Part 4

VELVETS

By a Bed of Pansies

This pansy has a thinking face Like the yellow moon. This one has a face with white blots: I call him the clown. Here goes one down the grass With a pretty look of plumpness; She is a little girl going to school With her hands in the pockets of her pinafore. Her name is Sue. I like this one, in a bonnet, Waiting,

Her eyes are so deep! But these on the other side, These that wear purple and blue, They are the Velvets, The king with his cloak, The queen with her gown, The prince with his feather. These are dark and quiet And stay alone.

I know you, Velvets, Color of Dark, Like the pine-tree on the hill When stars shine!

TWO SONGS

After Hearing the Wagner Story-book

The birds came to tell Siegfried a story, A story of the woods out of a tree: How the ring was fairy And there were things it could do for him Day and night: How the river flowed green and wavy Under the Rainbow Bridge, And Brunnhilda slept in a wreath of fire. Grane watched her, standing close beside, Grane the big white horse, Dear Grane of her heart. She dreamed she was far from her father, But Siegfried was coming, Siegfried, through the big trees, Up the hill, Through the fire!

"Siegfried, hear us! Give us back the ring!" The lady with the shell, The water-lady with the green hair, Calling, cried "Siegfried!" But he laughed to hear her, Laughed in the sun And went into the woods laughing: He was happy in his heart, And he had golden hair Till the sun loved him. "Siegfried!" I will call him! "Siegfried!" But he will not hear me. He could talk to birds and rivers, And he is gone.

MOON SONG

There is a star that runs very fast, That goes pulling the moon Through the tops of the poplars. It is all in silver, The tall star: The moon rolls goldenly along Out of breath. Mr. Moon, does he make you hurry?

SUNSET

Once upon a time at evening-light A little girl was sad. There was a color in the sky, A color she knew in her dreamful heart And wanted to keep. She held out her arms Long, long, And saw it flow away on the wind. When it was gone She did not love the moonlight Or care for the stars. She had seen the rose in the sky.

Sometimes I am sad Because I have a thought Of this little girl.

MOUSE

Little mouse in gray velvet, Have you had a cheese-breakfast? There are no crumbs on your coat, Did you use a napkin? I wonder what you had to eat, And who dresses you in gray velvet?

SHORT STORY

I found the gold on the hill; I found the hid gold!

The wicked queen Stole the gold, Hid it under a stone And never told.

The selfish queen Rolling away In her white limousine, Never knew nor dreamed That I searched all day Till I found the gold, The gold!

BY LAKE CHAMPLAIN

I was bare as a leaf And I felt the wind on my shoulder. The trees laughed When I picked up the sun in my fingers. The wind was chasing the waves, Tangling their white curls. "Willow trees," I said, "O willows, Look at your lake! Stop laughing at a little girl Who runs past your feet in the sand!"

SPRING SONG

I love daffodils. I love Narcissus when he bends his head. I can hardly keep March and spring and Sunday and daffodils Out of my rhyme of song. Do you know anything about the spring When it comes again? God knows about it while winter is lasting. Flowers bring him power in the spring, And birds bring it, and children. He is sometimes sad and alone Up there in the sky trying to keep his worlds happy. I bring him songs When he is in his sadness, and weary. I tell him how I used to wander out To study stars and the moon he made, And flowers in the dark of the wood. I keep reminding him about his flowers he has forgotten, And that snowdrops are up. What can I say to make him listen? "God," I say, "Don't you care! Nobody must be sad or sorry In the spring-time of flowers."

WATER

The world turns softly Not to spill its lakes and rivers. The water is held in its arms And the sky is held in the water. What is water, That pours silver, And can hold the sky?

SHADY BRONN

When the clouds come deep against the sky I sit alone in my room to think, To remember the fairy dreams I made, Listening to the rustling out of the trees. The stories in my fairy-tale book Come new to me every day. But at my farm on the hill-top I have the wind for a fairy, And the shapes of things: Shady Bronn is the name of my little farm: It is the name of a dream I have Where leaves move, And the wind rings them like little bells.