A Woman of Thirty | Page 5

we, who grope
and question our soul's worth,
Stumbling, awaken only bitter mirth.
III. POSTLUDE
A breath, a glance, a word,--no more, my friend,
This is the sum of

what I have to give
Leaving the tale for ever incomplete.
No perfect
moment, and no tragic end,
Within your heart those images shall live

And die like footsteps down an empty street.
Yet all the while a stifled instinct saith:
"Spend your souls vigour to
the utmost breath
And let the hounds come baying at the death!"
The Moonlight Sonata
My soul storm-beaten as an ancient pier
Stands forth into the sea;
wave on slow wave
Of shining music, luminous and grave,
Lifting
against me, pouring through me, here
Find wafts of unforgotten
chords, which rise
And droop like clinging sea-weed. You, so white,

So still, so helpless on this fathomless night
Float like a corpse
with living, tortured eyes.
Deep waves wash you against me; you
impart
No comfort to my spirit, give no sign
Your inarticulate lips
can taste the brine
Drowning the secret timbers of my heart.
Possession
I hold you fast, your hurrying breath,
Your wandering feet, your
restless heart,
Are mine alone, for only death
You vowed today, can
make us part.
Your eager lips, athirst to drain
Life's goblet of its golden wine

Shall drink tonight or thirst in vain--
I hold you fast for you are mine.
And when I search your soul until
I see too deeply and divine
That
you can never love me--Still
I hold you fast for you are mine!
Evening: the Taj Mahal
(A Lover Speaks)
Beloved!...
India and you
Breathe through my soul tonight,
You in your gown,
impossibly white--
I marvel greatly that it fail
To glow and pale


With iridescent light--
How can it hang in silent nun-like folds?

Think of the flaming mystery it holds,
You... You...
We stand in that wide place
Where love is frozen in marble, spire on
spire,
A snow-white nightingale with a heart of fire
Soaring in
space.
We gaze, together, into the shining pool
To catch the soul of
beauty unaware
Finding only the peaceful body there
Of beauty
drowned and still in waters cool.
Burning so luminously in these pure white things
Somehow akin, are
palpitating fires,
Intangible, yet visible as spires
Or wings.
And close at hand, an
unseen Moslem sings
Blind, haunting chants, which speak
Of
mystery, forevermore unguessed.
O shining ones, I seek
No farther,
for my soul, content,
Divines the secret of the Taj Mahal and you--

Beauty and desire, possessed
In white tranquillity, in flaming peace,

Find rest.
The Gift
What is this wine you have poured for me?
You have offered up
Your face in its pure transparency
Like a crystal cup
Which trembling fingers slowly lift--
It is faintly masked
With a tremulous smile. You have brought me a
gift,
Your love, unasked.
Could you trust my reckless hands so much?
With no vow spoken,
You gave me a goblet, which at a touch

Were utterly broken!
Your smile replied: "Since the glass was filled
It little mattered
Whether the wine were drunk or spilled
Or the goblet shattered."
The Bridge
I walk the bridge of hours from dawn till night
My heart beating so
loud in joyous wonder
To know your love, that I can scarcely breathe;

But in the lonely darkness, with affright
I faintly hear, like
ominous, distant thunder
The unseen ocean surging close beneath.
Our bridge so frail, eternity so vast!
When we must sink into the deep
at last
Heart of my heart, will you still hold me fast?
A Temple
I. DOORWAY
Carven angels
On the portals,
Angels with crowns, and eagles

And golden lions
On the door.
This is why
The alien worshippers went their way,
Why you alone
discovered
The gates were open.
You touched the velvet curtains behind them,
They parted to let you
pass.
II. WINDOW
I make a window
Of you, beloved,
Through which the sun colours

The silence.
Even your absences
Are spaces I have filled
With sapphire;
Your denials
Are burning gold,
I have painted your reluctance


Emerald green:
Your silences
Are crimson
On which your words make delicate

Black tracery.
As for me,
My will is the grey lead
Which I have bent to hold the
coloured
Panes of you.
III. SPIRE
My wish goes singing upward
Holding a chime of bells
In its heart:
Pigeons know my silent bells,
Winds touch them and wonder.
That they might reach
That high blue--
Till star fingers touch them
Ever so gently--
And drifting clouds
Lay cool cheeks against them--
My wish goes singing upward
Reaching into silence.
IV. PRIEDIEU
Beauty passes
But dust is eternal.
Outside the temple
Beauty dies
in the wind.
So when my temple is fallen
And lies in dust,
Where then will be
the memory
Of your beauty?
I pray my dust
That it may hold your image
Tomorrow and for
ever.
V. FESTIVAL
The beloved is returning,
Let the bells ring!

I too am a tower
Hung with bronze bells,
I too am a bell
Chiming to the winds,
I too am the wind
Ringing to the hills,
I too am the hills
Singing to the sky.
I too am the sky!
The beloved is returning,
Let the bells ring!
VI. DUSK
There is no soul too poor to build a temple
Where it may go apart

And worship darkness.
For out of darkness
Images shine... and fade...
Since now