Renascence and Other Poems | Page 8

roll and rise!?Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag?And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag?To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!?World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!
Long have I known a glory in it all,
But never knew I this;?Here such a passion is?As stretcheth me apart, -- Lord, I do fear?Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year;?My soul is all but out of me, -- let fall?No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.
Afternoon on a Hill
I will be the gladdest thing?Under the sun!?I will touch a hundred flowers?And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds?With quiet eyes,?Watch the wind bow down the grass,?And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show?Up from the town,?I will mark which must be mine,?And then start down!
Sorrow
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain?Beats upon my heart.?People twist and scream in pain, --?Dawn will find them still again;?This has neither wax nor wane,?Neither stop nor start.
People dress and go to town;?I sit in my chair.?All my thoughts are slow and brown:?Standing up or sitting down?Little matters, or what gown?Or what shoes I wear.
Tavern
I'll keep a little tavern?Below the high hill's crest,?Wherein all grey-eyed people?May set them down and rest.
There shall be plates a-plenty,?And mugs to melt the chill?Of all the grey-eyed people?Who happen up the hill.
There sound will sleep the traveller,?And dream his journey's end,?But I will rouse at midnight?The falling fire to tend.
Aye, 'tis a curious fancy --?But all the good I know?Was taught me out of two grey eyes?A long time ago.
Ashes of Life
Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;?Eat I must, and sleep I will, -- and would that night were here! But ah! -- to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!?Would that it were day again! -- with twilight near!
Love has gone and left me and I don't know what to do;?This or that or what you will is all the same to me;?But all the things that I begin I leave before I'm through, -- There's little use in anything as far as I can see.
Love has gone and left me, -- and the neighbors knock and borrow, And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse, --?And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow?There's this little street and this little house.
The Little Ghost
I knew her for a little ghost?That in my garden walked;?The wall is high -- higher than most --?And the green gate was locked.
And yet I did not think of that?Till after she was gone --?I knew her by the broad white hat,?All ruffled, she had on.
By the dear ruffles round her feet,?By her small hands that hung?In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,?Her gown's white folds among.
I watched to see if she would stay,?What she would do -- and oh!?She looked as if she liked the way?I let my garden grow!
She bent above my favourite mint?With conscious garden grace,?She smiled and smiled -- there was no hint?Of sadness in her face.
She held her gown on either side?To let her slippers show,?And up the walk she went with pride,?The way great ladies go.
And where the wall is built in new?And is of ivy bare?She paused -- then opened and passed through?A gate that once was there.
Kin to Sorrow
Am I kin to Sorrow,?That so oft?Falls the knocker of my door --?Neither loud nor soft,?But as long accustomed,?Under Sorrow's hand??Marigolds around the step?And rosemary stand,?And then comes Sorrow --?And what does Sorrow care?For the rosemary?Or the marigolds there??Am I kin to Sorrow??Are we kin??That so oft upon my door --?*Oh, come in*!
Three Songs of Shattering
I
The first rose on my rose-tree?Budded, bloomed, and shattered,?During sad days when to me
Nothing mattered.
Grief of grief has drained me clean;?Still it seems a pity?No one saw, -- it must have been
Very pretty.
II
Let the little birds sing;?Let the little lambs play;?Spring is here; and so 'tis spring; --?But not in the old way!
I recall a place?Where a plum-tree grew;?There you lifted up your face,?And blossoms covered you.
If the little birds sing,?And the little lambs play,?Spring is here; and so 'tis spring --?But not in the old way!
III
All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!?Ere spring was going -- ah, spring is gone!?And there comes no summer to the like of you and me, --?Blossom time is early, but no fruit sets on.
All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree,?Browned at the edges, turned in a day;?And I would with all my heart they trimmed a mound for me,?And weeds were tall on all the paths that led that way!
The Shroud
Death, I say, my heart is bowed?Unto thine, -- O mother!?This red gown will make a shroud?Good as any other!
(I, that would not wait to wear?My own bridal things,?In a dress dark as my hair?Made my answerings.
I,