Songs of Labor and Other Poems Part 6

In The Wilderness

Alone in desert dreary, A bird with folded wings Beholds the waste about her, And sweetly, sweetly sings.

So heaven-sweet her singing, So clear the bird notes flow, 'Twould seem the rocks must waken, The desert vibrant grow.

Dead rocks and silent mountains Would'st waken with thy strain,-- But dumb are still the mountains, And dead the rocks remain.

For whom, O heavenly singer, Thy song so clear and free?

Who hears or sees or heeds thee, Who feels or cares for thee?

Thou may'st outpour in music Thy very soul... 'Twere vain!

In stone thou canst not waken A throb of joy or pain.

Thy song shall soon be silenced; I feel it... For I know Thy heart is near to bursting With loneliness and woe.

Ah, vain is thine endeavor; It naught availeth--nay; For lonely as thou camest, So shalt thou pa.s.s away.

I've Often Laughed

I've often laughed and oftener still have wept, A sighing always through my laughter crept, Tears were not far away...

What is there to say?

I've spoken much and oftener held by tongue, For still the most was neither said nor sung.

Could I but tell it so...

What is there to know?

I've hated much and loved, oh so much more!

Fierce contrasts at my very heartstrings tore...

I tried to fight them--well...

What is there to tell?

Again I Sing my Songs

Once again my songs I sing thee, Now the spell is broken; Brothers, yet again I bring thee Songs of love the token.

Of my joy and of my sorrow Gladly, sadly bringing;-- Summer not a song would borrow-- Winter sets me singing.

O when life turns sad and lonely, When our joys are dead; When are heard the ravens only In the trees o'erhead; When the stormwind on the bowers Wreaks its wicked will, When the frost paints lying flowers, How should I be still?

When the clouds are low descending, And the sun is drowned; When the winter knows no ending, And the cold is crowned; When with evil gloom oppressed Lie the ruins bare; When a sigh escapes the breast, Takes us unaware;

When the snow-wrapped mountain dreams Of its summer gladness, When the wood is stripped and seems Full of care and sadness; When the songs are growing still As in Death's repose, And the heart is growing chill, And the eyelids close;

Then, O then I can but sing For I dream her coming-- May, sweet May! I see her bring Buds and wild-bee humming!

Through the silence heart-appalling, As I stand and listen, I can hear her song-birds calling, See her green leaves glisten!

Thus again my songs I sing thee, Now the spell is broken; Brothers, yet again I bring thee Of my love the token.

Of my joy and of my sorrow Gladly, sadly bringing,-- Summer not a song would borrow!-- Winter sets me singing.

Liberty

When night and silence deep Hold all the world in sleep, As tho' Death claimed the Hour, By some strange witchery Appears her form to me, As tho' Magic were her dow'r.

Her beauty heaven's light!

Her bosom snowy white!

But pale her cheek appears.

Her shoulders firm and fair; A ma.s.s of gold her hair.

Her eyes--the home of tears.

She looks at me nor speaks.

Her arms are raised; she seeks Her fettered hands to show.

On both white wrists a chain!-- She cries and pleads in pain: "Unbind me!--Let me go!"

I burn with bitter ire, I leap in wild desire The cruel bonds to break; But G.o.d! around the chain Is coiled and coiled again A long and loathsome snake.

I shout, I cry, I chide; My voice goes far and wide, A ringing call to men: "Oh come, let in the light!

Arise! Ye have the might!

Set Freedom free again!"

They sleep. But I strive on.

They sleep!... Can'st wake a stone?...

That one might stir! but one!

Call I, or hold my peace, None comes to her release; And hope for her is none.

But who may see her plight And not go mad outright!...

"Now: up! For Freedom's sake!"

I spring to take her part:-- "Fool!" cries a voice. I start...

In anguish I awake.

A Tree in the Ghetto

There stands in th' leafless Ghetto One spare-leaved, ancient tree; Above the Ghetto noises It moans eternally.