Foliage: Various Poems | Page 5

fog grow thick,?Which soon made blind my ken;?It made tall men of boys,?And giants of tall men.
It clutched my throat, I coughed;?Nothing was in my head?Except two heavy eyes?Like balls of burning lead.
And when it grew so black?That I could know no place,?I lost all judgment then,?Of distance and of space.
The street lamps, and the lights?Upon the halted cars,?Could either be on earth?Or be the heavenly stars.
A man passed by me close,?I asked my way, he said,?"Come, follow me, my friend"--?I followed where he led.
He rapped the stones in front,?"Trust me," he said, "and come";?I followed like a child--?A blind man led me home.
A WOMAN'S CHARMS
My purse is yours, Sweet Heart, for I?Can count no coins with you close by;?I scorn like sailors them, when they?Have drawn on shore their deep-sea pay;?Only my thoughts I value now,?Which, like the simple glowworms, throw?Their beams to greet thee bravely, Love--?Their glorious light in Heaven above.?Since I have felt thy waves of light,?Beating against my soul, the sight?Of gems from Afric's continent?Move me to no great wonderment.?Since I, Sweet Heart, have known thine hair,?The fur of ermine, sable, bear,?Or silver fox, for me can keep?No more to praise than common sheep.?Though ten Isaiahs' souls were mine,?They could not sing such charms as thine.?Two little hands that show with pride,?Two timid, little feet that hide;?Two eyes no dark Senoras show?Their burning like in Mexico;?Two coral gates wherein is shown?Your queen of charms, on a white throne;?Your queen of charms, the lovely smile?That on its white throne could beguile?The mastiff from his gates in hell;?Who by no whine or bark could tell?His masters what thing made him go--?And countless other charms I know.?October's hedge has far less hues?Than thou hast charms from which to choose.
DREAMS OF THE SEA
I know not why I yearn for thee again,?To sail once more upon thy fickle flood;?I'll hear thy waves wash under my death-bed,?Thy salt is lodged forever in my blood.
Yet I have seen thee lash the vessel's sides?In fury, with thy many tailed whip;?And I have seen thee, too, like Galilee,?When Jesus walked in peace to Simon's ship
And I have seen thy gentle breeze as soft?As summer's, when it makes the cornfields run;?And I have seen thy rude and lusty gale?Make ships show half their bellies to the sun.
Thou knowest the way to tame the wildest life,?Thou knowest the way to bend the great and proud:?I think of that Armada whose puffed sails,?Greedy and large, came swallowing every cloud.
But I have seen the sea-boy, young and drowned,?Lying on shore and by thy cruel hand,?A seaweed beard was on his tender chin,?His heaven-blue eyes were filled with common sand.
And yet, for all, I yearn for thee again,?To sail once more upon thy fickle flood:?I'll hear thy waves wash under my death-bed,?Thy salt is lodged forever in my blood.
THE WONDER MAKER
Come, if thou'rt cold to Summer's charms,?Her clouds of green, her starry flowers,?And let this bird, this wandering bird,?Make his fine wonder yours;?He, hiding in the leaves so green,?When sampling this fair world of ours,?Cries cuckoo, clear; and like Lot's wife,?I look, though it should cost my life.
When I can hear that charmed one's voice,?I taste of immortality;?My joy's so great that on my heart?Doth lie eternity,?As light as any little flower--?So strong a wonder works in me;?Cuckoo! he cries, and fills my soul?With all that's rich and beautiful.
THE HELPLESS
Those poor, heartbroken wretches, doomed?To hear at night the clocks' hard tones;?They have no beds to warm their limbs,?But with those limbs must warm cold stones;?Those poor weak men, whose coughs and ailings?Force them to tear at iron railings.
Those helpless men that starve, my pity;?Whose waking day is never done;?Who, save for their own shadows, are?Doomed night and day to walk alone:?They know no bright face but the sun's,?So cold and dark are human ones.
AN EARLY LOVE
Ah, sweet young blood, that makes the heart?So full of joy, and light,?That dying children dance with it?From early morn till night.
My dreams were blossoms, hers the fruit,?She was my dearest care;?With gentle hand, and for it, I?Made playthings of her hair.
I made my fingers rings of gold,?And bangles for my wrist;?You should have felt the soft, warm thing?I made to glove my fist.
And she should have a crown, I swore,?With only gold enough?To keep together stones more rich?Than that fine metal stuff.
Her golden hair gave me more joy?Than Jason's heart could hold,?When all his men cried out--Ah, look!?He has the Fleece of Gold!
DREAM TRAGEDIES
Thou art not always kind, O sleep:?What awful secrets them dost keep?In store, and ofttimes make us know;?What hero has not fallen low?In sleep before a monster grim,?And whined for mercy unto him;?Knights, constables, and men-at-arms?Have quailed and whined in sleep's alarms.?Thou wert not kind last night to make?Me like a very coward shake--?Shake like a thin red-currant bush?Robbed of its