Edna St.

Vincent Millay's

'POEMS'
Selected for Ybun^ People
 DATE DUE

Poetry Millay,Edna St. Vincent,

1892-1950
PS
3525 Edna St Vincent
.

1495 Millay's Poems selected

E2 for young peopl^^^^^

DATE ISSUED TO

>W«€'85 Jtll GoldrBL(cr 0^^-Cfl2^

#222/
Poetry
PS Millay, Edna St. Vincent, 1892-1950.
3525 Edna St. Vincent Millay's Poems
1495 selected for young people.
E2 Illustrations and decorations by J.
Paget-Fredericks. New York and London,
Harper S Brothers, cl929.
4p.X. ,vii-ix, 113p. col. mounted
front., illus. 23cm.
#2227 DC $ DM

I. Titl.

30 JUL 81 872812 NEWPxc

 New Cc'fege of California

LIBRARY
NEW COLLEGE OF CALIFORNIA
777 VALENCIA STREET
SAN FRANCISCO. CA 941lt
(41S) 626-1694

SM^i^^^
Edna St. Vincent Millay's
POEMS
Selectedfor Young People

\'>^
Edna St. Vincent Millay's
POEMS
Selected for Young People

ILLUSTRATIONS AND DECORATIONS BY

J.
Paget-Fredericks

f3i^^*

Harper ^ Brothers Publishers

New York ^w*^ London

^RKICULUM LIBRART
 Edna St. Vincent Millay's Poems
Selected for Young People
Copyright, 1929, by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Printed in the United States of America
A-W
K

ifl
v^-

Contents
Tart One
 Tart Two
First Fig
Tavern Renascence 79
When Year Grows Old
the 8i
The Return from Town The Harp-Weaver 83
The Ballad of the Harp- Weaver
The Harp-Weaver 84

Tart Five
Part One
^^^
 " —

From a Very Little Sphinx

COME along In then, little girl!

Or else stay out!

But in the open door she stands,
And bites her lip and twists her hands,
And stares upon me, trouble-eyed:
"Mother," she says, "I can't decide!
!
I can't decide

II

burdock, and you other dock,

OH,That have ground for your coffee seeds,
And lovely long thin daisies, dear
She said that you are weeds!
She said, "Oh, what a fine bouquet!"
But afterwards I heard her say,
"She's always dragging in those weeds."

Ill

EVERYBODY but just me

Despises burdocks. Mother, she
Despises 'em the most because
They stick so to my socks and drawers.
But father, when he sits on some,
Can't speak a decent word for 'em.

{3}
 IV

KNOW a hundred ways to die.

I I've often thought Pd try one:

Liedown beneath a motor truck
Some day when standing by one.

Or throw myself from off a bridge-

Except such things must be

So hard upon the scavengers
And men that clean the sea.

I know some poison I could drink.

I've often thought I'd taste it.

But mother bought it for the sink,

And drinking it would waste it.

{4}
 —

IooK, Edwin! Do you see that boy

^ Talking to the other boy?
No, over there by those two men
—
Wait, don't look now now look again.
No, not the one in navy-blue j
That's the one he's talking to.
Sure you see him? Striped pants?
Well, he was born in Paris, France,

VI

the grown-up people say,

ALL"What, those ugly thistles?
^

Mustn't touch them! Keep away!

Prickly! Full of bristles!"

Yet they never make me bleed

Half so much as roses!
Must be purple is a weed.
And pink and white is posies.

VII

w Up
Maybe
ONDER where
Up
this horseshoe went.
and down, up and down.
and past the monument.
into town.

{5>
 —

Wait a minute. "Horseshoe,

How far have you been?"
Says it^s been to Salem
And halfway to Lynn.

Wonder who was in the team.

Wonder what they saw.
Wonder if they passed a bridge
Bridge with a draw.

Says went from one bridge

it

Straight wpon another.

Says it took a little girl
Driving with her mother.

{6>
 Afternoon on a Hill

WILL be the gladdest thing

I Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds

With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show

Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!

{7}
 —

City Trees

THESave trees along this city street,

for the and the trains,
traffic
\

Would make a sound as thin and sweet

As trees in country lanes.

And people standing in their shade.

Out of a shower, undoubtedly
Would hear such music as is made
Upon a country tree.

Oh, little leaves that are so dumb

Against the shrieking city air,

I watch you when the wind has come,

I know what sound is there.

^8}
 ——

The Blue-Flag in the Bog

GODOurhadloved Earthand we camej

called us,
to ashes leftj
Heaven was a neighbor's house,
Open flung to us, bereft.

Gay the lights of Heaven showed.

And 'twas God who walked ahead;
Yet I wept along the road.
Wanting my own house instead.

Wept unseen, unheeded cried,

"All you things my eyes have kissed,
Fare you well We meet no more,
!

Lovely, lovely tattered mist!

Weary wings that rise and fall

All day long above the fire "
!

Red with heat was every wall.

Rough with heat was every wire

"Fare you well, you little winds

That the flying embers chase!
Fare you well, you shuddering day,
With your hands before your face!

And, ah, blackened by strange blight,

Or to a false sun unfurled.
Now forevermore goodbye.
All the gardens in the world!

{9}
 " —

On the windless hills of Heaven,

That I have no wish to see,
White, eternal lilies stand.
By a lake of ebony.

But the Earth forevermore

Is a place where nothing grows,
Dawn will come, and no bud break j
Evening, and no blossom close.

Spring will come, and wander slow

Over an indifferent land.
Stand beside an empty creek,
Hold a dead seed in her hand."

God had called us, and we came.

But the blessed road I trod
Was a bitter road to me.
And at heart I questioned God.

"Though in Heaven," I said, "be all

That the heart would most desire.
Held Earth naught save souls of sinners
Worth the saving from a fire?

Withered grass, —
the wasted growing!
Aimless ache of laden boughs!
Little things God had forgotten
Called me, from my burning house.

"Though in Heaven," I said, "be all

That the eye could ask to see,

 —

A.11 the things I ever knew

Are this blaze in back of me.

"Though in Heaven," I said, "be all

That the ear could think to lack,
All the things I ever knew
Are this roaring at my back."

It was God who walked ahead,

Like a shepherd to the foldj
In his footsteps fared the weak,
And the weary and the old.

Glad enough of gladness over,

Ready for the peace to be,
But a thing God had forgotten
Was the growing bones of me.

And I drew a bit apart.

And I lagged a bit behind.
And I thought on Peace Eternal,
Lest He look into my mind:

And I gazed up on the sky,

And I thought of Heavenly Rest,-
And I slipped away like water
Through the fingers of the blest!

All their eyes were fixed on Glory.

Not a glance brushed over me;
"Alleluia! Alleluia!"
Up the road, —and I was free.

ill}
 ——
And my heart rose like a freshet,
And it swept me on before,
Giddy as a whirling stick.
Till I felt the earth once more.

All the Earth was charred and black,

Fire had swept from pole to polej
And the bottom of the sea
Was as brittle as a bowlj

And the timbered mountain-top

Was as naked as a skull,
Nothing left, nothing left.

Of the Earth so beautiful!

"Earth," I said, "how can I leave you?"

"You are all I have," I saidj
"What is left to take my mind up.
Living always, and you dead?"

"Speak!" I said. "Oh, tell me something!

Make a sign that I can see!
For a keepsake! To keep always!
Quick! — ^before God misses me!"

And I listened for a voice j

But my heart was all I heard j

Not a screech-owl, not a loon,
Not a tree-toad said a word.

And I waited for a sign;

Coals and cinders, nothing morej

{12}
 ———
And a little cloud of smoke
Floating on a valley floor.

And I peered into the smoke

Till it rotted, like a fog:
There, encompassed round by fire,

Stood a blue-flag in a bog!

Little flames came wading out,

Straining, straining towards its stem,
But it was so blue and tall
That it scorned to think of them!

Red and thirsty were their tongues.

As the tongues of wolves must be^
But it was so blue and tall
Oh, I laughed, I cried, to see!

All my heart became a tear.

Allmy soul became a tower,
Never loved I anything
As I loved that tall blue flower!

It was all the little boats

That had ever sailed the sea.
It was all the little books
That had gone to school with me ;

On its roots like iron claws

Rearing up so blue and tall,
It was all the gallant Earth
With its back against a wall!

{i3>
 — ; ——
In a breath, ere I had breathed
Oh, I laughed, I cried, to see! —
I was kneeling at its side,
And it leaned its head on me!

Crumbling stones and sliding sand

Is theroad to Heaven nowj
Icy at my straining knees
Drags the awful under-towj

Soon but stepping-stones of dust

Will the road to Heaven be,
Father, Son and Holy Ghost,
Reach a hand and rescue me!

"There— my
there, blue-flag flower j
Hush — hush —go to sleep
That is only God you hear.

Counting up His folded sheep!

Lullabye —lullabye
That is only God that calls.
Missing me, seeking me.
Ere the road to nothing falls!

He will set His mighty feet

Firmly on the sliding sandj
Like a little frightened bird
I will creep into His handj

I will tell Him all my grief,

I will tell Him all my sin 5

{14}
 "

He will give me half His robe

For a cloak to wrap you in.

—
Lullabye lullabye —
Rocks the burnt-out planet free!
Father, Son and Holy Ghost,
Reach a hand and rescue me!

Ah, the voice of love at last!

Lo, at last the face of light!
And the whole of His white robe
For a cloak against the night!

And upon my heart asleep

All the things I ever knew! —
"Holds Heaven not some cranny, Lord,
For a flower so tall and blue?"

AlPs well and alPs well!

Gay the lights of Heaven show!
In some moist and Heavenly place
We will set it out to grow.

{I5>

r
CURRICULUM LIBRARY

• -i V^ /
 —

Journey

H, COULD I lay me down in this long grass

And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind
Blow over me, — I am so tired, so tired
Of passing pleasant places! All my life.
Following Care along the dusty road.
Have I looked back at loveliness and sighed}
Yet at my hand an unrelenting hand
Tugged ever, and I passed. All my life long
Over my shoulder have I looked at peace j

And now I fain would lie in this long grass

And close my eyes.
Yet onward!
Cat-birds call
Through the long afternoon, and creeks at dusk
Are guttural. Whip-poor-wills wake and cry,
Drawing the twilight close about their throats.
Only my heart makes answer. Eager vines
Go up the rocks and waitj flushed apple-trees
Pause in their dance and break the ring for mej
Dim, shady wood-roads, redolent of fern
And bayberry, that through sweet bevies thread
Of round-faced roses, pink and petulant,
Look back and beckon ere they disappear.
Only my heart, only my heart responds.
Yet, ah, my path is sweet on either side
All through the dragging day, —sharp underfoot,
And hot, and like dead mist the dry dust hangs
But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach,
And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling.
The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake,
{16}
Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road
A gateless garden, and an open path:
My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.

<f 17^
 Eel-Grass

N o MATTER what
All that I

Is the rain that flattens

I Say,
really love
on the bay,
And the eel-grass In the cove j
The jingle-shells that lie and bleach
At the tide-line, and the trace
Of higher tides along the beach:
Nothing in this place.

4x8}
 God's World

O WORLD, I cannot hold thee close enough!

Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
Thy mists, that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!

Long have I known a glory in it all,

But never knew I thisj

Here such a passion is

As stretcheth me —Lord,
apart, I do fear
Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year j
My soul is all but out of me, — let fall
No burning leaf} prithee, let no bird call.

{I9>
 Pastoral

F IT were only still! —

I With far away the shrill
Crying of a cockj
Or the shaken bell
From a cow's throat
Moving through the bushes j

Or the soft shock

Of wizened apples falling
From an old tree
In a forgotten orchard
Upon the hilly rock!

Oh, grey hill,

Where the grazing herd

Licks the purple blossom,
Crops the spiky weed!
Oh, stony pasture.
Where the tall mullein
Stands up so sturdy
On its little seed!

^icj
 Assault

HAD forgotten how the frogs must sound

I think
I After a year of silence, else
Ishould not so have ventured forth alone
At dusk upon this unfrequented road.

II

I am waylaid by Beauty. Who will walk

Between me and the crying of the frogs?
Oh, savage Beauty, suffer me to pass.
That am a timid woman, on her way
From one house to another!

421}
 —

Low-Tide

THESE wet rocks where the tide has been,

Barnacled white and weeded brown
And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,
These wet rocks where the tide went down
Will show again when the tide is high,
Faint and perilous, far from shore.
No place to dream, but a place to die,
The bottom of the sea once more.
There was a child that wandered through
A giant^s emfty house all dajy —
House full of wonderful things and new^
But no fit 'place for a child to play.

{22}
 Song of a Second April

A PRiL this year, not otherwise

jr\. Than April of a year ago,
Is full of whispers, full of sighs,
Of dazzling mud and dingy snowj
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again, and butterflies.

There rings a hammering all day.

And shingles lie about the doors j
In orchards near and far away
The grey wood-pecker taps and bores j
And men are merry at their chores.
And children earnest at their play.

The larger streams run still and deep.

Noisy and swift the small brooks run
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun,
Pensively, —only you are gone.
You that alone I cared to keep.

•{23>
 —— —

Inland

EOPLE that build their houses inland,

p People that buy a plot of ground

Shaped like a house, and build a house there.
Far from- the sea-board, far from the sound

Of water sucking the hollow ledges.

Tons of water striking the shore,
What do they long for, as I long for
One salt smell of the sea once more?

People the waves have not awakened.

Spanking the boats at the harbour's head,
What do they long for, as I long for,
Starting up in my inland bed.

Beating the narrow walls, and finding

Neither a window nor a door.
Screaming to God for death by drowning,
One salt taste of the sea once more?

in}
 ——— —

Doubt No More That Oberon

DOUBT no moreOberon
that
Never doubt that Pan
Lived, and played a reed, and ran
After nymphs in a dark forest,
In the merry, credulous days,
Lived, and led a fairy band
Over the indulgent land!
Ah, for in this dourest, sorest
Age man's eye has looked upon,
Death to fauns and death to fays.
Still the dog-wood dares to raise
Healthy tree, with trunk and root
Ivory bowls that bear no fruit.

And the starlings and the jays

Birds that cannot even sing
Dare to come again in spring!
 Exiled

"SEARCHING my heart for its true sorrow,

3 This is the thing I find to be:
That I am weary of words and people
Sick of the city, wanting the seaj

Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness

Of the strong wind and shattered spray j
Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound
Of the big surf that breaks all day.

Always before about my dooryard.

Marking the reach of the winter sea.
Rooted in sand and dragging drift-wood.
Straggled the purple wild sweet-pea j

Always I climbed the wave at morning.

Shook the sand from my shoes at night.
That now am caught beneath great buildings.
Stricken with noise, confused with light.

If I could hear the green piles groaning

Under the windy wooden piers,
See once again the bobbing barrels,
And the black sticks that fence the weirs.

If I could see the weedy mussels

Crusting the wrecked and rotting hulls,
Hear once again the hungry crying
Overhead, of the wheeling gulls.

{26}
 —

Feel once again the shanty straining

Under the turning of the tide,
Fear once again the rising freshet,
Dread the bell in the fog outside,

I should be happy, — was happy

that
All day long on the coast of Maine!
I have a need to hold and handle
Shells and anchors and ships again!

I should be happy, thatam happy

Never came here.
at all since I
I am too long away from water.
I have a need of water near.

i^y}
 —

Al ms

MYA HEART what it was before,

is

house where people come and goj

But it is winter with your love,
The sashes are beset with snow.

I light the lamp and lay the cloth,

I blow the coals to blaze again j
But it is winter with your love.
The frost is thick upon the pane.

I know a winter when it comes:

The leaves are listless on the boughs j

I watched your love a little while.

And brought my plants into the house.

I water them and turn them south,

I snap the dead brown from the stemj

But it is winter with your love,

I only tend and water them.

There was a time I stood and watched

The small, ill-natured sparrows' frayj
I loved the beggar that I fed,
I cared for what he had to say,

I stood and watched him out of sight}

Today reach around the door
I

And set a bowl upon the step;

My heart is what it was before,

{28>
But it is winter with your lovej
I scattercrumbs upon the sill,
—
And close the window, and the birds
May take or leave them, as they will.

•{29}
 «'-

'r*

•{30}
 Autumn Chant

N ow the autumn shudders

In the rose's root.
Far and wide the ladders
Lean among the fruit.

Now the autumn clambers

Up the trellised frame,
And the rose remembers
The dust from which it came.

Brighter than the blossom

On the rose's bough
Sits the wizened orange,
Bitter berry nowj

Beauty never slumbers j

All is in her namej

But the rose remembers
The dust from which it came.

{3i>
 Nuit Blanche

AM a shepherd of those sheep

I That climb a wall by night,
One after one, until I sleep,
Or the black pane goes white
Because of which I cannot see
A flock upon a hill,
But doubts come tittering up to me
That should by day be still.
And childish griefs I have outgrown
Into my eyes are thrust,
Till my dull tears go dropping down
Like lead into the dust.

^3^>
 The Wood Road
F I were walk this way
to

I Hand hand with Grief,

in
I should mark that maple-spray
Coming into leaf.
I should note how the old burrs
Rot upon the ground.
Yes, though Grief should know me hers
While the world goes round,
It could not in truth be said
This was loston me:
A rock-maple showing red,
Burrs beneath a tree.

{33}
 The Spring and the Fall

N THE spring of the year, in the spring of the year

I I walked the road beside my dear.
The trees were black where the bark was wet.
I see them yet, in the spring of the year.

He broke me a bough of the blossoming peach

That was out of the way and hard to reach.

In the fall of the year, in the fall of the year,

Iwalked the road beside my dear.
The rooks went up with a raucous trill.

I hear them still, in the fall of the year.

He laughed at all I dared to praise.
And broke my heart, in little ways.

Year be springing or year be falling.

The bark- will drip and the birds be calling.
There's much that's fine to see and hear
In the spring of a year, in the fall of a year.
'Tis not love's going hurts my days,
But that it went in little ways.

{34}
Part Two
 First Fig

MY CANDLE burns
It will
at both endsj
not last the night j
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends-
It gives a lovely light!

{37}
 Second Fig

[AFE upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:

I Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

438}
To the Not Impossible Him

HowTo shall I know, unless

Cairo and Cathay,
I go

Whether or not this blessed spot

Is blest in every way?

Now it may be, the flower for me

Is this beneath my nosej
How shall I tell, unless I smell
The Carthaginian rose?

The fabric of my faithful love

Nopower shall dim or ravel
—
Whilst I stay here, but oh, my dear,
If I should ever travel!

i39>
 —— ——

Recuerdo

WE WERE very tired, we were very merry

We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable
But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table.
We lay on the hill-top underneath the moon 3
And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.

We were very tired, we were very merry

We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry j
And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere j

And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold.
And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.

We were very tired, we were very merry

We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
We hailed, "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered
head.
And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
And she wept, "God bless you!" for the apples and the
pears.
And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.

{40}
 The Unexplorer

THERE was a road ran past our house

Too lovely to explore.
I asked my —
mother once she said
That if you followed where it led
It brought you to the milk-man's door.
(That's why I have not traveled more.)

•(4I>
 Grown-Up

WASAnd it for this I uttered prayers,

sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,

That now, domestic as a plate,

I should retire at half -past eight?

4 42}
 Daphne

w HY do you follow me?—

Any moment I can be
Nothing but a laurel-tree.

Any moment of the chase

I can leave you in my place
A pink bough for your embrace.

Yet if over hill and hollow

Still it is your will to follow,
I am oflFj — to heel, Apollo!

{43}
 —

The Philosopher

A ND what
I
are you that, missing you,
should be kept awake
As many nights as there are days
With weeping for your sake?

And what are you that, missing you,

As many days as crawl
I should be listening to the wind
And looking at the wall?

I know a man that's a braver man

And twenty men as kind,
And what are you, that you should be
The one man in my mind?

Yet women's ways are witless ways,

As any sage will tell,
And what am I, that I should love
So wisely and so well?

i44}
 Travel

THEAnd railroad track

the day is
is miles away,
loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn't a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking.

All night there isn't a train goes by.

Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming.
But I see its cinders red on the sky.
And hear its engine steaming.

My heart is warm make.

with the friends I
And better friends I'll not be knowing,
Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,
No matter where it's going.

{45>
 Rosem ary
the sake of some things
FORThat be now no more
I will strew rushes
On my chamber-floor,
I will plant bergamot
At my kitchen-door.

For the sake of dim things

That were once so plain
I will set a barrel
Out to catch the rain,
I will hang an iron pot
On an iron crane.

Many things be dead and gone

That were brave and gayj
For the sake of these things
I will learn to say,
"An it please you, gentle sirs,"
"Alack!" and "Well-a-day!"

{46}
 Ebb

KNOW what my heart is like

I Since your love died:

It is like a hollow ledge
Holding a little pool
Left there by the tide,
A little tepid pool,
Drying inward from the edge.

447}
 —

The Little Hill

HERE the sweet and

air is still,
OH,And the grass
soft's onj to lie
And far away's the little hill
They took for Christ to die on.

And there's a hill across the brook,

And down the brook's another j

But, oh, the little hill they took,

I think I am its mother!

The moon that saw Gethsemane,

I watch it rise and set j

It has so many things to see.

They help it to forget.

But that sit at home

little hills

So many hundred years.

Remember Greece, remember Rome,
Remember Mary's tears.

And far away in Palestine,

Sadder than any other.
Grieves still the hill that I call mine, —
I think I am its mother!

{48>'
 Wild Swans

LOOKED in my heart while the wild swans went over

I And what did I see I had not seen before?
Only a question less or a question more j

Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying.

Tiresome heart, forever living and dying,
House without air, I leave you and lock your door
Wild swans, come over the town, come over
The town again, trailing your legs and crying!

449>
 —

Sorrow

^ORROW like a ceaseless rain

^ Beats upon my heart.
People twist and scream in pain,
Dawn will findthem still again j

This has neither wax nor wane,

Neither stop nor start.

People dress and go to town j

I sit in my chair.
All my thoughts are slow and brown:
Standing up or sitting down
Little matters, or what gown
Or what shoes I wear.

iso}
 —

Elaine

OH, COME again to Astolat!

will not ask you to be kind.
I
And you may go when you will go,
And I will stay behind.

how dear you are,

I will not say
Or ask you if you hold me dear,
Or trouble you with things for you
The way I did last year.

So still the orchard, Lancelot,

So very still the lake shall be.
—
You could not guess though you should guess-
What is become of me.

So wide shall be the garden-walk.

The garden-seat so very wide.
You —
needs must think if you should think
The lily maid had died.

Save that, a little way away,

Pd watch you for a little while.
To see you speak, the way you speak.
And smile — if you should smile.

{5i>
 —

Souvenir

''usT a rainy day or two

In a windy tower,
That was all I had of you
Saving half an hour

Marred by greeting passing groups

In a cinder walk,
Near some naked blackberry hoops
Dim with purple chalk.

I remember three or four

Things you said in spite.
And an ugly coat you wore,
Plaided black and white.

Just a rainy day or two

And a bitter word.
Why do I remember you
As a singing bird?

is^}
 Scrub

F I grow bitterly,
I Like a gnarled and stunted tree,
Bearing harshly of my youth
Puckered fruit that sears the mouth:
If I make of my drawn boughs
An inhospitable house,
Out of which I never pry
Towards the water and the sky.
Under which I stand and hide
And hear the day go by outsider
It is that awind too strong
Bent my back when I was young.
It is that I fear the rain
Lest it blister me again.

iSJ}
>A^
 Departure

what path I take,

t's little I care

I And where it leads it's little I carej

But out of this house, lest my heart break,

I must go, and off somewhere.

It's little I know what's in my heart.

What's in my mind it's little I know.
But there's that in me must up and start.

And it's little I care where my feet go.

I wish I could walk for a day and a night.

And me at dawn in a desolate place
find
With never the rut of a road in sight,
Nor the roof of a house, nor the eyes of a face.

I wish I could walk till my blood should spout

And drop me, never to stir again,
On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out,
And the weedy rocks are bare to the rain.

But dump or dock, where the path I take

Brings up, it's little enough I carej
And it's little I'd mind the fuss they'll make,
Huddled dead in a ditch somewhere.

''/j something the mattery dear^^ she said,

"That you sit at your work so silently?^*
'Wo, motherJ nOy ^twas a knot in my thread.
There goes the kettley Vll m,ake the tea.^^

{55>
 '-.^

The Curse
LAY my ashes on the wind
0"iThat blows across the sea.
And I shall meet a fisherman
Out of Capri,

And he will say, seeing me,

"What a strange thing!
Like a fish's scale or a
Butterfly's wing."

Oh, lay my ashes on the wind

That blows away the fog.
And I shall meet a farmer boy
Leaping through the bog,

And he will say, seeing me,

"What a strange thing!
Like a peat-ash or a
Butterfly's wing."

{56}
And I shall blow to your house

And, sucked against the pane,

See you take your sewing up
And lay it down again.

And you will say, seeing me,

"What a strange thing!
Like a plum petal or a
Butterfly's wing."

And none at all will know me

That knew me well before
But I will settle at the root
That climbs about your door.

And fishermen and farmers

May see me and forget,
But I'll be a bitter berry

In your brewing yet.

^57}
 — —

The Little Ghost

KNEW her for a little ghost

I That in my
garden walked
—
j

The wall is high higher than most

And the green gate was locked.

And yet I did not think of that

Till after she was gone
I knew her by the broad white hat,
All ruffled, she had on.

By the dear ruffles round her feet.

By her small hands that hung
In their lace mitts, austere and sweet.
Her gown's white folds among.

I watched to see if she would stay.

What she would do —and oh!
She looked as if she liked the way
I let my garden grow!

She bent above my favourite mint

With conscious garden grace,
She smiled and smiled — there was no hint
Of sadness in her face.

She held her gown on either side

To let her slippers show.
And up the walk she went with pride,
The way great ladies go.

{sn
And where the walk is built in new
And is of ivy bare
She paused —then opened and passed through
A gate that once was there.

{59}
Part Three

•iS
 Renascence

A
I
LL
Was
I could see from where
three long mountains and a woodj
turned and looked another way,
I stood

And saw three islands in a bay.

So with my eyes I traced the line
Of the horizon, thin and fine,
Straight around till I was come

Back where I'd started fromj

to
And all I saw from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood.
Over these things I could not see:
These were the things that bounded mej
And I could touch them with my hand,
Almost, I thought, from where I stand.
And all at once things seemed so small
My breath came short, and scarce at all.
But, sure, the sky is big, I saidj
Miles and miles above my headj
So here upon my back I'll lie

And look my fill into the sky.

And so I looked, and, after all,
The sky was not so very tall.

The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,

And — sure enough! — I see the top!
The sky, I thought, is not go grand j
I 'most could touch it with my hand!
And reaching up my hand to try,
I screamed to feel it touch the sky.
I screamed, and — — lo! Infinity
Came down and settled over mej
{63}
Forced back my scream into my chest,
Bent back my arm upon my breast,
And, pressing of the Undefined
The definition on my mind.
Held up before my eyes a glass
Through which my shrinking sight did pass
Until it seemed I must behold
Immensity made manifold j

Whispered to me a word whose sound

Deafened the air for worlds around,
And brought unmuffled to my ears
The gossiping of friendly spheres,
The creaking of the tented sky.
The ticking of Eternity.
Isaw and heard and knew at last
The How and Why of all things, past.

And present, and forevermore.

The Universe, cleft to the core.
Lay open to my probing sense
That, sick'ning, would fain pluck thence
I

But could not, — But needs must suck

nay!
At the great wound, and could not pluck
My lips away till I had drawn
All venom out. —
Ah, fearful pawn!
For my omniscience paid I toll
In infinite remorse of soul.
All sin was of my sinning, all
Atoning mine, and mine the gall
Of all regret. Mine was the weight
Of every brooded wrong, the hate
That stood behind each envious thrust,
Mine every greed, mine every lust.
{64}
 —

And all the while for every grief,

Each suffering, I craved relief
With individual desire,
Craved all in vain And felt fierce
! fire

About a thousand people crawl j

Perished with each, —then mourned for all!

A man was starving in Capri ;

He moved and looked at mej
his eyes
I felt his gaze, I his moan,
heard
And knew his hunger as my own.
I saw at sea a great fog bank
Between two ships that struck and sank;
A thousand screams the heavens smote;
And every scream tore through my throat.
No hurt I did not feel, no death
That was not mine; mine each last breath
That, crying, met an answering cry
From the compassion that was I.

All suffering mine, and mine its rod;

Mine, pity like the pity of God.
Ah, awful weight! Infinity
Pressed down upon the finite Me!
My anguished spirit, like a bird,

Beating against my lips I heard;

Yet lay the weight so close about
There was no room for it without.
And so beneath the weight lay I
And suffered death, but could not die.

Long had I lain thus, craving death.

When quietly the earth beneath
Gave way, and inch by inch, so great
At last had grown the crushing weight,
Into the earthI sank till I

Full under ground did lie,

six feet
—
And sank no more, there is no weight
Can follow here, however great.
From off my breast I felt it roll.
And as it went my tortured soul
Burst forth and fled in such a gust
That all about me swirled the dust.

Deep nowj
in the earth I rested
Cool is its hand upon the brow
And soft its breast beneath the head
Of one who is so gladly dead.
And all at once, and over all
The pitying rain began to fallj
I lay and heard each pattering hoof
Upon my lowly, thatched roof,
And seemed to love the sound far more
Than ever I had done before.
For rain it hath a friendly sound
To one who's six feet under ground j

And scarce the friendly voice or face:

A grave is such a quiet place.

The rain, I said, is kind to come

And speak to me in my new home.
I would I were alive again
To kiss the fingers of the rain,
To drink into my eyes the shine
Of every slanting silver line,
To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze
From drenched and dripping apple-trees.
For soon the shower will be done,

{66}
And then the broad face of the sun
Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth
Until the world with answering mirth
Shakes joyously, and each round drop
Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.
How can I bear it j buried here,
While overhead the sky grows clear
And blue again after the storm?
O, multi-colored, multiform.
Beloved beauty over me.
That I shall never, never see
Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,
That I shall never more behold!
Sleeping your myriad magics through,
Close-sepulchred away from you!
God, I cried, give me new birth.
And put me back upon the earth!
Upset each cloud's gigantic gourd
And let the heavy rain, down-poured
In one big torrent, set me free.
Washing my grave away from me!

1 ceased and through the breathless hush

j

That answered me, the far-off rush

Of herald wings came whispering
Like music down the vibrant string
Of my ascending prayer, and — crash!
Before the wild wind's whistling lash
The startled storm-clouds reared on high
And plunged in terror down the sky.
And the big rain in one black wave
Fell from the sky and struck my grave.
I know not how such things can bej

{67}
 ——

I only know there came to me

A fragrance such as never clings
To aught save happy living things j
A sound as of some joyous elf
Singing sweet songs to please himself,
And, through and over everything,
A sense of glad awakening.
The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear.
Whispering to me I could hearj
I felt the rain's cool finger-tips
Brushed tenderly across my lips,
Laid gently on my sealed sight.
And all at once the heavy night
Fell from my eyes and I could see,
A drenched and dripping apple-tree,
A last long line of silver rain,
A sky grown clear and blue again.
And as I looked a quickening gust
Of wind blew up to me and thrust
Into my face a miracle
Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,
I know not how such things can be! —
I breathed my soul back into me.
Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I

And hailed the earth with such a cry

As is not heard save from a man
Who has been dead, and lives again.
About the trees my arms I wound j

Like one gone mad I hugged the ground j

I raised my quivering arms on highj

I laughed and laughed into the sky.
Till at my throat a strangling sob
Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb

{68}
 —

Sent instant tears into my eyesj

God, I cried, no dark disguise
Can e'er hereafter hide from me
Thy radiant identity!
Thou canst not move across the grass
But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,
Nor speak, however silently.
But my hushed voice will answer Thee.
1 know the path that tells Thy way
Through the cool eve of every dayj
God, I can push the grass apart
And lay my finger on Thy heart!

The world stands out on either side

No wider than the heart is widej
Above the world is stretched the sky,
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either handj
The soul can split the sky in two.
And let the face of God shine through.
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart j
And he whose soul is flat the sky —
Will cave in on him by and by.

{69)-

o
Part Four

.'^'*
.4..
 !

Portrait by a Neighbor

BEFORE she has her floor swept

Or her dishes done,
Any day you'll find her
A-sunning in the sun!

It's long after midnight

Her key's in the lock,
And you never see her chimney smoke
Till past ten o'clock!

She digs in her garden

With a shovel and a spoon,
She weeds her lazy lettuce
By the light of the moon.

She walks up the walk

Like a woman in a dream,
She forgets she borrowed butter
And pays you back cream

Her lawn looks like a meadow.

And if she mows the place
She leaves the clover standing
And the Queen Anne's lace!

{73}
 ——

The Bean-Stalk

m
La, —
I
Giant! This is I!
have built me a bean-stalk into your sky!
but it's lovely, up so high!

This is how I came, — I put

Here my knee, there my foot.
Up and up, from shoot to shoot
And the blessed bean-stalk thinning
Like the mischief all the time,
Till it took me rocking, spinning,
In a dizzy, sunny circle.
Making angles with the root,
Far and out above the cackle
Of the city I was born in.

Till the little dirty city

In the light so sheer and sunny
Shone as dazzling bright and pretty
As the money that you find
In a dream of finding money
What a wind! What a morning! —
Till the tiny, shiny city.
When I shot a glance below,
Shaken with a giddy laughter,
Sickand blissfully afraid,
Was a dew-drop on a blade.
And a pair of moments after
Was the whirling guess I made,
And the wind was like a whip
Cracking past my icy ears,

•{74>
 — —
j

And my hair stood out behind,

And my eyes were full of tears,
Wide-open and cold.
More tears than they could hold,
The wind was blowing so.
And my teeth were in a row,
Dry and grinning.
And I felt my foot slip.
And I scratched the wind and whined.
And I clutched the stalk and jabbered,
With my eyes shut blind,
What a wind! What a wind!

Your broad sky. Giant,

Is the shelf of a cupboard
I make bean-stalks, T'm
A builder, like yourself.
But bean-stalks is my trade,
I make a shelf,
couldn't
Don't know how they're made.
Now, a bean-stalk is more pliant
La, what a climb!
 — — ———

1^5^^
Wraith
HiN Rain, whom are you haunting,
T— That you haunt my door?"
Surely it is not I she's wanting j
Some one living here before
"Nobody's in the house but me:
You may come in if you like and see."

Thin as thread, with exquisite fingers,

Have you seen her, any of you?
Grey shawl, and leaning on the wind.
And the garden showing through?

Glimmering eyes, —and silent, mostly,

Sort of a whisper, sort of a purr,
Asking something, asking it over.
If you get a sound from her.

Ever see her, any of you?

Strangest thing I've ever known,
Every night since I moved in,
And I came to be alone.

i76}
 —

"Thin Rain, hush with your knocking!

You may not come in!
This is I that you hear rocking j
Nobody's with me, nor has been!"

Curious,how she tried the window,

Odd, the way she tries the door,
Wonder just what sort of feofle
Could have had this house before . ,

iv}
 j

Lament

E
iSTEN, children:

From
Your father is

his old coats

dead.

I'll make you little jackets

I'll make you little trousers
From his old pants.
There'll be in his pockets
Things he used to put there,
Keys and pennies
Covered with tobacco j
Dan shall have the pennies
To save in his bank;
Anne shall have the keys
To make a pretty noise with.
Life must go on,
And the dead be forgotten j
Life must go on,
Though good men die;
Anne, eat your breakfast;
Dan, take your medicine;
Life must go on;
I forget just why.

ij^i
 Tavern

'll keep a little tavern

I Below the high hill's crest,
Wherein all grey-eyed people
May set them down and rest.

There shall be plates a-plenty,

And mugs to melt the chill
Of all the grey-eyed people
Who happen up the hill.

There sound will sleep the traveller,

And dream his journey's end,
 —

But I will rouse at midnight

The falling fire to tend.

Aye, 'tis a curious fancy

But all the good I know
Was taught me out of two grey eyes
A long time ago.

i8o>
 — ! —

when the Year Grows Old

CANNOT but remember

I When the year grows old
October —November
How she disliked the cold!

She used to watch the swallows

Go down across the sky,
And turn from the window
With a little sharp sigh.

And often when the brown leaves

Were brittle on the ground,
And the wind in the chimney
Made a melancholy sound,

She had a look about her

That I wish I could forget
The look of a scared thing
Sitting in a net!

Oh, beautiful at nightfall

The soft spitting snow!
And beautiful the bare boughs
Rubbing to and fro

But the roaring of the fire.

And the warmth of fur,

And the boiling of the kettle
Were beautiful to her!

^81}
 — —

I cannot but remember

When the year grows old
October —November
How she disliked the cold!

{82}
 ——

The Return from Town

As I sat down by Saddle Stream
/\ To bathe my
dusty feet there
A boy was standing on the bridge
Any girl would meet there.

As I went over Woody Knob

And dipped into the hollow,
A youth was coming up the hill
Any maid would follow.

Then in I turned at my own gate,

And nothing to be sad for
To such a man as any wife
Would pass a pretty lad for.

03}
 —

The Ballad of the Harp-Weav^er

SON," said my mother,

When I was knee-high,
"You've need of clothes to cover you,
And not a rag have I.

"There's nothing in the house

To make a boy breeches.
Nor shears to cut a cloth with
Nor thread to take stitches.

"There's nothing in the house

But a loaf-end of rye,
And a harp with a woman's head
Nobody will buy,"
And she began to cry.

That was in the early fall.

When came the late fall,
"Son," she said, "the sight of you
Makes your mother's blood crawl,

"Little skinny shoulder-blades

Sticking through your clothes!
And where you'll get a jacket from
God above knows.

"It's lucky for me, lad.

Your daddy's in the ground,
And can't see the way I let

His son go around!"

And she made a queer sound.

4 84>
That was in the late fall.

When the winter came,

Pd not a pair of breeches
Nor a shirt to my name.

I couldn't go to school,
Or out of doors to play.
And all the other little boys
Passed our way.

"Son," said my mother,

"Come, climb into my lap,

And PU chafe your little bones

While you take a nap."

And, oh, but we were silly

For half an hour or more,
Me with my long legs
Dragging on the floor,

A-rock-rock-rocking
To a mother-goose rhyme!
Oh, but we were happy
For half an hour's time!

But there was I, a great boy,

And what would folks say
To hear my mother singing me
To sleep all day.
In such a daft way?

Men say the winter

Was bad that yearj
05}
Fuel was scarce,
And food was dear.

A wind with a wolf's head

Howled about our door,
And we burned up the chairs
And sat upon the floor.

All that was left us

Was a chair we couldn't break.
And the harp with a woman's head
Nobody would take.
For song or pity's sake.

The night before Christmas

I cried with the cold,
I cried myself to sleep
Like a two-year-old.

And in the deep night

I felt my mother rise.
And stare down upon me
With love in her eyes.

I saw my mother sitting

On the one good chair,
A light falling on her
From I couldn't tell where,

Looking nineteen,
And not a day older,
And the harp with a woman's head
Leaned against her shoulder.
{86>
Her thin fingers, moving
In the thin, tall strings.

Were weav-weav-weaving
Wonderful things.

Many bright threads,

From where I couldn't see.
Were running through the harp-strings
Rapidly,

And gold threads whistling

Through my mother's hand.
I saw the web grow.
And the pattern expand.

She wove a child's jacket,

And when it was done

She laid it on the floor

And wove another one.

She wove a red cloak

So regal to see,
"She's made it for a king's son,"
I said, "and not for me."
But I knew it was for me.

She wove a pair of breeches

Quicker than that!
She wove a pair of boots
And a little cocked hat.

She wove a pair of mittens,

She wove a little blouse,
 —

She wove all night

In the still, cold house.

She sang as she worked,

And the harp-strings spoke j

Her voice never faltered,

And the thread never broke.
And when I awoke,

There sat my mother

With the harp against her shoulder.
Looking nineteen
And not a day older,

A smile about her lips,

And a light about her head.

And her hands in the harp-strings
Frozen dead.

And piled up beside her

And toppling to the skies,
"Were the clothes of a king's son,
Just my size.

{88}
Part Five
Memorial to D.C,

(Vassar College, 191 8)

 of all sweet throats,
OH, LOVELIEST throat
Where now no more the music is,

With hands that wrote you little notes

I write you little elegies!

{9l>
 Epitaph

HEAP not on this mound

Roses that she loved so wellj
Why bewilder her with roses,
That she cannot see or smell?
She is happy where she lies

With the dust upon her eyes.

{9^}
 Prayer to Persephone

TO her, Persephone,
BEAll the things I might not bej
Take her head upon your knee.
She that was so proud and wild,
Flippant, arrogant and free.
She that had no need of me.
Is a little lonely child
Lost in Hell, —Persephone,
Take her head upon your kneej
Say to her, "My dear, my dear,
It is not so dreadful here."

{93}
 Ch orus

GIVE away her gowns,

Give away her shoes j
She has no more use
For her fragrant gowns j
Take them all down,
Blue, green, blue,
Lilac, pink, blue.
From their padded hangers j
She will dance no more
In her narrow shoes j
Sweep her narrow shoes
From the closet floor.

{94>
 —

El egy

""I" ET them bury your big eyes

Jl ^ In the secret earth securely,
Your thin fingers, and your fair.

Soft, indefinite-colored hair,

All of these in some way, surely.
From the secret earth shall risej
Not for these I sit and stare,
Broken and bereft completely j
Your young flesh that sat so neatly
On your little bones will sweetly
Blossom in the air.

But your voice, —never the rushing

Of a river underground.
Not the rising of the wind
In the trees before the rain.
Not the woodcock's watery call.
Not the note the white-throat utters.
Not the feet of children pushing
Yellow leaves along the gutters
In the blue and bitter fall.
Shall content my musing mind
For the beauty of that sound
That in no new way at all
Ever will be heard again.

Sweetly through the sappy stalk

Of the vigorous weed.
Holding all it held before,
Cherished by the faithful sun,

{9S\
On and on eternally
Shall your altered fluid run,
Bud and bloom and go to seedj
But your singing days are done:
But the music of your talk
Never shall the chemistry
Of the secret earth restore.
All your lovely words are spoken.
Once the ivory box is broken,
Beats the golden bird no more.

{96}
 Dirge

BOYS and girls that held her dear,

Do your weeping nowj
All you loved of her lies here.

Brought to earth the arrogant brow,

And the withering tongue
Chastened J do your weeping now.

Sing whatever songs are sung,

Wind whatever wreath,
For a playmate perished young.

For a spirit spent in death.

Boys and girls that held her dear,
All you loved of her lies here.

"{p?}
Pait Six
 —

Sonnets

MINDFUL of you the sodden earth in spring,

And all the flowers that in the springtime grow,
And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slow
Rising of the round moon, all throats that sing
The summer through, and each departing wing.
And all the nests that the bared branches show,
And all winds that in any weather blow.
And all the storms that the four seasons bring.

You go no more on your exultant feet

Up paths that only mist and morning knew.
Or watch the wind, or listen to the beat
Of a bird's wings too high in air to view,
But you were something more than young and sweet
—
And fair, and the long year remembers you.

{loi}
 II

THINK not am faithful to a vow!

OH,Faithless am
I
I save to love's self alone.
Were you not lovely I would leave you now:
After the feet of beauty fly my own.
Were you not still my hunger's rarest food,
And water ever to my wildest thirst,

I would desert you — think not but I would! —

And seek another as I sought you first.

But you are mobile as the veering air,

And all your charms more changeful than the tide,
Wherefore to be inconstant is no care:
I have but to continue at your side.

So wanton, light and false, my love, are you,

I am most faithless when I most am true.

{ 102}
 III

AND you
And
as well
all
must beloved dust,
die,
your beauty stand you in no stead j
This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head.
This body of flame and steel, before the gust
Of Death, or under his autumnal frost.
Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead
Than the first leaf that fell, — this wonder fled.

Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.

Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.

In spite of my love, you will arise
all

Upon that day and wander down the air

Obscurely as the unattended flower.
It mattering not how beautiful you were,
Or how beloved above all else that dies.

{103}
 IV

TIME does not bring relief j

you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rainj
I want him at the shrinking of the tidej
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lanej
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!

There are a hundred places where I fear

—
To go, so with his memory they brim!
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"

And so stand stricken, so remembering him!

i 104}
 —

THIS door you might not open, and you didj

So enter now, and see for what slight thing
You are betrayed. ... Here is no treasure hid,
No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring
The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain
For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,
But only what you see. Look yet again
. . .

An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.

Yet this alone out of my life I kept

Unto myself, any know me quite j
lest
And you did so profane me when you crept
Unto the threshold of this room to-night
That I must never more behold your face.
This now is yours. I seek another place.

4105}
 VI

iTY me not because the light of day

p
Pity
At close of day no longer walks the skyj
me not for beauties passed away
From field and thicket as the year goes byj
Pity me not the waning of the moon,
Nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea,
Nor that a man's desire is hushed so soon.
And you no longer look with love on me.

This have I known always: Love is no more

Than the wide blossom which the wind assails.

Than the great tide that treads the shifting shore,

Strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales j
Pity me that the heart is slow to learn
What the swift mind beholds at every turn.

iio6}
 VII

OH, you be sorry for that word!

will
OH,Give back my book and take my kiss instead.
Was it my enemy or my friend I heard,
"What a big book for such a little head!"
Come, I will show you now my newest hat,
And you may watch me purse my mouth and
prink!
Oh, I shall love you still,and all of that.
I never again shall tell you what I think.

I shall be sweet and crafty, soft and slyj

You will not catch me reading any more:
I shall be called a wife to pattern byj
And some day when you knock and push the door.
Some sane day, not too bright and not too stormy,
I shall be gone, and you may whistle for me.

{107}
 VIII

KNOW I am but summer to your heart,

I And not the full four seasons of the yearj
And you must welcome from another part
Such noble moods as are not mine, my dear,
No gracious weight of golden fruits to sell
Have I, not any wise and wintry thing j

And I have loved you all too long and well

To carry still the high sweet breast of Spring.
Wherefore I say: O love, as summer goes,
I must be gone, steal forth with silent drums.

That you may hail anew the bird and rose

When I come back to you, as summer comes.
Else will you seek, at some not distant time,
Even your summer in another clime.

{ ro8 }
 IX

SHALL go back again to the bleak shore

I And build a little shanty on the sand,

In such a way that the extremest band
Of brittle seaweed will escape my^door
But by a yard or twoj and nevermore
Shall I return to take you by the handj
I shall be gone to what I understand,
And happier than I ever was before.

The love that stood a moment in your eyes.

The words that lay a moment on your tongue,
Are one with all that in a moment dies,
A little under-said and over-sung.
But I shall find the sullen rocks and skies
Unchanged from what they were when I was
young.

{ 109 >
 —

AY what you will, and scratch my heart to find

s am
I
The roots of last year's roses in
as surely riper in my mind
my breast j

As if the fruit stood in the stalls confessed.

Laugh at the unshed leaf, say what you will,
Call me in all things what I was before,
A flutterer in the wind, a woman still j

I tell you I am what I was and more.

My branches weigh me down, frost cleans the air.

My sky black with small birds bearing south
is j

Say what you will, confuse me with fine care,

Put by my word as but an April truth
Autumn is no less on me than a rose
Hugs the brown bough and sighs before it goes.

(no}
 XI

YOUR face is like a chamber where a king

Dies of his wounds, untended and alone,

Stifling with courteous gesture the crude moan
That speaks too loud of mortal perishing,
Rising on elbow in the dark to sing
Some rhyme now out of season but well known
In days when banners in his face were blown
And every woman had a rose to fling.

I know that through your eyes which look on me

Who stand regarding you with pitiful breath.
You see beyond the moment's pause, you see
The sunny sky, the skimming bird beneath.
And, fronting on your windows hopelessly.
Black in the noon, the broad estates of Death.

Oiij
 XII

HERE a wound that never will

is

Being wrought not

heal, I know,
of a clearness and a death,
But of a love turned ashes and the breath
Gone out of beauty never again will grow
j

The grass on that scarred acre, though I sow

Young seed there yearly and the sky bequeath
Its friendly weathers down, far underneath
Shall be such bitterness of an old woe.

That April should be shattered by a gust,

That August should be levelled by a rain,
I can endure, and that the lifted dust

Of man should settle to the earth again j

But that a dream can die, will be a thrust

Between my ribs forever of hot pain.

•C II2>
 XIII

EUCLID alone has looked on Beauty bare.

Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace,
And lay them prone upon the earth and cease
To ponder on themselves, the while they stare
At nothing, intricately drawn nowhere
In shapes of shifting lineage j let geese
Gabble and hiss, but heroes seek release
From dusty bondage into luminous air.

O blinding hour, O holy, terrible day.

When first the shaft into his vision shone
Of light anatomized! Euclid alone
Has looked on Beauty bare. Fortunate they
Who, though once only and then but far away.
Have heard her massive sandal set on stone.

iii3}
1 '
 CDRRICDLD^

Edna St. Vincent Mi Hay's Poems

selected
PS3525 .1495 E2 1331 -,

Mi I lay, Edna St. Vincent,

NEW COLLEGE OF CALIFORNIA (SF)