Sun-Up and Other Poems | Page 7

foreheads--?they let the stags go by.
Moon is shining strangely?on the white palings of the fence.?Fence keeps very still...?most times it moves a little...?everything moves a little?though you mayn't know it...?but now the little fence?wouldn't change places with the great cross?that stands so stiff and high?with its back to the moon.?Moon shining strangely?on the white palings of the fence,?I am shining too?but my light is shut inside of me?and can't get out.
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Old house with black windows--?blind house begging moonlight?to put out the shadows--?why do you want so much light??You creak when the wind steps on you--?you cough up dust?and your beams ache--?you know you will soon fall,?the moon just pities you!?Don't waste yourself moon--?come on my bed and play with me.?Wrap me up in blue light,?you who are cool.?I am too hot,?I am all alive?and the shadows are outside of me.
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There are different kinds of shadows.?The blind ones?are the shadows of things.?These are the tame shadows--?they love to play on the wall with you?and follow you about like cats and dogs.?Sometimes?they hiss at you softly?like snakes that do not bite,?or swish like women's dresses,?but if you poke a candle at them?they pull in their heads and disappear.
But there is a shadow?that is not the shadow of a thing...?it is a thing itself.?When you meet this shadow?you must not look at it too long...?it grows with your looking at it...?till you are all alone?with nothing around you...?nothing... nothing... nothing...?but a shadow?with its eyes full of black light.
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There's a shadow in the corner of the shed,?crouching, lying in wait...?a black coiled shadow,?watching... ready to strike...?but I mustn't be afraid of it--?I mustn't be afraid of anything.?Poor evil shadow,?the candle would chase it away?only she can't get at it.?Do you think that every one hates you,?shadow with your back to the wall,?afraid to lie down and sleep??But I don't hate you.?Even the moon means to be kind.?She just treads on you?as I'd tread on a worm that I didn't see.?Don't be afraid of me, shadow.?See--I've no light in my hand--?nothing to save myself with--?yet I walk right up to you--?if you'll let me?I'll put my arms around you?and stroke you softly.?Are you surprised I'd put my arms around you??Is it your black black sorrow?that nobody loves you?
V
JUDE
When you tell mama?you are going to do something great?she looks at you?as though you were a window?she were trying to see through,?and says she hopes you will be good?instead of great.
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When you are five years old?you spend the day in the Gardens.?The grass is greener than cabbages,?and orange lilies?stand up very straight?and will not curtsey to the sun?when the wind tells them.?Only pansies bow down very low.?Pansies make little purple cushions?for queen bees to stand on.?Bees?have brown silk hair on their bodies.?If you are careful?they will let you stroke them.
The trees over the marble man?catch up all the sunbeams?so the shadows have it their way--?the shadows swallow him up?like a blue shark.?When you scoop a sunbeam up on your palm?and offer it to the marble man,?he does not notice...?he looks into his stone beard.?... When you do something great?people give you a stone face,?so you do not care any more?when the sun throws gold on you?through leaf-holes the wind makes?in green bushes....?This thought makes me very sad.
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Jude has eyes like tobacco?with yellow specks on it?and his hair is red as a red orange.?Jude and I?have made a garden in the field?that no one knows about.?We creep in and out?through a little place?where the barbed wire is down.?We lie in the long grass?and crush dandelions?between our two cheeks?till the milk comes out on our faces.?We hold each other tight?and the wind tip-toes all over us?and pelts us with thistle-down.
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Jude isn't afraid of shadows--?not even of the ones that have eyes in them.?And he can look in the face of the sun?without blinking at all.?Hush! don't say sun so loud.?The sun gets angry when you stare at him.?If you peek in his glory-windows?he spreads into a great white flame?like God out of his Burning Bush...?till you put your hands up on your face?and tremble like a drop of rain upon a flower?that some one throws into the fire...?and then?the sun makes himself small,?the sun swings down out of the sky--?littler'n a star,?little as a spark?little as a fierce red spider?on a burning thread...?and then?the light goes out...?shivers into blackened bits....?You hold on to a wall that whirls around?and the gate is a black hole.?You grope your way in like a toad?that's blinded by a stone...?and mama puts on cold wet rags?that get hot soon....?Hush! don't let's talk about the sun.
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When you pass by the ditch where Janie is?You run very fast?and look at the other side.?Jude says Janie did love me?only she couldn't forgive me,?and that you can love people very much?and