Part 3

August Moonrise

The sun was gone, and the moon was coming Over the blue Connecticut hills; The west was rosy, the east was flushed, And over my head the swallows rushed This way and that, with changeful wills. I heard them twitter and watched them dart Now together and now apart Like dark petals blown from a tree; The maples stamped against the west Were black and stately and full of rest, And the hazy orange moon grew up And slowly changed to yellow gold While the hills were darkened, fold on fold To a deeper blue than a flower could hold. Down the hill I went, and then I forgot the ways of men, For night-scents, heady, and damp and cool Wakened ecstasy in me On the brink of a shining pool.

O Beauty, out of many a cup You have made me drunk and wild Ever since I was a child, But when have I been sure as now That no bitterness can bend And no sorrow wholly bow One who loves you to the end? And though I must give my breath And my laughter all to death, And my eyes through which joy came, And my heart, a wavering flame; If all must leave me and go back Along a blind and fearful track So that you can make anew, Fusing with intenser fire, Something nearer your desire; If my soul must go alone Through a cold infinity, Or even if it vanish, too, Beauty, I have worshipped you.

Let this single hour atone For the theft of all of me.

Memories II

Places

Places I love come back to me like music, Hush me and heal me when I am very tired; I see the oak woods at Saxton's flaming In a flare of crimson by the frost newly fired; And I am thirsty for the spring in the valley As for a kiss ungiven and long desired.

I know a bright world of snowy hills at Boonton, A blue and white dazzling light on everything one sees, The ice-covered branches of the hemlocks sparkle Bending low and tinkling in the sharp thin breeze, And iridescent crystals fall and crackle on the snow-crust With the winter sun drawing cold blue shadows from the trees.

Violet now, in veil on veil of evening The hills across from Cromwell grow dreamy and far; A wood-thrush is singing soft as a viol In the heart of the hollow where the dark pools are; The primrose has opened her pale yellow flowers And heaven is lighting star after star.

Places I love come back to me like music-- Mid-ocean, midnight, the waves buzz drowsily; In the ship's deep churning the eerie phosphorescence Is like the souls of people who were drowned at sea, And I can hear a man's voice, speaking, hushed, insistent, At midnight, in mid-ocean, hour on hour to me.

Old Tunes

As the waves of perfume, heliotrope, rose, Float in the garden when no wind blows, Come to us, go from us, whence no one knows;

So the old tunes float in my mind, And go from me leaving no trace behind, Like fragrance borne on the hush of the wind.

But in the instant the airs remain I know the laughter and the pain Of times that will not come again.

I try to catch at many a tune Like petals of light fallen from the moon, Broken and bright on a dark lagoon,

But they float away--for who can hold Youth, or perfume or the moon's gold?

"Only in Sleep"

Only in sleep I see their faces, Children I played with when I was a child, Louise comes back with her brown hair braided, Annie with ringlets warm and wild.

Only in sleep Time is forgotten-- What may have come to them, who can know? Yet we played last night as long ago, And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair.

The years had not sharpened their smooth round faces, I met their eyes and found them mild-- Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder, And for them am I too a child?

Redbirds

Redbirds, redbirds, Long and long ago, What a honey-call you had In hills I used to know;

Redbud, buckberry, Wild plum-tree And proud river sweeping Southward to the sea,

Brown and gold in the sun Sparkling far below, Trailing stately round her bluffs Where the poplars grow--

Redbirds, redbirds, Are you singing still As you sang one May day On Saxton's Hill?

Sunset: St. Louis

Hushed in the smoky haze of summer sunset, When I came home again from far-off places, How many times I saw my western city Dream by her river.

Then for an hour the water wore a mantle Of tawny gold and mauve and misted turquoise Under the tall and darkened arches bearing Gray, high-flung bridges.