Three Poems
“I know not how he chose you from the crowd, came to your door, and grasp your hand to ask his way.”—Rabindranath Tagore.
“I know not how he chose you from the crowd, came to your door, and grasp your hand to ask his way.”—Rabindranath Tagore.
You may not question why he chose youFrom so many more—Why his tiny hands have fumbledAt your door.To a land of fifty cross-roadsHe has come to-day,Placed his eager hands in yours,And asked his way.He will follow where you lead him—Bright and stormy skies;And at evening still beside youClose his eyes.Keep his trust, O You the Chosen—Far shall be his way.Clasp him to your heart and bless himWith all you may.
You may not question why he chose youFrom so many more—Why his tiny hands have fumbledAt your door.To a land of fifty cross-roadsHe has come to-day,Placed his eager hands in yours,And asked his way.He will follow where you lead him—Bright and stormy skies;And at evening still beside youClose his eyes.Keep his trust, O You the Chosen—Far shall be his way.Clasp him to your heart and bless himWith all you may.
You may not question why he chose youFrom so many more—Why his tiny hands have fumbledAt your door.To a land of fifty cross-roadsHe has come to-day,Placed his eager hands in yours,And asked his way.
You may not question why he chose you
From so many more—
Why his tiny hands have fumbled
At your door.
To a land of fifty cross-roads
He has come to-day,
Placed his eager hands in yours,
And asked his way.
He will follow where you lead him—Bright and stormy skies;And at evening still beside youClose his eyes.Keep his trust, O You the Chosen—Far shall be his way.Clasp him to your heart and bless himWith all you may.
He will follow where you lead him—
Bright and stormy skies;
And at evening still beside you
Close his eyes.
Keep his trust, O You the Chosen—
Far shall be his way.
Clasp him to your heart and bless him
With all you may.
“Come back, my darling; the world is asleep; and no one would know, if you came for a moment while stars are gazing at stars.”—Rabindranath Tagore.
“Come back, my darling; the world is asleep; and no one would know, if you came for a moment while stars are gazing at stars.”—Rabindranath Tagore.
Dark was the hour you slipped away,Veiled in the shadowed light.Touched with a sleep the others layThen as they do to-night.Come, my darling, oh, come to mother,Come for an hour and go;For the stars which gaze upon one another—Only the stars shall know.Fair was the spring you left behind,Born of a teeming womb;And now once more has a gentle windBreathed, and the gardens bloom.Come, my darling, oh, come for an hour—Quick e’er the night is done;And if you should ask for a single flower,How could they miss just one?Those who played in the sun with you—Sure, they are playing still;For Life is a spendthrift hand to woo,Led by a reckless will.Come, my darling, for treasured and deepTake of my love but this;And if once more to my arms you creep,Who would begrudge one kiss?
Dark was the hour you slipped away,Veiled in the shadowed light.Touched with a sleep the others layThen as they do to-night.Come, my darling, oh, come to mother,Come for an hour and go;For the stars which gaze upon one another—Only the stars shall know.Fair was the spring you left behind,Born of a teeming womb;And now once more has a gentle windBreathed, and the gardens bloom.Come, my darling, oh, come for an hour—Quick e’er the night is done;And if you should ask for a single flower,How could they miss just one?Those who played in the sun with you—Sure, they are playing still;For Life is a spendthrift hand to woo,Led by a reckless will.Come, my darling, for treasured and deepTake of my love but this;And if once more to my arms you creep,Who would begrudge one kiss?
Dark was the hour you slipped away,Veiled in the shadowed light.Touched with a sleep the others layThen as they do to-night.Come, my darling, oh, come to mother,Come for an hour and go;For the stars which gaze upon one another—Only the stars shall know.
Dark was the hour you slipped away,
Veiled in the shadowed light.
Touched with a sleep the others lay
Then as they do to-night.
Come, my darling, oh, come to mother,
Come for an hour and go;
For the stars which gaze upon one another—
Only the stars shall know.
Fair was the spring you left behind,Born of a teeming womb;And now once more has a gentle windBreathed, and the gardens bloom.Come, my darling, oh, come for an hour—Quick e’er the night is done;And if you should ask for a single flower,How could they miss just one?
Fair was the spring you left behind,
Born of a teeming womb;
And now once more has a gentle wind
Breathed, and the gardens bloom.
Come, my darling, oh, come for an hour—
Quick e’er the night is done;
And if you should ask for a single flower,
How could they miss just one?
Those who played in the sun with you—Sure, they are playing still;For Life is a spendthrift hand to woo,Led by a reckless will.Come, my darling, for treasured and deepTake of my love but this;And if once more to my arms you creep,Who would begrudge one kiss?
Those who played in the sun with you—
Sure, they are playing still;
For Life is a spendthrift hand to woo,
Led by a reckless will.
Come, my darling, for treasured and deep
Take of my love but this;
And if once more to my arms you creep,
Who would begrudge one kiss?
“But just for to-day, tell me, Mother, where the desert ... in the fairy tale is.”—Rabindranath Tagore.
“But just for to-day, tell me, Mother, where the desert ... in the fairy tale is.”—Rabindranath Tagore.
The shepherds slip into the fieldsWhere Father’s gone himself.The books I should be studyingAre still upon the shelf.O Mother, let me close my sleepy eyes,And tell me where the fairy desert lies.
The shepherds slip into the fieldsWhere Father’s gone himself.The books I should be studyingAre still upon the shelf.O Mother, let me close my sleepy eyes,And tell me where the fairy desert lies.
The shepherds slip into the fieldsWhere Father’s gone himself.The books I should be studyingAre still upon the shelf.O Mother, let me close my sleepy eyes,And tell me where the fairy desert lies.
The shepherds slip into the fields
Where Father’s gone himself.
The books I should be studying
Are still upon the shelf.
O Mother, let me close my sleepy eyes,
And tell me where the fairy desert lies.
What makes you silent? Must you workLike Father every hour?Your hands are busy as two beesWhich suck a honey flower.But, Mother, while the sunlight fills the skies,Tell me where the Tagra Desert lies.
What makes you silent? Must you workLike Father every hour?Your hands are busy as two beesWhich suck a honey flower.But, Mother, while the sunlight fills the skies,Tell me where the Tagra Desert lies.
What makes you silent? Must you workLike Father every hour?Your hands are busy as two beesWhich suck a honey flower.But, Mother, while the sunlight fills the skies,Tell me where the Tagra Desert lies.
What makes you silent? Must you work
Like Father every hour?
Your hands are busy as two bees
Which suck a honey flower.
But, Mother, while the sunlight fills the skies,
Tell me where the Tagra Desert lies.
At curfew Father will return,And I shall lose you then.I promise some day I shall learnAs much as other men.So, Mother, just before the daylight fliesTell me where the Tagra Desert lies.
At curfew Father will return,And I shall lose you then.I promise some day I shall learnAs much as other men.So, Mother, just before the daylight fliesTell me where the Tagra Desert lies.
At curfew Father will return,And I shall lose you then.I promise some day I shall learnAs much as other men.So, Mother, just before the daylight fliesTell me where the Tagra Desert lies.
At curfew Father will return,
And I shall lose you then.
I promise some day I shall learn
As much as other men.
So, Mother, just before the daylight flies
Tell me where the Tagra Desert lies.
WALTER EDWARDS HOUGHTON, JR.