A Woman of Thirty | Page 8

woman?I saw a tarnished mirror gleam,?In the hands of the last woman?I saw a heavy, jagged stone--
Along the twilight road I met three women,?And they were neither fools nor very wise,?For each was troubled lest another covet?Her precious burden--so they walked alone.
The Desert
Through dusty years, and drearily,?Two lovers rode across a desert hill?While patient love followed them wearily?Through the long, sultry day...?But when night came, the desert had its way,?Turning, they found love cold and still.
It lay so pitiful a thing,?Threadbare, and soiled, and worn--?"Why have we kept such starveling love?" she cried,?"Was it worth treasuring?"?And he replied:?"Bury it then! I shall not mourn!"
The wind came from the West,?It seemed to blow?Across a million graves to the sordid bier?Where lay their love. She said: "We will bury it here!"?They laid it low,?They rode on, dispossessed.
And all around?Rose silent hills against the darkening sky,?Wave upon motionless wave.?The night wind made a mournful sound.?The woman turned: "It is lonely here!?I am afraid!" she said.?He made reply:?"What is there left to lose or save??What is there left to fear??Our hearts are empty. Have we not buried our dead?"?She said, "I fear the empty dark, be kind!"?He said, "I am still here, be comforted!"
Then from its shallow grave?Their love rose up and followed close behind.
The Picnic
Here they come, in pairs, carrying baskets,?Pale clerks with brilliant neckties, and cheap serge suits, Steering girls by the arm, clerks, too,?Pretty and slim and smart,?Even to yellow kid boots, laced up behind.
They take the electric cars far into the country,?They descend, gaily chattering, at the Amusement Park.?Under the trees they eat the lunch they have carried--?Salad, sausages, sandwiches, candy, warm beer.?They ride in the roller-coaster, two in a seat,?(Glorious danger! Warm, delicious proximity!)?The unaccustomed beer floods their veins like heady wine,?And smothered youth awakens with shrill screams of joy.
The sun sets, and evening is drowned in electric lights;?Arm-in-arm, they wander under the trees?Everywhere meeting others, wandering arm-in-arm?In the same wistful wonder, seeking they know not what.
Two leave the park and the crowds--The stars shine out,?A river runs at their feet, behind them, a leafy copse,?Away on the other shore, the fields of grain?Lie sleeping peacefully in the starlight.?Tonight the world is theirs, a legacy?From those who lived familiar friends with river, field and forest-- Their forebears.
Through the night, the same earth-magic moves them?Which swayed those ancient ones, long-dead--?And these, too, lean and drink,?Drink deeply from the river, the flowing river of life.
Slowly they return to the crowds and the brilliant lights,?Dazzled, they look aside, silently climb on the cars.?They cling to the swaying straps, weary, inert, confused.?The lurching ear makes halt--they are thrown in each others' arms-- Alien and unmoved, they sway apart again--?The car moves through the fields and suburbs back to the town.
They leave the car in pairs, the picnic basket's?Rattling dismally, plate and spoon and jar.?The boy takes his girl to her lodgings in awkward silence.
They look askance--"Good-night!"--the front door closes,?Indeed their eyes have not met, since by the river?Those wondrous moments?Linked them to earth and night, not to each other.
IV. INTERLUDE
Mountain Trails?(GLACIER PARK, SEPT. '17)
I
Night stands in the valley?Her head?Is bound with stars,?While Dawn, a grey-eyed nun?Steals through the silent trees.?Behind the mountains?Morning shouts and sings?And dances upward.
II
The peaks even today show finger prints?Where God last touched the earth?Before he set it joyously in space?Finding it good.
III
You, slender shining--?You, downward leaping--?Born from silent snow?To drown at last in the blue silent?Mountain lake--?You are not snow or water,?You are only a silver spirit?Singing!
IV
Sharp crags of granite,?Pointing, threatening,?Thrust fiercely up at me;?And near the edge, their menace?Would whirl me down.
V
Climbing desperately toward the heights?I glance in terror behind me?To be deafened--to be shattered--?By a thunderbolt of beauty.
VI
The mountains hold communion;?They are priests, silent and austere,?They have come together?In a secret place?With unbowed heads.
VII
This hidden lake?Is a sapphire cup--?An offering clearer than wine,?Colder than tears.?The mountains hold it toward the sky?In silence.
October Morning
October is brown?In field and row--
Yet goldenrod?And goldenglow,?Purple asters?And ruddy oaks,?Sumach spreading?Crimson cloaks,?Apples red?And pumpkins gold--?
Perhaps it's gayer?To be old!
October Afternoon
The air is warm and winey-sweet,?Over my head the oak-leaves shine?Like rich Madeira, glossy brown,?Or garnet red, like old Port wine.?Wild grapes are ripening on the hill,?Dead leaves curl thickly at my feet,?Yet not one falls, it is so still.?Crickets are singing in the sun,?And aimlessly grasshoppers leap?From discontent to discontent,?Their days of leaping nearly done.?There's a rich quietness of earth?That holds no promise any more,?And like a cup, Today is filled?With the last wine the year shall pour.
Maternity
Sturdy is earth,?Dull and mighty,?Unresentful--?Of her own fertility?Covering scars?With healing green.
You cannot anger earth,?You cannot cause her pain?Nor make her remember?Your hungry, querulous love.
At last your unwilling body?She tranquilly receives?And turns it to her uses.
The Father Speaks
My little son, when you were born
There died a being, sweet and wild,?A lovely, careless, radiant child,?A passionate woman--her I mourn.
And