A Woman of Thirty | Page 8

Where do your flocks graze, gentlemen?
Are there no sheep or
shepherds any more?
All day long I sought the flocks
And came by
night to a wide, grassy place,
Where I could sit and watch the stars
wheel by--
And in the morning some one brought me here.
La Felice
La Felice, by the forest pond
looks through leaves to the Western
screen
of Chinese gold that lies beyond
black trees and boughs of
golden-green.
The little body of La Felice
weary of everything on earth
has passed

from love to love, till peace
and beauty alone have any worth.
So still and deep the water lies,
so fiery-cool, so yellow-clear;
Here
beauty sleeps! La Felice cries,
I will give myself to beauty here !"
The mud is smooth and deep, the weeds
beneath her feet are soft and
cool,
ripples widen and glistening beads
of bubble rise on the forest
pool.
The water reaches to her knee,
now to her thigh, now to her breast,

till like a child all peacefully
does La Felice lie down to rest.
She struggles like a fearful bride
with ecstasy--then La Felice
turns
quietly upon her side
and over the sunset pool is peace.
The Journey
Three women walked through the snow
Beneath an empty sky,
And one was blind, and one was old,
And one was I.
Bravely the Blind One led,
I questioned from behind
"Tell me, where do we go?" She said
"Have courage... I am blind!"
We came at last to a cliff,
The Blind One plunged, and was gone--
I looked behind me, stark
and stiff
The Old One stood in the dawn.
The deep crevasse was black

Beneath the dawning day,
I could not turn and travel back,
The Old One barred the way.
I could not turn aside,
(To lead, one dare not see)
I think that day I must have died
Such silence is in me.
The Last Illusion
Along the twilight road I met three women,
And they were neither
old nor very young;
In her hands each bore what she most cherished,

For they were neither rich, nor very poor.
In the hands of the first woman
I saw white ashes in an urn,
In the
hands of the next 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