BSH EARLY AND LATE KATHARINE WARREN Class Book._n_ Copyright N^_- CIIEOUGHT OEFOSm EARLY AND LATE EARLY AND LATE By KATHARINE WARREN New York. DUFFIELD & COMPANY 1921 ^^A-v 3 Copyright, 1931, by DUFFIELD AND COMPANY NOV 16 1921 PRIKTED IN U. S. A. n To MY MOTHER CONTENTS Songs — page March Crocuses 3 Spring Bonfires 4 The Evening Wind 5 Autumn Song 6 Frost Song 7 The Willow Tree 8 There Should be Roses 9 Intaglio 10 From Pointed Tips 11 Moths 12 If You Could Know 13 Hours 14 O Rose of Yesterday . . . , 15 No More 16 O Yet Remember 17 Content 18 The Door (By W. B. Yeats) 19 Song 20 The Street 21 Road Song 22 Remembrance — Remembrance 25 Three Sonnets — A Sonnet of Work 33 Dreams 34 On Growing Old (By John Masefield) ... 35 All Souls' Eve — All Souls' Eve 39 Mother of Pity 41 Vigil 42 [vii] CONTENTS PAGB The Sick Room — Night 44 Afternoon 46 Morning 48 The Middle Ground — The Middle Ground 51 The Lesson 52 The Candle 53 Henceforth 54 Which Hand? 55 Acknowledgment 56 Enough 57 Crucifix 58 Monte Mottarone 59 The Far Island 60 The Mid-Day Moon 61 The Plum Tree 62 November 63 Your Daughter 64 The Distant Kinsman 65 The Tidal Pond — Spectrum 69 Dark Moon 70 Closed Gentians 71 Study in White 72 Nocturne 73 The Garden 74 Grafted 76 Blazed 78 Inscribed 80 Beech Trees — October 81 Surprise 82 Shore Nocturne 83 The Tidal Pond 84 [ viii ] A few of these poems appeared first in The Atlantic Monthly, The Century Magazine, The Dial, Harper s Magazine, The Texas Review, and The Vassar Quarterly; and in Treasured Nature Lyrics, edited by Alice W. Wilcox, and published by Richard G. Bad- ger. The author is grateful for permission to republish. SONGS [11 MARCH CROCUSES O golden joy, you are too early here. Half hid in trails of snow your heads appear, The only sign of springtime drawing near. Yet could you now, I think you would not go And be as blossoms are that never know The chill pure freshness of new-fallen snow. [3] SPRING BONFIRES Blue films of smoke from last year's leaves. Breathing and vanishing. Blow through the softly budding boughs Where this year's leaves shall spring. Shall these, another April, loose So faint, so keen a sting? Such subtle warmth upon the cheek Breathing and vanishing? [4] THE EVENING WIND The quiet dusk is broken through With cool and rushing sound. Some swift-winged Presence passes by, For farther darkness bound. From out my heart are shaken swift The day's delight and dole. The garment of my life slips off And leaves my naked soul. My soul has choked in others' dust, My soul has deeply sinned, But this one hour it walks alone. And pure as evening wind. [5] AUTUMN SONG By every berry on the briar. By every fruit on the tree, By glint of sun on every sheaf Sorrow comes back to me. So deep her eyes, so cool her cheek, So bright her bending head My heart cries toward her, and forgets How long she has been dead. [6] FROST SONG There fell deep frost last night That had been dew before. By that same freshness they had lived upon The flowers are stricken sore. Blackened and sunk, they heed No sun-warm after hours. Alas, the touch of love's dark-changed dew! Alas, my flower of flowers! [7] THE WILLOW TREE Wind in the willow branches Against the cloud-strown blue: The flowing of green water With ripples running through. Flowing and falling water With whispering lights agleam. Ah, they that lie beneath it. How softly must they dream. [8] THERE SHOULD BE ROSES There should be roses over you, beloved, Where only grass has grown; Odor of roses, and the thrushes' singing Where weeping winds have blown. The year will bring the fragrance and the singing, And sunlit blooms shall start Above the grass, but only wind and weeping Will stir within my heart. [9] INTAGLIO Clear graven in the substance of my heart Your face I see, An inwrought and inevitable part Of life for me. And nevermore may any touch of fate Those lines dispel Unless at once it shall obliterate My heart as well. [10] FROM POINTED TIPS From pointed tips of grapevine leaves The dewdrops hang in rows. Over dark hilltops, in the east The flush of morning grows. The fresh clear chill of early dawn Makes sweet the waiting air, — / would the evening would not come^ For with it comes despair. The trees against the pure pale sky Huge, black and massive loom. Shrill insect notes fall droningly From out their whispering gloom. In ebbing crimson of the west The star of evening burns. — / would the morning would not come^ For with it hope returns. [11] MOTHS They dash with desperate soft flutterings Against the window pane. Within, white splendor waits for foolish wings, A heaven to attain. Thou Power that lightest luring candle fires To flicker fierce and sweet, Keep close against my winged wild desires The casement where they beat. [12] IF YOU COULD KNOW If you could know that you would die Before the set of sun, I well know where you straight would fare, As you have always done. I know whose breast your head would rest, Whose lips on yours make moan, Whose clinging arms would hold you back. It would not be my own. If I could know that I should die Before the set of sun, I well know where I straight would fare, As I have never done. I would not care though you were there With her I have not known. I would possess my eyes of you. Then go to die alone. [13] HOURS Time told away those hours like any others. Beads on his rosary are all one to him Though they be painted gay with rainbow colors Or with heart's blood and tears be stained and dim. Then in his gaunt, inexorable fingers He took the one that, day by endless day, I watched with failing heart fall nearer — nearer. With aching gaze that could not turn away. Like any common one at last he dropped it. And many more since then — I know not how; Nor if the thought of it made life more drear) Before he slipped it down the string, or now. [14] O ROSE OF YESTERDAY O rose of yesterday. What cruel wind hath so despoiled thy sweet, And strewn thy silken petals at my feet Saddening the dust wherein I take my way ? O rose of yesterday, I know not if my heart should be more sad To see thee spent and scattered, or more glad Still to remember thee who couldst not stay, O rose of yesterday. [IS] NO MORE Love came and called me At break of day. I rose and followed Close on his way. Found now a footprint, Heard now a call, Saw now a shadow. Flagged not at all. No more I follow. Twilight is gray. Let me not find him At close of day! 116] O YET REMEMBER O yet remember me A little while! Like violets in the grass, A mist of pale sweet color as you pass, A breath of odor drawn half consciously, So think a while of me. But soon forget again. As violets vanish when the summer's bloom Is deepest, and the summer's rich perfume Fills all the air, that needs no violets then. Let memory fade again. [17] CONTENT Serene and slow they come and go, The even, happy days. My spirit walks in still content Its long-accustomed ways. And yet sometimes I know not what Creeps up into my thought Of dim desire and vague regret, — Pale shades that stand for naught. Desire that knows not what it seeks. Unless it be the far Clear path whereon the young west wind Trysts with the evening star. Regret that knows not what it mourns, Unless it be the fall Of petals from the quince tree blooms, Beside the garden wall. [18] THE DOOR (W. B. Yeats.) In the gray midst of the world there came an open door, O my heart was lifted high, that had lain low be- fore, — Lifted, drunk with song, my heart that sings no more. A voice came from there, and loud and low it sung Of green buds breaking, in years still young. With sound of running water in my far heart it rung. Then sprang a wind, and shut to the door In the gray midst of the world. I hear the song no more. [19] SONG O Song is a blowing wind That fareth to and fro. One hour it lifteth on its wings And one it leaveth low. O Song is a leaping flame That pauseth here or there, And some men*s lips are touched with fire, But my shut mouth is bare. Let that sweet wind blow far And that wild flame burn free. And let the singing lips be glad. My hour sufficeth me. [20] THE STREET It runs east and v/est. Its gray old walls are high. Dust lies on its stones And wheels go grating by. But east and west it runs, With its strip of sky above, To the rising of the sun And the going down thereof. [21] ROAD SONG O where goes the bare road That climbs up so high Over the green hilFs shoulder bare. And stops in the sky? The clear winds, the clean winds That blow far and fair, Blow, and behold all ends of earth. Do they know where ? The cloud shade that floats slow Across hill and fell Goes with the sunshine down the day. Can their speech tell? O where goes the high road. So gray as it goes Under the starlight all night long? O where, who knows ? [22] REMEMBRANCE [23] REMEMBRANCE Thou wilt perforce forget y when I am gone. Swift eve on eve and drifting dawn on dawn Shall blur thy clear remembrance line by line Till dimness shall grow blank. No thought of thine Shall long for me or seek me out or heed My darkness. Then shall I be dead indeed. Thou saidst it, pitiful meanwhile of my tears. Swift days on days and years on drifting years Have fled since thou didst pass beyond the door That will not let thee forth forevermore; And I have learned the wisdom of thy thought. The spirit's wings in fate's strong hands are caught. The living, if they will or no, must live; And even a crippled life account must give, Or suffer that dishonorable death. The drawing of unserviceable breath. [25] REMEMBRANCE Work, stern deliverer, binds the broken soul, Urges the fainting will, with strong control Steadies the staggering feet, and leads at length Upward by blood-tracked, rocky ways to strength. Little by little, in the warming sun A narrow foothold upon peace is won. Last, the sharp path to joy is trod, and then The winds of life blow ceacelessly again And days on days go by when I forget. Alas, thou knewest truth. And yet — and yet — Ah, never can the voice or step of spring Sound in the garden of thy cherishing But thou art present there, thy living face Lit with the joy enkindled in the place. Thy full hands happy, making earth more fair. And I am glad of spring, to have thee there. And glad of all things that can speak of thee: The iris by the wall, blue gleams of sea Beyond the tawny shimmer of salt grass, [26] REMEMBRANCE Odors from white-foot showers that fleetly pass, The small rough road where shadbush lifts on high Its tremulous shining dreams against the sky. The solemn purple hills where sunsets flow And ebb, and starry glories come and go. Nor only beauty's touch, nor joy alone. Nor wonted ways, can bring thee to thine own. For when the thought of thee has long been far And hid, as in the clouds a throbbing star, Some unremembering thing, some stranger's look Or half caught word, some open-fluttering book, Some sound of distant bells — and thou art there: Thine eyes, thy smile, thy softly tumbled hair, Thy voice, thy hand whereon my cheek may lean. Clear as though years had never rolled between; Clear as this faithful pain that ever waits Thy sure return, nor alters nor abates — A deep still pool some sudden wind has shown Beneath the leaves upon its surface strown. [27] REMEMBRANCE And sometimes, at my work or rest, I hear The footfall of thy spirit drawing near; And tarrying, thou foldest me about With love, and all my goings in and out With closest understanding, as of old. Then am I warmed and fed, that had been cold And hungry at the heart. With thee beside All pain is stilled and longing satisfied. And I so blessedly companioned Almost the while believe thou art not dead. Beyond that closed door where thou dost rest With darkness folded deep about thy breast, Wouldst thou indeed be lightened of its weight Could I with every early breath and late Draw thoughts of thee, and count no moment fair That doth not on its heart thy likeness wear? I cannot know. Life's current runs too strong For such as I. But where thou waitest long, Though naught of outward things thou mayest mark, [28] REMEMBRANCE Doth not a sweetness sometimes stir thy dark? Doth not thy love, surmounting death, divine The deepest lifeblood in this heart of mine, — Through all forgetting so thine own that I Must still perforce remember till I die. [29] THREE SONNETS 131] A SONNET OF WORK Whereto our labor and our bitter sweat? The seed we sow we trample in the dark. The flame we strike— our own tears quench the spark. The white that we would purify we set Our grimy print upon. And we forget Thy ways and thoughts are not as ours, and hark Toward what we take to be some heavenly mark, And find we serve the devil to abet. Then do Thou blind us, that we may not see The measure of our own futility, Lest seeing we should cease to work, and die. Or give us sight, that we may know thereby How through our labor, whatso end it meet, We reach toward Thee who knowest no defeat. [33] DREAMS When, aeons past, this cool green earth was led A slackening fire athwart the deeps of space, And shape first quivered on its molten face, Did any dream disturb that substance dread — Not of our whelming life today outspread, But of that primal spawn that sprang apace And throbbing out, to finer forms gave place, Wherefrom the seed of Adam last was bred ? First clay, then life, then spirit, — so came we. — We dream of spirit gloriously won To uses all divine. — O may it be The ages shall surpass our dream aflame As our commingled being has outrun Earth's unremembered dream from which we came. [34] JOHN MASEFIELD On Growing Old Be with him. Beauty, even as he prays, When ail his power and splendor of life are over. Let him have wisdom and passion all his days Who has ever been your remembering following lover. Forget not him, but O, remember too The unhappy who have lost you, or never known you; Whose fire has gone out in smother of smoke, or who Live walled in stone from the light that should have shown you. [3S] JOHN MASI^KIKFJ) \n the old years, the l)arc years, what wll! there l)c iar tficni ? Passion and wisdom and all that you would be giving They cannot see. liut brush the luminous hem Of your raiment over them. Let them dream they arc living. Let them know that you are, for a moment. Ay, Let them even behold your face, and die. 136] ALL SOULS' EVE [37] ALL SOULS' EVE Mother, I've barred the shutters close. The wind is loud and wild. — Nor bar nor shutter on this night Will keep it out, my child. Mother, what makes you shiver so ? The fire is quick and warm. — I hear the voices of the damned That cry upon the storm. Mother, why come they out tonight To ride upon the wind ? — This one night they have leave to go And pray where once they sinned. Mother, sure never sinner's soul Has need of coming here. — O hush, my child, and let me be. The wind is passing near. [39] ALL SOULS' EVE Mother, what sobbed across the floor? What was it shuddered so? O, I am feared, you strain so white And stare so wide with woe. What was it wailed beside the lire? O hold me in your arm. — Alas, it was the soul of one That wrought us deadly harm. Mother, then is he not in hell And burning, heart and limb ? — God knows he is, but would to God That I were there with him. [ 40 MOTHER OF PITY I bring three candles to thy shrine And set them burning clear. I bow my forehead to the stones. Mother of Pity, hear! All day I go to feed thy poor, And yet no peace I find For hearing how his swinging step Seems ever close behind. Long though I gaze upon the Cross I see but his dark head. I kiss thy robe, and feel his kiss Upon my mouth instead. Mother of Pity, all whose ways In crystal calm are set, Since thou wilt have me not forgive Let me but once forget! (411 VIGIL Their footsteps down the passage die And I am left alone. He who in life was never mine Is now an hour my own. Ah God, how white the throat and cheek That were so ruddy brown ! But bright across those clustered curls The candle-light gleams down. His eyes, that shot so keen a glance — One thing they did not see. — If I should kiss your close-shut eyes Would you be wroth with me? [42] VIGIL If I should kiss your quiet mouth — You would not feel nor care, Unless indeed it made you dream Some other's kiss lay there. . . . I cannot take what was not mine When you were scarce so cold The steps draw near. Now let them come, And let me now grow old ! [43] THE SICK ROOM I NIGHT When I waken in the night And cannot sleep at all, Along the house-filled street I hear a strange sound fall. A strange sound, for the town, From the little town park At the end of the street — A fox*s wild short bark. He wakens in his cage And sees in the night The brilliant close-cut sward And the sharp electric light [44] THE SICK ROOM In place of the starred dark Over pastures that he knew, The tangled, dripping grass, And sweet fern gray with dew. Were I a man again I would go stealthily With drug or with shot. In the night, and set him free. We dream in the night And we waken, he and I. — The cage must have its way Till the thing within die. [45] THE SICK ROOM II AFTERNOON As I lie here in bed The dull trampling beat Of horses two and two Comes up from the street Of horses step and step And wheels rolling slow. They come and they pass. And I well know where they go. They come and they pass In the early afternoon. They go the one way, And well I know that soon [46] THE SICK ROOM Come rain or come shine They will go that way once more. In the early afternoon They will start from my door. [47] THE SICK ROOM III MORNING I hope that I shall know when the moment comes So I can be glad. I think it will bring me that clear sharpness of joy I have never had To slip past the edge of sense, to fling off the old Worn garb of distress And poise an instant naked and free, then plunge Into nothingness. [48] THE MIDDLE GROUND [49] THE MIDDLE GROUND They stood and sang of grief that comes In all men*s hearts to dwell — The young, that knew not what it meant. The old, that knew too well. And I that am not young nor old Sat still when they had sung And shrank from growing old, and yet Would not again be young. [51] THE LESSON I stand all tired and dull against Thy knee. The words are very hard Thou pointest me My eyes are blurred with tears. I cannot see, But stumble on uncomprehendingly. This page is hard, — so hard to read and know; And I have tried so long, and stained it so. Another one would find me not so slow. Wouldst Thou but turn it now, and let it go! [52] THE CANDLE My candle flame in the wind, Like a bright moth fluttering, Stricken and tossed and torn To the wick anew will cling. I will fend the gusts with my hand From the gallant tortured thing, I will let it be still and burn With pure and lambent wing. [53] HENCEFORTH Henceforth I will let lie my open hand And never any more will clasp or cling. Never again will say "It is my own" Of anything. Whatever will shall rest within my hold. Whatever will shall pass unchecked away. Who hath not kept himself, he may not ask That aught should stay. [54] WHICH HAND? Life said, "Come choose! Which hand contains your prize?" I wavered long between the left and right, Then chose, and laughing at my eager eyes He spread two empty palms before my sight. [55] ACKNOWLEDGMENT I thank thee. Fate, who holdest back from me The thing I long for most And straight would seize, against high Heaven*s demur Although my soul were lost. I needs must go with heart that burns in vain. Secure and desolate, And plod through dust, who might have horsed on flame. — And so I thank thee. Fate. [56] ENOUGH I have caught the droppings from the cup That others drink full deep. I have had but crumbs from off the board Where surfeited they sleep. Yet even so my share is more Than all I am denied. I know the taste of bread and wine. And I am satisfied. [57] CRUCIFIX This carven ivory makes symbol, wrought With painful perfect art, How every day I scourge and crucify The God within my heart. But symbol incomplete, for all my days Within my heart record How evermore he rises from the dead, — That slain yet living Lord. [58] iMONTE MOTTARONE As we came down from the top of the world. On that bleak mountainside A little girl sat all alone And watched us, steady-eyed. In that remote grave innocence I who but now had known A universe of snow-still peaks. And had not seemed alone, Saw earth slip suddenly away And space before it roll. And felt eternity enwrap My solitary soul. [59 J THE FAR ISLAND Where the sun went down in the sea Out of cloud, out of naught it came, Suddenly painted black On the sullen flame. Mountain and tower and town Risen out of the deep, Stranger than any shore In the seas of sleep. Strange as an unguessed isle In the heart sprung suddenly And vanishing swift again In night and the sea. [60] THE MID-DAY MOON Last night the new moon in the west Went delicately bright Along the primrose slopes of heaven, The darkling world*s delight. Today, a wisp of shredded cloud Upon the sun-blue air She strays, a lost and lonely wraith. And no one marks her there. Thou too, O Memory, so wan While day my vision fills, Shalt light again, ineffable, My spirit*s evening hills. [61] THE PLUM TREE Through dreary purlieus of the town The rattling car clangs on, And blackened stone and brick are all That eyes may rest upon. Then suddenly a miracle — A wraith of branched white, A tiny plum tree lifting up Its delicate delight. A moment seen amid the smoke. Then gone like snowflakes blown. But down the dull disheartened streets Where never flower has blown Its fragile grace still haunts the air By every dingy wall. — Ah, Love, who bringest stones to bloom, Blow white within us all I [62] NOVEMBER Yellow and russet have fallen. But the branches I thought bare Lift crowding little brown buds Into the steel-hard air. I too will let my leaves go. And strip for the buffeting, And I will have buds ready If there should come a spring. [63] YOUR DAUGHTER She is herself, till speaking leisurely She turns, and then You who are ever present in my heart Are here again. But O, you look on me with eyes so young, So clear, so cold, And wonder why you held me dear,and mark How I am old. [64] THE DISTANT KINSMAN Old stranger with familiar eyes. What have you done to me Who thought myself remote from you As the utmost frozen sea? Up from the unknown roots of life Blind memories grope with pain. And ancient thoughts that are not mine Steal ghostly through my brain. dead and gone for half a life Is he whose eyes you keep. — 1 do not know how far blood tells. But I know it runs full deep. [65 1 THE TIDAL POND 167] SPECTRUM Beyond the darkening of violet. The vanishing of red Lurk unknown colors, subtler, more exquisite. Invisible. I will brush my eyes with star-beams, I will drench them with dew Till I can glimpse that farther, finer beauty. [69] DARK MOON Unseen circle Glimmer-edged upon the darkness, Clasped by the palely-bright Heavy-hanging crescent. When you are spread with shining. Charged with singing light from rim to rim What shall I dream of? What shall I pray for? [70] CLOSED GENTIANS Perhaps some god Sealed your blue-purple rounded tips. That none other might discern The loveliness within. Perhaps Proserpina Set your clusters with sharp leaves And muted you. Weaving a wreath for her pain In the shades. Perhaps your own souls Closed your mouths upon a passion Whose hurt and sweetness burn Through the deep color of your mourning. [71] STUDY IN WHITE A white cyclamen by the window Poising its blooms Against the soft loose whiteness of fog And the dense whiteness of snow-contoured earth. Then suddenly The fog full of wild petals fluttering, And the blossoms delicately carven in cold snow. [72] NOCTURNE Halfway down the garden path. Where all the colors — Larkspur, mangolds, poppies — Are folded deep in shadow, One wide white rose breaks from the sheathing dusk And rests there Luminous and pale, A bodied fragrance. So pale, so luminous Your face Breaks through the darkness of my memory. [73] THE GARDEN There is no dial here. The old red cedar post of the grape arbor Throws a clear slant shadow across the gravel path And moves it slowly around the hours. There is no pool here. Only the salt smell of the inlet Stirs through the hollyhocks, And sinks out behind the raspberry canes In the warmth under the wall. There is no stone bench Nor any manner of wooden one, For there is much to do — To thin long lines of curling lettuces And red-stemmed beets. To cut thick shoots of close-tipped asparagus. To tie the extravagances of bean runners And gather crisp pale green pea pods And the richest crimsons of strawberries. [74] THE GARDEN Then the back straightens. — The little clambering roses are flinging their flushes High over the wall, Or an egg-plant droops more heavily Its blackish-purple polished v/eight, Or the pink-slashed peony buds loosen their white feathers In the sun There is no wish for a dial here. Nor for any manner of bench set by a pool. [75] GRAFTED From my place by the orchard wall I look across the near fields To a wild apple tree Growing by the bank of a brook. I too was a wild seedling. Men planted me here. Lopped my branches, Cleft the ends and set them with scions. They spread forth mightily Bearing delicate apples. Large, mild-flavored. Rosy-fair among the dull green leaves. [76] GRAFTED Yet I look across to the wild apple. How would it be to have grown in a rough pasture, Neighbored by dark cedars And fragrant bayberry. And old gray rocks That rains have smoothed and lichens roughened ? To stretch deep roots down to the running water. Thrust them through the fissures of a rock, Clasp them around its curving base ? To break out in a myriad bristling twigs Ignorant of the pruning knife? To swarm with a myriad tiny apples Full of sharp juices, Crowding along the branch Brilliant as a garland of flowers? I too was once a wilding. [77] BLAZED I stood tall and straight among the others, Glad in my lithe swaying, In the stirring of my light-piled masses of needles Lifted high into the blue day And the blue night, In the rose and purple hovering through the deep wood gloom Over the warm brown of my stem. Then — Two sharp steel strokes downward, Two upward — And again — Shattering to my farthest branches. A bright wound breaking my smooth shaft, Bleeding. There is no healing it, There is no hiding it. [ 78] BLAZED Men come by, searching anxiously, wearily. Their eyes fall upon it, and brighten. They cry out, rejoicing. And go their way. What has my wound to do with them And the way they go? Only I can feel it Bleeding. [79] INSCRIBED No — no! — I am not young any longer. Pain like this should not reach me. I have grown a strong close bark, Layer on layer Enfolding the inner fibres And the channels where sap flows. A close tough bark. Only the axe, I thought, could cleave through To the running currents of life. But this small sharp knife. Tracing along those letters Carved so long ago, Has sunk deep into the groove Between the rough scarred edges. Hasten, summers and winters ! Roll the edges together and knit them across. Then the knife will pierce no more. Then only the axe will cleave through. [80] BEECH TREES— OCTOBER On the blue air These tall stems print in delicate clean lines Their unstained gray, And their pale, loose-flung yellow of leaves, Clear-textured, pure-pointed, Washed here or there with auburn, — Shaped sunlight of evening Held from darkness for a moment. [81] SURPRISE A small box from the post. String, paper undone. The tin cover lifted — Bright-leafed twigs within, and scraps of moss — About me, up to the fire-blue sky, In sun and silence Slopes the mighty shoulder of a mountain Arrayed in rough richness of little blueberry bushes, Scarlet, carmine, crimson, in myriads woven to- gether, Shot through with glowings of orange And coolings of lichen green. Clasped and brooched with gray rocks. The sky, As a lover lays his hand over eyes too dear. Gently passes across the glory The shadow of a cloud. [82] SHORE NOCTURNE Through the darkness The sound of sea water Washing at the foot of the foreland. Washing underneath the cliffs, Sucking in the crevices. Swelling in the clefts, and sinking. Washing — washing on the rocks of the foreshore. With even such sound must waves of space Troubled by the movement through its void Of this green living earth. Wash unlit margins and blind plunging chasms In some black barren inlet of the moon. [83] THE TIDAL POND Still lies my water Within its green enfolding of fields and woods; Still, from my shady narrows Where fresh brooks nourish me To my darkest deeps under the bridge And along the dam that holds me from the inlet. Against the slimed stones of the dam. Against the strong barred floodgate I lean my smooth bosom Softly, heavily. And listen — listen — For a sound of the outer waters. But only my own I hear Dripping from a rift in the floodgate Into the drained channel without; Hastening to follow down its windings [84] THE TIDAL POND Through the brown wet gleaming mud-flats of the basin Seeded with brown snails And trickling with runlets; Gathering, following Down the turnings of the inlet; Hurrying, running Into the mighty flow Through the swift and narrow opening To the sea. I may not follow, I may not flow. I wait — wait and listen. At last, from far off. Through the wet salt smell of the fiats Blows a small sound — The slipping of a ripple up the channel. Slowly the soft-foot tide Slides a film across the muddy level, Laps upon the snails and covers them, [85] THE TIDAL POND Crawls through the roots of the sedges. Sweeps cold and full around their stems Till they sway and scrape rustlingly together, Bow beneath the flow, and are overwhelmed. I feel it swell mysterious, quivering. Against the floodgate, — rising — rising — Staunching the dripping of my waters. Pressing urgent and strong against my leaning; Climbing higher, higher upon the dam Till a thin glimmer Creeps upon the stones, and deepens; Till the floodgate lifts open And with a silent cry The tide swirls through me, over me. — The waters without and my waters within are one. I am the inlet and the sea. Smooth lie our waters. Smooth and deep over the dam With the stillness of full flood, The calm of pause. [86] THE TIDAL POND Daunting calm. With peril and ebb and loss Brooding upon its face. Then without the floodgate Little eddies curl upon the surface, Curl and drift, suck down and vanish. A tremor of motion sinks within me. Slowly, slowly — then slowly swifter Our waters set toward the inlet. Across the dam, drawing the heart from me, They glide and slope and rush. Drawn in straight wrinkles like a stretched silken scarf. Then with fear and haste my shaken depths Press to escape beneath the floodgate, To go out with the tide to the sea, — Hurry, hurry in faster currents, Sweep under and over Heedless Till the gate dips and swings [87] THE TIDAL POND And falls in sudden tumult. Leaps, and settles in its stanchions. Shut close on my defeated passion. Over the dam then tremblingly, madly Still I rush with the shallow current Till it shrinks to thin silver glimmering on the stones. Crawling toward the inlet. Desperate not to be left behind. I am left behind. Still, as when the moving waters halted. Pressing my bosom heavily Against the slimed stones. Against the floodgate. Shall the flood tide be high where there is no ebb tide? Shall stillness be peace? [88] LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 360 582 3