Part 13

EVENING SONG

I do not want to be worshipped, From a distance; Like some idol carved in wood, Or stone. I want to be loved As every real woman Wants to be loved!

And so.... Lay aside the book that you are reading from-- What if Leander did swim the Hellespont? And what if burning Sappho Did sing? What do I care for Launcelot and Elaine, Or Tristram and Isolt, Or Aucassin and Nicholette?

Lay aside the book that you are reading from, And cross the room quickly, And take my cold hands between your two Warmer ones.... And here, in the vivid dusk, We will make our own love songs!

AFTER A DAY OF WAITING

All day long I waited--waited with soul aflame-- And then through the still of evening, humming a tune, you came; Came with a jest on your smiling lips, and eyes that were all too gay; And the light died out of my waiting heart with the words that I could not say.

We laughed through the star-flecked twilight--what though my laugh was strained? You, who were there beside me, laughed with a mirth unfeigned! And at last when I bade you leave me you went, and you never knew That with soul aflame I had waited, all through the day, for you.

INTANGIBLE

Dear, you are like the summer dusk to me, The summer dusk when all the world seems still; When purple shadows creep along the hill, And birds are softly crooning in each tree. You are the gentle-cool-eyed mystery Of twilight hours. Sometime I think you will Melt from me out into the dark, until You turn to star-shine, silvering the sea.

Dear, even when your head is on my breast, You seem no nearer than a moonbeam thrown Across my heart. Your fingers have caressed My hair so lightly that I scarce have known Their pressure. You are like that time when rest Steals up so softly that one feels alone!

AT FIRST SIGHT

Seeing you once, how can I forget That our eyes have smiled and our hands have met? That our souls have known and our hearts have cried, Though our lips were dumb. Ah, the world is wide, And love there is for us both to know-- But my eyes were dim as I watched you go!

You may wander far, you may come no more, But you hold the key to the inmost door Of my heart of hearts! For our hands have met, And our eyes have smiled, and I CAN'T FORGET!

FIVE SONNETS

I. THE COMING

I know that Love will come to me, some day, Though I have never loved, or looked on Love; I know that Love will wait beside the way And smile at me. The tender skies above Will be alight with all the joy of spring, And flowers will life their heads above the earth, And some far bird will stay its flight and sing, And fill the land with silver throated mirth.

I know that Love, at last, with smiling eyes, Will pause beside my half-swung cottage door, And I will lift my gaze, without surprise, To see his shadow dance across the floor. I know that Love will come to me, some day, When springtime blossoms, shyly, into May!

II. REALIZATION

I know that you are not the one that I Should fall in love with, for your eyes are blind To all the things that make my world the kind I want to live in. Often, when I cry At some vague beauty that has caught my eye, You laugh! You cannot dream the dreams I find, In forest places where dim pathways wind Up to the Heaven-land so far and high.

I know that I should never learn to care, And yet, sometimes the blueness of your eyes Can make me half forget the smiling skies.... And, when I see the sunlight on your hair, I do not stop to reason, dear, for oh-- My heart throbs faster, and I know--I know!

III. THE RAIN OUTSIDE

You close beside me, and outside, the rain, Which, stealing through the darkness of the night, Seems tapping out with fingers softly light, A world-old song upon my window pane-- A song of happiness with a refrain That throbs in suffering. You hold me tight, Your eyes, that search my own, are warmly bright, Your lips touch mine again, and yet again!

Ah, what though years must pass, though you and I May live our lives, quite silently, apart? Whenever rain comes, when the day is through, And, tapping on my casement, seems to sigh, A dream will blossom, fragrant, in my heart, A dream of youth eternal, and of--you.

IV. I USED TO WRITE

I used to write so many songs of love-- I wrote them carefully, I did not know That love was more than moonlight from above, And pretty words set in an even row, I held my pencil calmly in my hand, And sang of arms and lips and tender eyes; I wrote of love--who did not understand-- And hoped that folk would think me very wise!

I used to write so many songs... To-day My hands are folded, and I cannot sing, I sit, instead, and watch the sunlight stray Across my desk. And I am wondering If God, who lights a million stars each night, Laughed at the groping words I tried to write!

V. MOON-GLOW

I wonder if, dim centuries ago, We watched the moon together, on some night When stars hung very near, and softly bright? I wonder if my tired head drooped low Against your breast? And if you seemed to know (As you know now) the dreams that, like a light, Shone in my soul? For, dear, it seems so right-- So very right that you should hold me so!