Many Voices | Page 5

secret lover?Shows what slighted roses grow to?When the rose you chose is over.
POEM: THE FIRE
I was picking raspberries, my head was in the canes,?And he came behind and kissed me, and I smacked him for his pains. Says he, "You take it easy! That ain't the way to do!?I love you hot as fire, my girl, and you know you know it too. So won't you name the day?"?But I said, "That I will not."?And I pushed him away,?Out among the raspberries all on a summer day.?And I says, "You ask in winter, if your love's so hot,?For it's summer now, and sunny, and my hands is full," says I, "With the fair by and by,?And the village dance and all;?And the turkey poults is small,?And so's the ducks and chicks,?And the hay not yet in ricks,?And the flower-show'll be presently and hop-picking's to come, And the fruiting and the harvest home,?And my new white gown to make, and the jam all to be done.?Can't you leave a girl alone??Your love's too hot for me!?Can't you leave a girl be?Till the evenings do draw in,?Till the leaves be getting thin,?Till the fires be lighted early, and the curtains drawed for tea? That's the time to do your courting, if you come a-courting me!"
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And he took it as I said it, an' not as it was meant.?And he went.
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The hay was stacked, the fruit was picked, the hops were dry and brown,?And everything was garnered, and the year turned upside down, And the winter it come on, and the fires were early lit,?And he'd never come anigh again, and all my life was sick.?And I was cold alone, with nought to do but sit?With my hands in my black lap, and hear the clock tick.?For father, he lay dead?With the candles at his head,?And his coffin was that black I could see it through the wall; And I'd sent them all away,?Though they'd offered for to stay.?I wanted to be cold alone, and learn to bear it all.?Then I heard him. I'd a-known it for his footstep just as plain If he'd brought his regiment with him up the rutty frozen lane. And I hadn't drawed the curtains, and I see him through the pane; And I jumped up in my blacks and I threw the door back wide. Says I, "You come inside;?For it's cold outside for you,?And it's cold here too;?And I haven't no more pride -?It's too cold for that," I cried.
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Then I saw in his face?The fear of death, and desire.?And oh, I took and kissed him again and again,?And I clipped him close and all,?In the winter, in the dusk, in the quiet house-place,?With the coffin lying black and full the other side the wall; And "YOU warm my heart," I told him, "if there's any fire in men!" And he got his two arms round me, and I felt the fire then. And I warmed my heart at the fire.
POEM: SONG
Now the Spring is waking,?Very shy as yet,?Busy mending, making?Grass and violet.?Frowsy Winter's over:?See the budding lane!?Go and meet your lover:?Spring is here again!
Every day is longer?Than the day before;?Lambs are whiter, stronger,?Birds sing more and more;?Woods are less than shady,?Griefs are more than vain -?Go and kiss your lady:?Spring is here again!
POEM: A PARTING
So good-bye!?This is where we end it, you and I.?Life's to live, you know, and death's to die;?So good-bye!
I was yours?For the love in life that loves while life endures,?For the earth-path that the Heaven-flight ensures?I was yours.
You were mine?For the moment that a garland takes to twine,?For the human hour that sorcery shews divine?You were mine.
All is over.?You and I no more are love and lover;?Nought's to seek now, gain, attain, discover.?All is over.
POEM: THE GIFT OF LIFE
Life is a night all dark and wild,?Yet still stars shine:?This moment is a star, my child -?Your star and mine.
Life is a desert dry and drear,?Undewed, unblest;?This hour is an oasis, dear;?Here let us rest.
Life is a sea of windy spray,?Cold, fierce and free:?An isle enchanted is to-day?For you and me.
Forget night, sea, and desert: take?The gift supreme,?And, of life's brief relenting, make?A deathless dream.
POEM: INCOMPATIBILITIES
If you loved me I could trust you to your fancy's furthest bound While the sun shone and the wind blew, and the world went round, To the utmost of the meshes of the devil's strongest net . . . If you loved me, if you loved me--but you do not love me yet!
I love you--and I cannot trust you further than the door!?But winds and worlds and seasons change, and you will love me more And more--until I trust you, dear, as women do trust men -?I shall trust you, I shall trust you, but I shall not love you then!
POEM: THE STOLEN