Part 13

The Treasure

When they see my songs They will sigh and say, "Poor soul, wistful soul, Lonely night and day."

They will never know All your love for me Surer than the spring, Stronger than the sea;

Hidden out of sight Like a miser's gold In forsaken fields Where the wind is cold.

The Storm

I thought of you when I was wakened By a wind that made me glad and afraid Of the rushing, pouring sound of the sea That the great trees made.

One thought in my mind went over and over While the darkness shook and the leaves were thinned-- I thought it was you who had come to find me, You were the wind.

Songs For Myself XII

The Tree

Oh to be free of myself, With nothing left to remember, To have my heart as bare As a tree in December;

Resting, as a tree rests After its leaves are gone, Waiting no more for a rain at night Nor for the red at dawn;

But still, oh so still While the winds come and go, With no more fear of the hard frost Or the bright burden of snow;

And heedless, heedless If anyone pass and see On the white page of the sky Its thin black tracery.

At Midnight

Now at last I have come to see what life is, Nothing is ever ended, everything only begun, And the brave victories that seem so splendid Are never really won.

Even love that I built my spirit's house for, Comes like a brooding and a baffled guest, And music and men's praise and even laughter Are not so good as rest.

Song Making

My heart cried like a beaten child Ceaselessly all night long; I had to take my own cries And thread them into a song.

One was a cry at black midnight And one when the first cock crew-- My heart was like a beaten child, But no one ever knew.

Life, you have put me in your debt And I must serve you long-- But oh, the debt is terrible That must be paid in song.

Alone

I am alone, in spite of love, In spite of all I take and give-- In spite of all your tenderness, Sometimes I am not glad to live.

I am alone, as though I stood On the highest peak of the tired gray world, About me only swirling snow, Above me, endless space unfurled;

With earth hidden and heaven hidden, And only my own spirit's pride To keep me from the peace of those Who are not lonely, having died.

Red Maples

In the last year I have learned How few men are worth my trust; I have seen the friend I loved Struck by death into the dust, And fears I never knew before Have knocked and knocked upon my door-- "I shall hope little and ask for less," I said, "There is no happiness."

I have grown wise at last--but how Can I hide the gleam on the willow-bough, Or keep the fragrance out of the rain Now that April is here again? When maples stand in a haze of fire What can I say to the old desire, What shall I do with the joy in me That is born out of agony?

Debtor