Rivers to the Sea | Page 8

like a jewel her mirrored face.?She said to the pool: "Oh, wondrous deep,?I love you, I give you my light to keep.?Oh, more profound than the moving sea?That never has shown myself to me!?Oh, fathomless as the sky is far,?Hold forever your tremulous star!"
But out of the woods as night grew cool?A brown pig came to the little pool;?It grunted and splashed and waded in?And the deepest place but reached its chin.?The water gurgled with tender glee?And the mud churned up in it turbidly.
The star grew pale and hid her face?In a bit of floating cloud like lace.
DOCTORS
EVERY night I lie awake
And every day I lie abed?And hear the doctors, Pain and Death,
Conferring at my head.
They speak in scientific tones,
Professional and low--?One argues for a speedy cure,
The other, sure and slow.
To one so humble as myself
It should be matter for some pride?To have such noted fellows here,
Conferring at my side.
.?THE INN OF EARTH
I CAME to the crowded Inn of Earth,
And called for a cup of wine,?But the Host went by with averted eye
From a thirst as keen as mine.
Then I sat down with weariness
And asked a bit of bread,?But the Host went by with averted eye
And never a word he said.
While always from the outer night
The waiting souls came in?With stifled cries of sharp surprise
At all the light and din.
"Then give me a bed to sleep," I said,
"For midnight comes apace"--?But the Host went by with averted eye?And I never saw his face.
"Since there is neither food nor rest,
I go where I fared before"--?But the Host went by with averted eye
And barred the outer door.
IN THE CARPENTER'S SHOP
MARY sat in the corner dreaming,
Dim was the room and low,?While in the dusk, the saw went screaming
To and fro.
Jesus and Joseph toiled together,
Mary was watching them,?Thinking of kings in the wintry weather
At Bethlehem.
Mary sat in the corner thinking,
Jesus had grown a man;?One by one her hopes were sinking
As the years ran.
Jesus and Joseph toiled together,
Mary's thoughts were far--?Angels sang in the wintry weather
Under a star.
Mary sat in the corner weeping,
Bitter and hot her tears--?Little faith were the angels keeping
All the years.
THE CARPENTER'S SON
THE summer dawn came over-soon,?The earth was like hot iron at noon
In Nazareth;?There fell no rain to ease the heat,?And dusk drew on with tired feet
And stifled breath.
The shop was low and hot and square,?And fresh-cut wood made sharp the air,
While all day long?The saw went tearing thru the oak?That moaned as tho' the tree's heart broke
Beneath its wrong.
The narrow street was full of cries,?Of bickering and snarling lies
In many keys--?The tongues of Egypt and of Rome?And lands beyond the shifting foam
Of windy seas.
Sometimes a ruler riding fast?Scattered the dark crowds as he passed,
And drove them close?In doorways, drawing broken breath?Lest they be trampled to their death
Where the dust rose.
There in the gathering night and noise?A group of Galilean boys
Crowding to see?Gray Joseph toiling with his son,?Saw Jesus, when the task was done,
Turn wearily.
He passed them by with hurried tread?Silently, nor raised his head,
He who looked up?Drinking all beauty from his birth?Out of the heaven and the earth
As from a cup.
And Mary, who was growing old,?Knew that the pottage would be cold
When he returned;?He hungered only for the night,?And westward, bending sharp and bright,
The thin moon burned.
He reached the open western gate?Where whining halt and leper wait,
And came at last?To the blue desert, where the deep?Great seas of twilight lay asleep,
Windless and vast.
With shining eyes the stars awoke,?The dew lay heavy on his cloak,
The world was dim;?And in the stillness he could hear?His secret thoughts draw very near
And call to him.
Faint voices lifted shrill with pain?And multitudinous as rain;
From all the lands?And all the villages thereof?Men crying for the gift of love
With outstretched hands.
Voices that called with ceaseless crying,?The broken and the blind, the dying,
And those grown dumb?Beneath oppression, and he heard?Upon their lips a single word,
"Come!"
Their cries engulfed him like the night,?The moon put out her placid light
And black and low?Nearer the heavy thunder drew,?Hushing the voices . . . yet he knew
That he would go.
A quick-spun thread of lightning burns,?And for a flash the day returns--
He only hears?Joseph, an old man bent and white?Toiling alone from morn till night
Thru all the years.
Swift clouds make all the heavens blind,?A storm is running on the wind--
He only sees?How Mary will stretch out her hands?Sobbing, who never understands
Voices like these.
THE MOTHER OF A POET
SHE is too kind, I think, for mortal things,?Too gentle for the gusty ways of earth;?God gave to her a shy and silver mirth,?And made her soul as clear?And softly singing as an orchard spring's?In sheltered hollows all the sunny year--?A spring that thru the leaning grass looks up?And holds all heaven in its clarid cup,?Mirror to holy meadows high and blue?With stars like drops of dew.
I love to think that never tears at night?Have made her eyes