Rivers to the Sea Read Online

forgetful. One by one we crossed the avenues, Rivers of light, roaring in tumult, And came to the narrow, knotted streets. Thru the tense crowd We went aloof, ecstatic, walking in wonder, Unconscious of our motion. Forever the foreign people with dark, deep-seeing eyes Passed us and passed. Lights and foreign words and foreign faces, I forgot them all; I only felt alive, defiant of all death and sorrow, Sure and elated.

That was the gift you gave me… .

The streets grew still more tangled, And led at last to water black and glossy, Flecked here and there with lights, faint and far off. There on a shabby building was a sign “The India Wharf ” … and we turned back.

I always felt we could have taken ship And crossed the bright green seas To dreaming cities set on sacred streams And palaces Of ivory and scarlet.

I SHALL NOT CARE

WHEN I am dead and over me bright April

Shakes out her rain-drenched hair, Tho’ you should lean above me broken-hearted,

I shall not care.

I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful

When rain bends down the bough, And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted

Than you are now.

DESERT POOLS

I LOVE too much; I am a river

Surging with spring that seeks the sea, I am too generous a giver,

Love will not stoop to drink of me.

His feet will turn to desert places

Shadowless, reft of rain and dew, Where stars stare down with sharpened faces

From heavens pitilessly blue.

And there at midnight sick with faring,

He will stoop down in his desire To slake the thirst grown past all bearing

In stagnant water keen as fire.

LONGING

I AM not sorry for my soul

That it must go unsatisfied, For it can live a thousand times,

Eternity is deep and wide.

I am not sorry for my soul,

But oh, my body that must go Back to a little drift of dust

Without the joy it longed to know.

PITY

THEY never saw my lover’s face,

They only know our love was brief, Wearing awhile a windy grace

And passing like an autumn leaf.

They wonder why I do not weep,

They think it strange that I can sing, They say, “Her love was scarcely deep

Since it has left so slight a sting.”

They never saw my love, nor knew

That in my heart’s most secret place I pity them as angels do

Men who have never seen God’s face.

AFTER PARTING

OH I have sown my love so wide

That he will find it everywhere; It will awake him in the night,

It will enfold him in the air.

I set my shadow in his sight

And I have winged it with desire, That it may be a cloud by day

And in the night a shaft of fire.

ENOUGH

IT is enough for me by day

To walk the same bright earth with him; Enough that over us by night

The same great roof of stars is dim.

I have no care to bind the wind

Or set a fetter on the sea— It is enough to feel his love

Blow by like music over me.

ALCHEMY

I LIFT my heart as spring lifts up

A yellow daisy to the rain; My heart will be a lovely cup

Altho’ it holds but pain.

For I shall learn from flower and leaf

That color every drop they hold, To change the lifeless wine of grief

To living gold.

FEBRUARY

THEY spoke of him I love

With cruel words and gay; My lips kept silent guard

On all I could not say.

I heard, and down the street

The lonely trees in the square Stood in the winter wind

Patient and bare.

I heard … oh voiceless trees

Under the wind, I knew The eager terrible spring

Hidden in you.

MORNING

I WENT out on an April morning

All alone, for my heart was high, I was a child of the shining meadow,

I was a sister of the sky.

There in the windy flood of morning

Longing lifted its weight from me, Lost as a sob in the midst of cheering,

Swept as a sea-bird out to sea.

MAY NIGHT

THE spring is fresh and fearless

And every leaf is new, The world is brimmed with moonlight,

The lilac brimmed with dew.

Here in the moving shadows

I catch my breath and sing— My heart is fresh and fearless

And over-brimmed with spring.

DUSK IN JUNE

EVENING, and all the birds

In a chorus of shimmering sound Are easing their hearts of joy

For miles around.

The air is blue and sweet,

The few first stars are white,— Oh let me like the birds

Sing before night.

LOVE-FREE

I AM free of love as a bird flying south in the autumn, Swift and intent, asking no joy from another, Glad to forget all of the passion of April

Ere it was love-free.

I am free of love, and I listen to music lightly, But if he returned, if he should look at me deeply, I should awake, I should awake and remember

I am my lover’s.

SUMMER NIGHT, RIVERSIDE

IN the wild soft summer darkness How many and many a night we two together Sat in the park and watched the Hudson Wearing her lights like golden spangles Glinting on black satin. The rail along the curving pathway Was low in a happy place to let us cross, And down the hill a tree that dripped with bloom Sheltered us While your kisses and the flowers, Falling, falling, Tangled my hair… .

The frail white stars moved slowly over the sky.

And now, far off In the fragrant darkness The tree is tremulous again with bloom For June comes back.

To-night what girl When she goes home, Dreamily before her mirror shakes from her hair This year’s blossoms, clinging in its coils ?

IN A SUBWAY STATION

AFTER a year I came again to the place; The tireless lights and the reverberation, The angry thunder of trains that burrow the ground, The hunted, hurrying people were still the same— But oh, another man beside me and not you! Another voice and other eyes in mine! And suddenly I turned and saw again The gleaming curve of tracks, the bridge above— They were burned deep into my heart before, The night I watched them to avoid your eyes, When you were saying, “Oh, look up at me!” When you were saying, “Will you never love me?” And when I answered with a lie. Oh then You dropped your eyes. I felt your utter pain. I would have died to say the truth to you. After a year I came again to the place— The hunted hurrying people were still the same….

AFTER LOVE

THERE is no magic when we meet,

We speak as other people do, You work no miracle for me

Nor I for you.

You were the wind and I the sea—

There is no splendor any more, I have grown listless as the pool

Beside the shore.

But tho’ the pool is safe from storm

And from the tide has found surcease, It grows more bitter than the sea,

For all its peace.

DOORYARD ROSES

I HAVE come the selfsame path

To the selfsame door, Years have left the roses there

Burning as before.

While I watch them in the wind

Quick the hot tears start— Strange so frail a flame outlasts

Fire in the heart.

A PRAYER

UNTIL I lose my soul and lie

Blind to the beauty of the earth, Deaf tho’ a lyric wind goes by,

Dumb in a storm of mirth;

Until my heart is quenched at length

And I have left the land of men, Oh let me love with all my strength

Careless if I am loved again.

II

INDIAN SUMMER

LYRIC night of the lingering Indian Summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,

Ceaseless, insistent.

The grasshopper’s horn, and far off, high in the maples The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence, Under a moon waning and worn and broken,

Tired with summer.

Let me remember you, voices of little insects, Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters, Let me remember you, soon will the winter be on us,

Snow-hushed and heartless.

Over my soul murmur your mute benediction While I gaze, oh fields that rest after harvest, As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,

Lest they forget them.

THE SEA WIND

I AM a pool in a peaceful place, I greet the great sky face to face, I know the stars and the stately moon And the wind that runs with rippling shoon— But why does it always bring to me The far-off, beautiful sound of the sea?

The marsh-grass weaves me a wall of green, But the wind comes whispering in between, In the dead of night when the sky is deep The wind comes waking me out of sleep— Why does it always bring to me The far-off, terrible call of the sea?

THE CLOUD

I AM a cloud in the heaven’s height, The stars are lit for my delight, Tireless and changeful, swift and free, I cast my shadow on hill and sea— But why do the pines on the mountain’s crest Call to me always, “Rest, rest”?

I throw my mantle over the moon And I blind the sun on his throne at noon, Nothing can tame me, nothing can bind, I am a child of the heartless wind— But oh the pines on the mountain’s crest Whispering always, “Rest, rest.”

THE POOR HOUSE

HOPE went by and Peace went by

And would not enter in; Youth went by and Health went by

And Love that is their kin.

Those within the house shed tears

On their bitter bread; Some were old and some were mad,

And some were sick a-bed.

Gray Death saw the wretched house

And even he passed by— “They have never lived,” he said,

“They can wait to die.”

NEW YEAR’S DAWN—BROADWAY

WHEN the horns wear thin And the noise, like a garment outworn, Falls from the night, The tattered and shivering night, That thinks she is gay; When the patient silence comes back, And retires, And returns, Rebuffed by a ribald song, Wounded by vehement cries, Fleeing again to the stars— Ashamed of her sister the night; Oh, then they steal home, The blinded, the pitiful ones With their gew-gaws still in their hands, Reeling with odorous breath And thick, coarse words on their tongues. They get them to bed, somehow, And sleep the forgiving, Comes thru the scattering tumult And closes their eyes. The stars sink down ashamed And the dawn awakes, Like a youth who steals from a brothel, Dizzy and sick.

THE STAR

A WHITE star born in the evening glow Looked to the round green world below, And saw a pool in a wooded place That held like a jewel her mirrored face. She said to the pool: “Oh, wondrous deep, I love you, I give you my light to keep. Oh, more profound than the moving sea That never has shown myself to me! Oh, fathomless as the sky is far, Hold forever your tremulous star!”

But out of the woods as night grew cool A brown pig came to the little pool; It grunted and splashed and waded in And the deepest place but reached its chin. The water gurgled with tender glee And the mud churned up in it turbidly.

The star grew pale and hid her face In a bit of floating cloud like lace.

DOCTORS

EVERY night I lie awake

And every day I lie abed And hear the doctors, Pain and Death,

Conferring at my head.

They speak in scientific tones,

Professional and low— One argues for a speedy cure,

The other, sure and slow.

To one so humble as myself

It should be matter for some pride To have such noted fellows here,

Conferring at my side.

.

THE INN OF EARTH

I CAME to the crowded Inn of Earth,

And called for a cup of wine, But the Host went by with averted eye

From a thirst as keen as mine.

Then I sat down with weariness

And asked a bit of bread, But the Host went by with averted eye

And never a word he said.

While always from the outer night

The waiting souls came in With stifled cries of sharp surprise

At all the light and din.

“Then give me a bed to sleep,” I said,

“For midnight comes apace”— But the Host went by with averted eye And I never saw his face.

“Since there is neither food nor rest,

I go where I fared before”— But the Host went by with averted eye

And barred the outer door.

IN THE CARPENTER’S SHOP

MARY sat in the corner dreaming,

Dim was the room and low, While in the dusk, the saw went screaming

To and fro.

Jesus and Joseph toiled together,

Mary was watching them, Thinking of kings in the wintry weather

At Bethlehem.

Mary sat in the corner thinking,

Jesus had grown a man; One by one her hopes were sinking

As the years ran.

Jesus and Joseph toiled together,

Mary’s thoughts were far— Angels sang in the wintry weather

Under a star.

Mary sat in the corner weeping,

Bitter and hot her tears— Little faith were the angels keeping

All the years.

THE CARPENTER’S SON

THE summer dawn came over-soon, The earth was like hot iron at noon

In Nazareth; There fell no rain to ease the heat, And dusk drew on with tired feet

And stifled breath.

The shop was low and hot and square, And fresh-cut wood made sharp the air,

While all day long The saw went tearing thru the oak That moaned as tho’ the tree’s heart broke

Beneath its wrong.

The narrow street was full of cries, Of bickering and snarling lies

In many keys— The tongues of Egypt and of Rome And lands beyond the shifting foam

Of windy seas.

Sometimes a ruler riding fast Scattered the dark crowds as he passed,

And drove them close In doorways, drawing broken breath Lest they be trampled to their death

Where the dust rose.

There in the gathering night and noise A group of Galilean boys

Crowding to see Gray Joseph toiling with his son, Saw Jesus, when the task was done,

Turn wearily.

He passed them by with hurried tread Silently, nor raised his head,

He who looked up Drinking all beauty from his birth Out of the heaven and the earth

As from a cup.

And Mary, who was growing old, Knew that the pottage would be cold

When he returned; He hungered only for the night, And westward, bending sharp and bright,

The thin moon burned.

He reached the open western gate Where whining halt and leper wait,

And came at last To the blue desert, where the deep Great seas of twilight lay asleep,

Windless and vast.

With shining eyes the stars awoke, The dew lay heavy on his cloak,

The world was dim; And in the stillness he could hear His secret thoughts draw very near

And call to him.

Faint voices lifted shrill with pain And multitudinous as rain;

From all the lands And all the villages thereof Men crying for the gift of love

With outstretched hands.

Voices that called with ceaseless crying, The broken and the blind, the dying,

And those grown dumb Beneath oppression, and he heard Upon their lips a single word,

“Come!”

Their cries engulfed him like the night, The moon put out her placid light

And black and low Nearer the heavy thunder drew, Hushing the voices … yet he knew

That he would go.

A quick-spun thread of lightning burns, And for a flash the day returns—

He only hears Joseph, an old man bent and white Toiling alone from morn till night

Thru all the years.

Swift clouds make all the heavens blind, A storm is running on the wind—

He only sees How Mary will stretch out her hands Sobbing, who never understands

Voices like these.

THE MOTHER OF A POET

SHE is too kind, I think, for mortal things, Too gentle for the gusty ways of earth; God gave to her a shy and silver mirth, And made her soul as clear And softly singing as an orchard spring’s In sheltered hollows all the sunny year— A spring that thru the leaning grass looks up And holds all heaven in its clarid cup, Mirror to holy meadows high and blue With stars like drops of dew.

I love to think that never tears at night Have made her eyes less bright; That all her girlhood thru Never a cry of love made over-tense Her voice’s innocence; That in her hands have lain, Flowers beaten by the rain, And little birds before they learned to sing Drowned in the sudden ecstasy of spring.

I love to think that with a wistful wonder She held her baby warm against her breast; That never any fear awoke whereunder She shuddered at her gift, or trembled lest Thru the great doors of birth Here to a windy earth She lured from heaven a half-unwilling guest.

She caught and kept his first vague flickering smile, The faint upleaping of his spirit’s fire; And for a long sweet while In her was all he asked of earth or heaven— But in the end how far, Past every shaken star, Should leap at last that arrow-like desire, His full-grown manhood’s keen Ardor toward the unseen Dark mystery beyond the Pleiads seven. And in her heart she heard His first dim-spoken word— She only of them all could understand, Flushing to feel at last The silence over-past, Thrilling as tho’ her hand had touched God’s hand. But in the end how many words Winged on a flight she could not follow, Farther than skyward lark or swallow, His lips should free to lands she never knew; Braver than white sea-faring birds With a fearless melody, Flying over a shining sea, A star-white song between the blue and blue.

Oh I have seen a lake as clear and fair As it were molten air, Lifting a lily upward to the sun. How should the water know the glowing heart That ever to the heaven lifts its fire, A golden and unchangeable desire? The water only knows The faint and rosy glows Of under-petals, opening apart. Yet in the soul of earth, Deep in the primal ground, Its searching roots are wound, And centuries have struggled toward its birth. So, in the man who sings, All of the voiceless horde From the cold dawn of things Have their reward; All in whose pulses ran Blood that is his at last, From the first stooping man Far in the winnowed past. Out of the tumult of their love and mating Each one created, seeing life was good— Dumb, till at last the song that they were waiting Breaks like brave April thru a wintry wood.

RIVERS TO TOE SEA

But what of her whose heart is troubled by it, The mother who would soothe and set him free, Fearing the song’s storm-shaken ecstasy— Oh, as the moon that has no power to quiet The strong wind-driven sea.

.

IN MEMORIAM F. O. S.

You go a long and lovely journey,

For all the stars, like burning dew, Are luminous and luring footprints

Of souls adventurous as you.

Oh, if you lived on earth elated,

How is it now that you can run Free of the weight of flesh and faring

Far past the birthplace of the sun?

TWILIGHT

THE stately tragedy of dusk

Drew to its perfect close, The virginal white evening star

Sank, and the red moon rose.

SWALLOW FLIGHT

I LOVE my hour of wind and light,

I love men’s faces and their eyes, I love my spirit’s veering flight

Like swallows under evening skies,

THOUGHTS

WHEN I can make my thoughts come forth

To walk like ladies up and down, Each one puts on before the glass

Her most becoming hat and gown.

But oh, the shy and eager thoughts

That hide and will not get them dressed, Why is it that they always seem

So much more lovely than the rest?

TO DICK, ON HIS SIXTH BIRTHDAY

Tho’ I am very old and wise,

And you are neither wise nor old, When I look far into your eyes,

I know things I was never told: I know how flame must strain and fret Prisoned in a mortal net; How joy with over-eager wings, Bruises the small heart where he sings; How too much life, like too much gold, Is sometimes very hard to hold… . All that is talking—I know This much is true, six years ago An angel living near the moon Walked thru the sky and sang a tune Plucking stars to make his crown— And suddenly two stars fell down, Two falling arrows made of light. Six years ago this very night I saw them fall and wondered why The angel dropped them from the sky— But when I saw your eyes I knew The angel sent the stars to you.

TO ROSE

ROSE, when I remember you, Little lady, scarcely two, I am suddenly aware Of the angels in the air. All your softly gracious ways Make an island in my days Where my thoughts fly back to be Sheltered from too strong a sea. All your luminous delight Shines before me in the night When I grope for sleep and find Only shadows in my mind.

Rose, when I remember you, White and glowing, pink and new, With so swift a sense of fun Altho’ life has just begun; With so sure a pride of place In your very infant face, I should like to make a prayer To the angels in the air: “If an angel ever brings Me a baby in her wings, Please be certain that it grows Very, very much like Rose.”

THE FOUNTAIN

On in the deep blue night

The fountain sang alone; It sang to the drowsy heart

Of the satyr carved in stone.

The fountain sang and sang

But the satyr never stirred— Only the great white moon

In the empty heaven heard.

The fountain sang and sang

And on the marble rim The milk-white peacocks slept,

Their dreams were strange and dim.

Bright dew was on the grass,

And on the ilex dew, The dreamy milk-white birds

Were all a-glisten too.

The fountain sang and sang

The things one cannot tell, The dreaming peacocks stirred

And the gleaming dew-drops fell.

THE ROSE

BENEATH my chamber window Pierrot was singing, singing;

I heard his lute the whole night thru

Until the east was red. Alas, alas, Pierrot, I had no rose for flinging

Save one that drank my tears for dew

Before its leaves were dead.

I found it in the darkness, I kissed it once and threw it,

The petals scattered over him,

His song was turned to joy; And he will never know— Alas, the one who knew it!—

The rose was plucked when dusk was dim

Beside a laughing boy.

DREAMS

I GAVE my life to another lover,

I gave my love, and all, and all— But over a dream the past will hover,

Out of a dream the past will call.

I tear myself from sleep with a shiver

But on my breast a kiss is hot, And by my bed the ghostly giver

Is waiting tho’ I see him not.

“I AM NOT YOURS “

I AM not yours, not lost in you,

Not lost, altho’ I long to be Lost as a candle lit at noon,

Lost as a snow-flake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still

A spirit beautiful and bright, Yet I am I, who long to be

Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love—put out

My senses, leave me deaf and blind, Swept by the tempest of your love,

A taper in a rushing wind.

PIERROT’S SONG

(For a picture by Dugald Walker)

LADY, light in the east hangs low,

Draw your veils of dream apart, Under the casement stands Pierrot

Making a song to ease his heart. (Yet do not break the song too soon—

I love to sing in the paling moon.)

The petals are falling, heavy with dew,

The stars have fainted out of the sky, Come to me, come, or else I too,

Faint with the weight of love will die.