Sonnets and Songs Part 6

Weary I grew and slept through the noonday hour; Winds caught my fate and strewed it over the air.

XIII

_The Ribbon_

Ah, dearest, dearest, not alone I face the day's white monotone.

The fair, bright ribbon of the hours-- A mountain brook bestead through flowers-- Runs, a dear line, from you to you.

There is no smallest deed I do Through which the ribbon does not run, A silver string to pearls of sun.

So glad I watch the moments fly Across the high-hung summer sky, Till in a radiant flame they burn, To mark the hour of your return.

XIV

_The Aster_

The little vagrant gypsy flower Has blossomed forth again-- Your face against the autumn sky, Your face against the rain.

The fevered youth of summer days Has pa.s.sed away in tears.

The aged winter totters down The pathway of the years.

Yet, nodding, luring, laughing o'er The tired world's pain and scars, Joyous I find between my hands Your face--in aster stars.

XV

_Heart and Hand_

Singing, he smote his heart-- The woman smiled, And Love leaped, flaming, Into being--wild.

Singing, he smote his hands-- The woman sighed, And Love grew weary, Turned his face, and died.

XVI

_The Golden Fruit_

I lacked not Love, I lacked not lovely Love, But, ah, the apples of Hesperides!

The golden apples and the emerald trees, The flower-sweet maidens, dancing in the breeze-- Holds Love a blossom with such fruits as these?

I gave up Love, I gave up lovely Love, And sought the island of enchanted skies, With little rainbow rifts of seraphs' eyes, Round which the flaming sword forever plies Against the darkened world of rue and sighs.

Alas for Love! alas for lovely Love!

In dreams I heard the beating of his wing; His soft voice, beautiful as sea in spring, Mourned through the empty songs the seraphs sing; Life seemed in sleep more dear than everything.

Take me back, Love; take me back, lovely Love.

Dark winds may drive me o'er thy tyrannous seas-- Life is a world that breaks the thing it frees.

I would be bound in all thy masteries-- Yet, ah, the apples of Hesperides!

XVII

_To a Moth_

Spirit of evil, heavily flying, turning, Dropping to earth, Caught to the light, with brown wings torn and burning, Whence was your birth?

Was there a cause that, ceaselessly turning, flying, Drew you from night?

All that we know is this--the aimless dying, Killed by the light.

Evil the star that led you, spirit of evil, Out of your dark, Breeding desire that conquers us, man and devil-- Pa.s.sion's red spark.

XVIII

_Winter Song_

Oh, it's winter, winter, when you're here, And summer when you're gone.

What need of birds when hearts sing clear, From dusk of day to dawn?

The n.o.ble wind, the silver snow, High stars, and, best of all, The red-rose hearth--a golden glow When twilight curtains fall.

Who'd cry the heat of summer skies, The bare, despairing sun, The languid flowers, with closing eyes, The earth's fair wooing done?

The possibilities of spring, The reticence of bliss, Love with the winter's argent wing, We'll scorn the sun for this.

XIX

_Youth_