere with sweet perturbation the moved seaCrept lovingly about the land in largeEmbrace and from such soft nativityThe music mounted in dissolving keyAnd wed with wind. There in a crescent coveSun-lorn and still, the eyes of each leaped freeAnd all the world in a wild silence stroveTo bare its spirit in their breathed words of love.
“O Sweet, my Sweet,” the knight quoth reverently,“Lo now the marvel: That I wearied soreOn such a singing earth as this to beOne whom the gods give ever one gift more!There is no spot from shore to patient shoreThat is not burdened with its waiting bliss;O yet, dear love, how little bliss it boreWere you not near to tremble at my kiss.At last we know the truth: The best of life is this.”
Slow-dipped the idle sail without the baySun-smitten in the drowsy afternoon;Unimaged in the ripples’ purple playWhite reefs of clouds on airy shores were strewn.All fairly the shadows fell and soonWhen gloaming was poured soft on beach and foamThe sea gave up a silver shell—the moon.Then tenderly she turned who longed to roamAfar and whispered: “Love, would that our way led home!”
Nearby upon a rainbow drift of weedsThe old nurse mumbled at her prayers and charms,And now her shaking fingers felt her beads,And now in incantation her old armsWere raised to shadowy powers. O grim alarmsBeset the gaping ones when love appears!And never lovers’ glance or kiss half warmsThe world but that some dotard nods and leersAnd all the charnel souls are tip-toe with their fears.
Now silently across the glimmering sandsSlow-paced the lady and the stranger knight,And there were clinging lips and clinging handsAnd all the uses of the hour were bright;But when they came to where the moon was whiteUpon the wet weeds, there the old dame layStark on the sea-moss and the labyrinth lightReceived her soul that knew it not. There mayBe heaven for such as mock at love but none can say.
Upon the sands the lady knelt and wept;Her lover kissed away her pitying tears;“Nay, tender soul,” he said, “we have but keptThe truce of nature with the yester-years.Now are the old things passed away, and fearsFor the new day are vain. Therefore arise.Love vanquishes the past itself. Love hearsThe siren cities chant of home. Love’s eyesHave lit a sullen world for me to Paradise.”
Into the silver dark the lovers went,Over the silver sea to golden isles,Piping their songs of heavenly wondermentAnd fabling the unhaunted age with smiles.And ever with the swift melodious milesA sterner harmony breathed through their bliss;“The old shall be outworn. That which revilesThe gods shall perish by their ministries.But we will walk with truth: The best of life is this.”
I know where a dove sits brooding in the darkNested in leaves the quiet boughs among;And when the midnight falls I lean to markHer home where a star is hung.The star, it does not know the secret dove,The dove that firefly planet may not see.What lovelier things the night may fold from me——The watching eye, the brooding heart, and love.
I know where a dove sits brooding in the darkNested in leaves the quiet boughs among;And when the midnight falls I lean to markHer home where a star is hung.The star, it does not know the secret dove,The dove that firefly planet may not see.What lovelier things the night may fold from me——The watching eye, the brooding heart, and love.
I know where a dove sits brooding in the darkNested in leaves the quiet boughs among;And when the midnight falls I lean to markHer home where a star is hung.The star, it does not know the secret dove,The dove that firefly planet may not see.What lovelier things the night may fold from me——The watching eye, the brooding heart, and love.
O for one of the stars to know me,To say “That is she” as I say “It is there.”O for my hills to show meIf they care.But when I speak to them nothing hears me.Even the bird on the near bough fears me.The fire on my hearth does not know that it cheers me.... Heart that waits by the fire, do you guessAll you must voice in your tenderness?
O for one of the stars to know me,To say “That is she” as I say “It is there.”O for my hills to show meIf they care.But when I speak to them nothing hears me.Even the bird on the near bough fears me.The fire on my hearth does not know that it cheers me.... Heart that waits by the fire, do you guessAll you must voice in your tenderness?
O for one of the stars to know me,To say “That is she” as I say “It is there.”O for my hills to show meIf they care.But when I speak to them nothing hears me.Even the bird on the near bough fears me.The fire on my hearth does not know that it cheers me.... Heart that waits by the fire, do you guessAll you must voice in your tenderness?
Here are the shadows veiling green with greyAnd winning all the wonder from the light;Here phantom fragrance swells and fails like sound;The hour distills itself to dark; the dayDreams in its grave and lo, the dream is night.Beloved, all the marvel of the May,The altared dark, the petals’ solemn white,The moments rich with farewell from the lipsOf dying moments—what are these? We layOur love beside them and exceed the night.
Here are the shadows veiling green with greyAnd winning all the wonder from the light;Here phantom fragrance swells and fails like sound;The hour distills itself to dark; the dayDreams in its grave and lo, the dream is night.Beloved, all the marvel of the May,The altared dark, the petals’ solemn white,The moments rich with farewell from the lipsOf dying moments—what are these? We layOur love beside them and exceed the night.
Here are the shadows veiling green with greyAnd winning all the wonder from the light;Here phantom fragrance swells and fails like sound;The hour distills itself to dark; the dayDreams in its grave and lo, the dream is night.
Beloved, all the marvel of the May,The altared dark, the petals’ solemn white,The moments rich with farewell from the lipsOf dying moments—what are these? We layOur love beside them and exceed the night.
I hear a sound like piping and like sailsIn silken talk with wind and like the speechOf someone quiet in the blue of dawnUpon a quiet beach.I see a light as when the last starFlowers faintly in the ashen morning skyAnd long wings appear and disappear,Wheeling by.I think of moons forgotten with their tides;I think of all the red of east and west;I hear the secret stir of nameless deadConferring in my breast.You make me long for colour and for songAnd for old words on lips I did not know.You make me dream of all I learned to dreamHow long ago.
I hear a sound like piping and like sailsIn silken talk with wind and like the speechOf someone quiet in the blue of dawnUpon a quiet beach.I see a light as when the last starFlowers faintly in the ashen morning skyAnd long wings appear and disappear,Wheeling by.I think of moons forgotten with their tides;I think of all the red of east and west;I hear the secret stir of nameless deadConferring in my breast.You make me long for colour and for songAnd for old words on lips I did not know.You make me dream of all I learned to dreamHow long ago.
I hear a sound like piping and like sailsIn silken talk with wind and like the speechOf someone quiet in the blue of dawnUpon a quiet beach.
I see a light as when the last starFlowers faintly in the ashen morning skyAnd long wings appear and disappear,Wheeling by.
I think of moons forgotten with their tides;I think of all the red of east and west;I hear the secret stir of nameless deadConferring in my breast.
You make me long for colour and for songAnd for old words on lips I did not know.You make me dream of all I learned to dreamHow long ago.
O Day of Wind and laughter,A goddess born are youWhose eyes are in the morningBlue—blue.The slumberous noon your body is,Your feet are the shadows’ flight.But the immortal soul of youIs night.
O Day of Wind and laughter,A goddess born are youWhose eyes are in the morningBlue—blue.The slumberous noon your body is,Your feet are the shadows’ flight.But the immortal soul of youIs night.
O Day of Wind and laughter,A goddess born are youWhose eyes are in the morningBlue—blue.The slumberous noon your body is,Your feet are the shadows’ flight.But the immortal soul of youIs night.
He loved to lie where Summer lay,His roof a cloud, a bough;There stretched full-length to dream all day.It is so with him now.
He loved to lie where Summer lay,His roof a cloud, a bough;There stretched full-length to dream all day.It is so with him now.
He loved to lie where Summer lay,His roof a cloud, a bough;There stretched full-length to dream all day.It is so with him now.
How fair a bride-groom Death must be.He took her in his arms,Her answering kiss now Spring is hereThe valley leafage warms.
How fair a bride-groom Death must be.He took her in his arms,Her answering kiss now Spring is hereThe valley leafage warms.
How fair a bride-groom Death must be.He took her in his arms,Her answering kiss now Spring is hereThe valley leafage warms.
Between the dawn and the first breathOf dusk there slips awaySomething that partly is like deathAnd partly is like day.
Between the dawn and the first breathOf dusk there slips awaySomething that partly is like deathAnd partly is like day.
Between the dawn and the first breathOf dusk there slips awaySomething that partly is like deathAnd partly is like day.
For Her Cradle
I cannot tell you what you ask.But of my life to beYou who are wise and know your speech,Tell me.
I cannot tell you what you ask.But of my life to beYou who are wise and know your speech,Tell me.
I cannot tell you what you ask.But of my life to beYou who are wise and know your speech,Tell me.
For Her Mirror
Look in the deep of me:What are we going to do?If I am I, as I am,Who in the world are you?
Look in the deep of me:What are we going to do?If I am I, as I am,Who in the world are you?
Look in the deep of me:What are we going to do?If I am I, as I am,Who in the world are you?
For a Comb of Ivory
Use me and think of soul and mind and wonder yet to be.This is the jest: Could soul touch soul if it were not for me?
Use me and think of soul and mind and wonder yet to be.This is the jest: Could soul touch soul if it were not for me?
Use me and think of soul and mind and wonder yet to be.This is the jest: Could soul touch soul if it were not for me?
For Her Doll’s House
Girl doll would be a silken flower and look as real flowers do;Boy doll would be a telephone and have the world speak through.The poet doll would like to be the doorbell with a tongueFor other little dolls like bells most sensitively rung.The paper doll would be a queen, the Dinah doll a star,And all—how ignominious!—are only what they are.
Girl doll would be a silken flower and look as real flowers do;Boy doll would be a telephone and have the world speak through.The poet doll would like to be the doorbell with a tongueFor other little dolls like bells most sensitively rung.The paper doll would be a queen, the Dinah doll a star,And all—how ignominious!—are only what they are.
Girl doll would be a silken flower and look as real flowers do;Boy doll would be a telephone and have the world speak through.The poet doll would like to be the doorbell with a tongueFor other little dolls like bells most sensitively rung.The paper doll would be a queen, the Dinah doll a star,And all—how ignominious!—are only what they are.
For Her Candle-stick
Taper, winnow the world of its angles and whereWere sharp things lay softness, Night-god of the air!
Taper, winnow the world of its angles and whereWere sharp things lay softness, Night-god of the air!
Taper, winnow the world of its angles and whereWere sharp things lay softness, Night-god of the air!
For the Chimney-place
I am the causeway to the upper placesThat the fire understands.I am the link with everything unspoken.How well I warm your hands.
I am the causeway to the upper placesThat the fire understands.I am the link with everything unspoken.How well I warm your hands.
I am the causeway to the upper placesThat the fire understands.I am the link with everything unspoken.How well I warm your hands.
For a Flower Pot
Call sweetness into being.Let it live in me.The seed, the soil, the sun and IWork with authority.
Call sweetness into being.Let it live in me.The seed, the soil, the sun and IWork with authority.
Call sweetness into being.Let it live in me.The seed, the soil, the sun and IWork with authority.
For the Telephone
I the absurdityProving what cannot be.Come, when you talk with meDoes it become you wellTo doubt a miracle?
I the absurdityProving what cannot be.Come, when you talk with meDoes it become you wellTo doubt a miracle?
I the absurdityProving what cannot be.Come, when you talk with meDoes it become you wellTo doubt a miracle?
Along Her Book-shelf
Lay one hand on us; but keep the other free to touch far things which are not far—tenderly.
Lay one hand on us; but keep the other free to touch far things which are not far—tenderly.
Lay one hand on us; but keep the other free to touch far things which are not far—tenderly.
Where Boughs Touch the Glass
They lap on the indoor shore,The waves of the leaf mere.They say: We tell you as well as we can,We wonder what you hear.
They lap on the indoor shore,The waves of the leaf mere.They say: We tell you as well as we can,We wonder what you hear.
They lap on the indoor shore,The waves of the leaf mere.They say: We tell you as well as we can,We wonder what you hear.
For Her Window
I see the stones, I see the stars,I know not what I see.Things always say words to themselvesAnd now and then to me.But sometimes when I look betweenLarge stones and little starsI almost know—but what I knowFlies through the window bars.
I see the stones, I see the stars,I know not what I see.Things always say words to themselvesAnd now and then to me.But sometimes when I look betweenLarge stones and little starsI almost know—but what I knowFlies through the window bars.
I see the stones, I see the stars,I know not what I see.Things always say words to themselvesAnd now and then to me.But sometimes when I look betweenLarge stones and little starsI almost know—but what I knowFlies through the window bars.
Find me little doors of air,Let me in and in.I will come and go all day....None will miss me from my placeIn the room, the porch, the lawn;And yet I shall have a wayTo enter and find quiet.Knit me in a garment.Weave me in a spell.I shall look the same to them.They will see me in the streetIn the shop, the car, the hall,And yet all the time I shall be my own,In a place where they do not come.Will you not, dare you not,Is it never meet?I will never let them know——Sweet, my Spirit, pardon me!I had forgot that stars are newAnd that it is the dawn of earth.Doors and garments and spells I must make for myself.Among ten thousand of us I must find silence.
Find me little doors of air,Let me in and in.I will come and go all day....None will miss me from my placeIn the room, the porch, the lawn;And yet I shall have a wayTo enter and find quiet.Knit me in a garment.Weave me in a spell.I shall look the same to them.They will see me in the streetIn the shop, the car, the hall,And yet all the time I shall be my own,In a place where they do not come.Will you not, dare you not,Is it never meet?I will never let them know——Sweet, my Spirit, pardon me!I had forgot that stars are newAnd that it is the dawn of earth.Doors and garments and spells I must make for myself.Among ten thousand of us I must find silence.
Find me little doors of air,Let me in and in.I will come and go all day....None will miss me from my placeIn the room, the porch, the lawn;And yet I shall have a wayTo enter and find quiet.
Knit me in a garment.Weave me in a spell.I shall look the same to them.They will see me in the streetIn the shop, the car, the hall,And yet all the time I shall be my own,In a place where they do not come.
Will you not, dare you not,Is it never meet?I will never let them know——Sweet, my Spirit, pardon me!I had forgot that stars are newAnd that it is the dawn of earth.Doors and garments and spells I must make for myself.Among ten thousand of us I must find silence.
I saw Fair Yellow in the west,Fair Yellow in the air,The sand, the corn, a bird’s breast,A woman’s hair.At nightMy little room burst into light——Fair Yellow had come there.Fair Yellow is a being.For when I said her nameI found a way of seeingHer as she came.O howDo our dull senses fail us nowAnd leave us in some elemental shame!There is so much to see and sayIf we could find the way....
I saw Fair Yellow in the west,Fair Yellow in the air,The sand, the corn, a bird’s breast,A woman’s hair.At nightMy little room burst into light——Fair Yellow had come there.Fair Yellow is a being.For when I said her nameI found a way of seeingHer as she came.O howDo our dull senses fail us nowAnd leave us in some elemental shame!There is so much to see and sayIf we could find the way....
I saw Fair Yellow in the west,Fair Yellow in the air,The sand, the corn, a bird’s breast,A woman’s hair.At nightMy little room burst into light——Fair Yellow had come there.
Fair Yellow is a being.For when I said her nameI found a way of seeingHer as she came.O howDo our dull senses fail us nowAnd leave us in some elemental shame!
There is so much to see and sayIf we could find the way....
The birds of the air are about meFor I am the conjuring one;How they dip and hover and circleThrough hyaline regions of sun.One has a wing like a petal,One wears a feather of flame,Silk and snow is the breast of anotherWith a word like a flute for a name.How they sing ... in the morning,Tilting soft the light beat of their flight;How their passionate chorales give cadenceDown the ample arcade of the night.Yes, the songs of the air are about meSweet ... clear ... but they singOf the light of another morningIn the deep of another Spring.
The birds of the air are about meFor I am the conjuring one;How they dip and hover and circleThrough hyaline regions of sun.One has a wing like a petal,One wears a feather of flame,Silk and snow is the breast of anotherWith a word like a flute for a name.How they sing ... in the morning,Tilting soft the light beat of their flight;How their passionate chorales give cadenceDown the ample arcade of the night.Yes, the songs of the air are about meSweet ... clear ... but they singOf the light of another morningIn the deep of another Spring.
The birds of the air are about meFor I am the conjuring one;How they dip and hover and circleThrough hyaline regions of sun.
One has a wing like a petal,One wears a feather of flame,Silk and snow is the breast of anotherWith a word like a flute for a name.
How they sing ... in the morning,Tilting soft the light beat of their flight;How their passionate chorales give cadenceDown the ample arcade of the night.
Yes, the songs of the air are about meSweet ... clear ... but they singOf the light of another morningIn the deep of another Spring.
Who hears the answer when I cry?O quiet hours and empty blue——You?But the echoful air beats back no sigh.Who is glad of the love that I give the green?O haunted hollow in tide of leaves,Who weavesDelight of mine on the flowery screen?Who harbours that little straying ghostOf our thought for each other before we knewLove true?Warm, warm in my heart and never lost.
Who hears the answer when I cry?O quiet hours and empty blue——You?But the echoful air beats back no sigh.Who is glad of the love that I give the green?O haunted hollow in tide of leaves,Who weavesDelight of mine on the flowery screen?Who harbours that little straying ghostOf our thought for each other before we knewLove true?Warm, warm in my heart and never lost.
Who hears the answer when I cry?O quiet hours and empty blue——You?But the echoful air beats back no sigh.
Who is glad of the love that I give the green?O haunted hollow in tide of leaves,Who weavesDelight of mine on the flowery screen?
Who harbours that little straying ghostOf our thought for each other before we knewLove true?Warm, warm in my heart and never lost.