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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text @@ -0,0 +1,3059 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Helen of Troy and Other Poems, by Sara Teasdale + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Helen of Troy and Other Poems + +Author: Sara Teasdale + +Posting Date: July 20, 2008 [EBook #400] +Release Date: January, 1996 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELEN OF TROY AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by A. Light and L. Bowser. For Gwenette. + + + + + + + + + +[Note on text: Italicized stanzas are indented 5 spaces. Italicized +words or phrases are capitalized. Lines longer than 78 characters are +broken, and the continuation is indented two spaces. Some obvious +errors may be corrected.] + +[This etext has been transcribed from the original edition, which was +published in New York in 1911.] + + + + + + +Helen of Troy And Other Poems + +By + +Sara Teasdale + +[American (Missouri & New York) Poet] + + +Author of "Sonnets to Duse, and Other Poems" + + + + +To Marion Cummings Stanley + + + + +Contents + + +Helen of Troy + +Beatrice + +Sappho + +Marianna Alcoforando + +Guenevere + +Erinna + +Love Songs + Song + The Rose and the Bee + The Song Maker + Wild Asters + When Love Goes + The Wayfarer + The Princess in the Tower + When Love Was Born + The Shrine + The Blind + Love Me + The Song for Colin + Four Winds + Roundel + Dew + A Maiden + "I Love You" + But Not to Me + Hidden Love + Snow Song + Youth and the Pilgrim + The Wanderer + I Would Live in Your Love + May + Rispetto + Less than the Cloud to the Wind + Buried Love + Song + Pierrot + At Night + Song + Love in Autumn + The Kiss + November + A Song of the Princess + The Wind + A Winter Night + The Metropolitan Tower + Gramercy Park + In the Metropolitan Museum + Coney Island + Union Square + Central Park at Dusk + Young Love + +Sonnets and Lyrics + Primavera Mia + Soul's Birth + Love and Death + For the Anniversary of John Keats' Death + Silence + The Return + Fear + Anadyomene + Galahad in the Castle of the Maidens + To an Aeolian Harp + To Erinna + To Cleis + Paris in Spring + Madeira from the Sea + City Vignettes + By the Sea + On the Death of Swinburne + Triolets + Vox Corporis + A Ballad of Two Knights + Christmas Carol + The Faery Forest + A Fantasy + A Minuet of Mozart's + Twilight + The Prayer + Two Songs for a Child + +On the Tower + + + + +Helen of Troy and Other Poems + + + + +Helen of Troy + + +Wild flight on flight against the fading dawn +The flames' red wings soar upward duskily. +This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead +That sparkled so the day I saw it first, +And darkened slowly after. I am she +Who loves all beauty--yet I wither it. +Why have the high gods made me wreak their wrath-- +Forever since my maidenhood to sow +Sorrow and blood about me? Lo, they keep +Their bitter care above me even now. +It was the gods who led me to this lair, +That tho' the burning winds should make me weak, +They should not snatch the life from out my lips. +Olympus let the other women die; +They shall be quiet when the day is done +And have no care to-morrow. Yet for me +There is no rest. The gods are not so kind +To her made half immortal like themselves. +It is to you I owe the cruel gift, +Leda, my mother, and the Swan, my sire, +To you the beauty and to you the bale; +For never woman born of man and maid +Had wrought such havoc on the earth as I, +Or troubled heaven with a sea of flame +That climbed to touch the silent whirling stars +And blotted out their brightness ere the dawn. +Have I not made the world to weep enough? +Give death to me. Yet life is more than death; +How could I leave the sound of singing winds, +The strong sweet scent that breathes from off the sea, +Or shut my eyes forever to the spring? +I will not give the grave my hands to hold, +My shining hair to light oblivion. +Have those who wander through the ways of death, +The still wan fields Elysian, any love +To lift their breasts with longing, any lips +To thirst against the quiver of a kiss? +Lo, I shall live to conquer Greece again, +To make the people love, who hate me now. +My dreams are over, I have ceased to cry +Against the fate that made men love my mouth +And left their spirits all too deaf to hear +The little songs that echoed through my soul. +I have no anger now. The dreams are done; +Yet since the Greeks and Trojans would not see +Aught but my body's fairness, till the end, +In all the islands set in all the seas, +And all the lands that lie beneath the sun, +Till light turn darkness, and till time shall sleep, +Men's lives shall waste with longing after me, +For I shall be the sum of their desire, +The whole of beauty, never seen again. +And they shall stretch their arms and starting, wake +With "Helen!" on their lips, and in their eyes +The vision of me. Always I shall be +Limned on the darkness like a shaft of light +That glimmers and is gone. They shall behold +Each one his dream that fashions me anew;-- +With hair like lakes that glint beneath the stars +Dark as sweet midnight, or with hair aglow +Like burnished gold that still retains the fire. +Yea, I shall haunt until the dusk of time +The heavy eyelids filled with fleeting dreams. + +I wait for one who comes with sword to slay-- +The king I wronged who searches for me now; +And yet he shall not slay me. I shall stand +With lifted head and look within his eyes, +Baring my breast to him and to the sun. +He shall not have the power to stain with blood +That whiteness--for the thirsty sword shall fall +And he shall cry and catch me in his arms, +Bearing me back to Sparta on his breast. +Lo, I shall live to conquer Greece again! + + + + +Beatrice + + +Send out the singers--let the room be still; +They have not eased my pain nor brought me sleep. +Close out the sun, for I would have it dark +That I may feel how black the grave will be. +The sun is setting, for the light is red, +And you are outlined in a golden fire, +Like Ursula upon an altar-screen. +Come, leave the light and sit beside my bed, +For I have had enough of saints and prayers. +Strange broken thoughts are beating in my brain, +They come and vanish and again they come. +It is the fever driving out my soul, +And Death stands waiting by the arras there. + +Ornella, I will speak, for soon my lips +Shall keep a silence till the end of time. +You have a mouth for loving--listen then: +Keep tryst with Love before Death comes to tryst; +For I, who die, could wish that I had lived +A little closer to the world of men, +Not watching always thro' the blazoned panes +That show the world in chilly greens and blues +And grudge the sunshine that would enter in. +I was no part of all the troubled crowd +That moved beneath the palace windows here, +And yet sometimes a knight in shining steel +Would pass and catch the gleaming of my hair, +And wave a mailed hand and smile at me, +Whereat I made no sign and turned away, +Affrighted and yet glad and full of dreams. +Ah, dreams and dreams that asked no answering! +I should have wrought to make my dreams come true, +But all my life was like an autumn day, +Full of gray quiet and a hazy peace. + +What was I saying? All is gone again. +It seemed but now I was the little child +Who played within a garden long ago. +Beyond the walls the festal trumpets blared. +Perhaps they carried some Madonna by +With tossing ensigns in a sea of flowers, +A painted Virgin with a painted Child, +Who saw for once the sweetness of the sun +Before they shut her in an altar-niche +Where tapers smoke against the windy gloom. +I gathered roses redder than my gown +And played that I was Saint Elizabeth, +Whose wine had turned to roses in her hands. +And as I played, a child came thro' the gate, +A boy who looked at me without a word, +As tho' he saw stretch far behind my head +Long lines of radiant angels, row on row. +That day we spoke a little, timidly, +And after that I never heard the voice +That sang so many songs for love of me. +He was content to stand and watch me pass, +To seek for me at matins every day, +Where I could feel his eyes the while I prayed. +I think if he had stretched his hands to me, +Or moved his lips to say a single word, +I might have loved him--he had wondrous eyes. + +Ornella, are you there? I cannot see-- +Is every one so lonely when he dies? + +The room is filled with lights--with waving lights-- +Who are the men and women 'round the bed? +What have I said, Ornella? Have they heard? +There was no evil hidden in my life, +And yet, and yet, I would not have them know-- + +Am I not floating in a mist of light? +O lift me up and I shall reach the sun! + + + + +Sappho + + +The twilight's inner flame grows blue and deep, +And in my Lesbos, over leagues of sea, +The temples glimmer moonwise in the trees. +Twilight has veiled the little flower face +Here on my heart, but still the night is kind +And leaves her warm sweet weight against my breast. +Am I that Sappho who would run at dusk +Along the surges creeping up the shore +When tides came in to ease the hungry beach, +And running, running, till the night was black, +Would fall forespent upon the chilly sand +And quiver with the winds from off the sea? +Ah, quietly the shingle waits the tides +Whose waves are stinging kisses, but to me +Love brought no peace, nor darkness any rest. +I crept and touched the foam with fevered hands +And cried to Love, from whom the sea is sweet, +From whom the sea is bitterer than death. +Ah, Aphrodite, if I sing no more +To thee, God's daughter, powerful as God, +It is that thou hast made my life too sweet +To hold the added sweetness of a song. +There is a quiet at the heart of love, +And I have pierced the pain and come to peace. +I hold my peace, my Cleis, on my heart; +And softer than a little wild bird's wing +Are kisses that she pours upon my mouth. +Ah, never any more when spring like fire +Will flicker in the newly opened leaves, +Shall I steal forth to seek for solitude +Beyond the lure of light Alcaeus' lyre, +Beyond the sob that stilled Erinna's voice. +Ah, never with a throat that aches with song, +Beneath the white uncaring sky of spring, +Shall I go forth to hide awhile from Love +The quiver and the crying of my heart. +Still I remember how I strove to flee +The love-note of the birds, and bowed my head +To hurry faster, but upon the ground +I saw two winged shadows side by side, +And all the world's spring passion stifled me. +Ah, Love, there is no fleeing from thy might, +No lonely place where thou hast never trod, +No desert thou hast left uncarpeted +With flowers that spring beneath thy perfect feet. +In many guises didst thou come to me; +I saw thee by the maidens while they danced, +Phaon allured me with a look of thine, +In Anactoria I knew thy grace, +I looked at Cercolas and saw thine eyes; +But never wholly, soul and body mine, +Didst thou bid any love me as I loved. +Now I have found the peace that fled from me; +Close, close, against my heart I hold my world. +Ah, Love that made my life a lyric cry, +Ah, Love that tuned my lips to lyres of thine, +I taught the world thy music, now alone +I sing for one who falls asleep to hear. + + + + +Marianna Alcoforando + +(The Portuguese Nun--1640-1723) + + +The sparrows wake beneath the convent eaves; +I think I have not slept the whole night through. +But I am old; the aged scarcely know +The times they wake and sleep, for life burns down; +They breathe the calm of death before they die. +The long night ends, the day comes creeping in, +Showing the sorrows that the darkness hid, +The bended head of Christ, the blood, the thorns, +The wall's gray stains of damp, the pallet bed +Where little Sister Marta dreams of saints, +Waking with arms outstretched imploringly +That seek to stay a vision's vanishing. +I never had a vision, yet for me +Our Lady smiled while all the convent slept +One winter midnight hushed around with snow-- +I thought she might be kinder than the rest, +And so I came to kneel before her feet, +Sick with love's sorrow and love's bitterness. +But when I would have made the blessed sign, +I found the water frozen in the font, +And touched but ice within the carved stone. +The saints had hid themselves away from me, +Leaving the windows black against the night; +And when I sank upon the altar steps, +Before the Virgin Mother and her Child, +The last, pale, low-burnt taper flickered out, +But in the darkness, smooth and fathomless, +Still twinkled like a star the holy lamp +That cast a dusky glow upon her face. +Then through the numbing cold peace fell on me, +Submission and the gracious gift of tears, +For when I looked, Oh! blessed miracle, +Her lips had parted and Our Lady smiled! +And then I knew that Love is worth its pain +And that my heart was richer for his sake, +Since lack of love is bitterest of all. + +The day is broad awake--the first long beam +Of level sun finds Sister Marta's face, +And trembling there it lights a timid smile +Upon the lips that say so many prayers, +And have no words for hate and none for love. +But when she passes where her prayers have gone, +Will God not smile a little sadly then, +And send her back with gentle words to earth +That she may hold a child against her breast +And feel its little hands upon her hair? +We weep before the Blessed Mother's shrine, +To think upon her sorrows, but her joys +What nun could ever know a tithing of? +The precious hours she watched above His sleep +Were worth the fearful anguish of the end. +Yea, lack of love is bitterest of all; +Yet I have felt what thing it is to know +One thought forever, sleeping or awake; +To say one name whose sweetness grows so strange +That it might work a spell on those who weep; +To feel the weight of love upon my heart +So heavy that the blood can scarcely flow. +Love comes to some unlooked-for, quietly, +As when at twilight, with a soft surprise, +We see the new-born crescent in the blue; +And unto others love is planet-like, +A cold and placid gleam that wavers not, +And there are those who wait the call of love +Expectant of his coming, as we watch +To see the east grow pallid ere the moon +Lifts up her flower-like head against the night. +Love came to me as comes a cruel sun, +That on some rain-drenched morning, when the leaves +Are bowed beneath their clinging weight of drops, +Tears through the mist, and burns with fervent heat +The tender grasses and the meadow flowers; +Then suddenly the heavy clouds close in +And through the dark the thunder's muttering +Is drowned amid the dashing of the rain. + +But I have seen my day grow calm again. +The sun sets slowly on a peaceful world, +And sheds a quiet light across the fields. + + + + +Guenevere + + +I was a queen, and I have lost my crown; +A wife, and I have broken all my vows; +A lover, and I ruined him I loved:-- +There is no other havoc left to do. +A little month ago I was a queen, +And mothers held their babies up to see +When I came riding out of Camelot. +The women smiled, and all the world smiled too. +And now, what woman's eyes would smile on me? +I still am beautiful, and yet what child +Would think of me as some high, heaven-sent thing, +An angel, clad in gold and miniver? +The world would run from me, and yet am I +No different from the queen they used to love. +If water, flowing silver over stones, +Is forded, and beneath the horses' feet +Grows turbid suddenly, it clears again, +And men will drink it with no thought of harm. +Yet I am branded for a single fault. + +I was the flower amid a toiling world, +Where people smiled to see one happy thing, +And they were proud and glad to raise me high; +They only asked that I should be right fair, +A little kind, and gowned wondrously, +And surely it were little praise to me +If I had pleased them well throughout my life. + +I was a queen, the daughter of a king. +The crown was never heavy on my head, +It was my right, and was a part of me. +The women thought me proud, the men were kind, +And bowed right gallantly to kiss my hand, +And watched me as I passed them calmly by, +Along the halls I shall not tread again. +What if, to-night, I should revisit them? +The warders at the gates, the kitchen-maids, +The very beggars would stand off from me, +And I, their queen, would climb the stairs alone, +Pass through the banquet-hall, a loathed thing, +And seek my chambers for a hiding-place, +And I should find them but a sepulchre, +The very rushes rotted on the floors, +The fire in ashes on the freezing hearth. +I was a queen, and he who loved me best +Made me a woman for a night and day, +And now I go unqueened forevermore. +A queen should never dream on summer eves, +When hovering spells are heavy in the dusk:-- +I think no night was ever quite so still, +So smoothly lit with red along the west, +So deeply hushed with quiet through and through. +And strangely clear, and deeply dyed with light, +The trees stood straight against a paling sky, +With Venus burning lamp-like in the west. + +I walked alone amid a thousand flowers, +That drooped their heads and drowsed beneath the dew, +And all my thoughts were quieted to sleep. +Behind me, on the walk, I heard a step-- +I did not know my heart could tell his tread, +I did not know I loved him till that hour. +Within my breast I felt a wild, sick pain, +The garden reeled a little, I was weak, +And quick he came behind me, caught my arms, +That ached beneath his touch; and then I swayed, +My head fell backward and I saw his face. + +All this grows bitter that was once so sweet, +And many mouths must drain the dregs of it. +But none will pity me, nor pity him +Whom Love so lashed, and with such cruel thongs. + + + + +Erinna + + +They sent you in to say farewell to me, +No, do not shake your head; I see your eyes +That shine with tears. Sappho, you saw the sun +Just now when you came hither, and again, +When you have left me, all the shimmering +Great meadows will laugh lightly, and the sun +Put round about you warm invisible arms +As might a lover, decking you with light. +I go toward darkness tho' I lie so still. +If I could see the sun, I should look up +And drink the light until my eyes were blind; +I should kneel down and kiss the blades of grass, +And I should call the birds with such a voice, +With such a longing, tremulous and keen, +That they would fly to me and on the breast +Bear evermore to tree-tops and to fields +The kiss I gave them. Sappho, tell me this, +Was I not sometimes fair? My eyes, my mouth, +My hair that loved the wind, were they not worth +The breath of love upon them? Yet he passed, +And he will pass to-night when all the air +Is blue with twilight; but I shall not see. +I shall have gone forever. Hold my hands, +Hold fast that Death may never come between; +Swear by the gods you will not let me go; +Make songs for Death as you would sing to Love-- +But you will not assuage him. He alone +Of all the gods will take no gifts from men. +I am afraid, afraid. + + Sappho, lean down. +Last night the fever gave a dream to me, +It takes my life and gives a little dream. +I thought I saw him stand, the man I love, +Here in my quiet chamber, with his eyes +Fixed on me as I entered, while he drew +Silently toward me--he who night by night +Goes by my door without a thought of me-- +Neared me and put his hand behind my head, +And leaning toward me, kissed me on the mouth. +That was a little dream for Death to give, +Too short to take the whole of life for, yet +I woke with lips made quiet by a kiss. +The dream is worth the dying. Do not smile +So sadly on me with your shining eyes, +You who can set your sorrow to a song +And ease your hurt by singing. But to me +My songs are less than sea-sand that the wind +Drives stinging over me and bears away. +I have no care what place the grains may fall, +Nor of my songs, if Time shall blow them back, +As land-wind breaks the lines of dying foam +Along the bright wet beaches, scattering +The flakes once more against the laboring sea, +Into oblivion. What care have I +To please Apollo since Love hearkens not? +Your words will live forever, men will say +"She was the perfect lover"--I shall die, +I loved too much to live. Go Sappho, go-- +I hate your hands that beat so full of life, +Go, lest my hatred hurt you. I shall die, +But you will live to love and love again. +He might have loved some other spring than this; +I should have kept my life--I let it go. +He would not love me now tho' Cypris bound +Her girdle round me. I am Death's, not Love's. +Go from me, Sappho, back to find the sun. + + +I am alone, alone. O Cyprian . . . + + + + +Love Songs + + + + Song + + +You bound strong sandals on my feet, + You gave me bread and wine, +And bade me out, 'neath sun and stars, + For all the world was mine. + +Oh take the sandals off my feet, + You know not what you do; +For all my world is in your arms, + My sun and stars are you. + + + + + The Rose and the Bee + + +If I were a bee and you were a rose, +Would you let me in when the gray wind blows? +Would you hold your petals wide apart, +Would you let me in to find your heart, + If you were a rose? + +"If I were a rose and you were a bee, +You should never go when you came to me, +I should hold my love on my heart at last, +I should close my leaves and keep you fast, + If you were a bee." + + + + + The Song Maker + + +I made a hundred little songs + That told the joy and pain of love, +And sang them blithely, tho' I knew + No whit thereof. + +I was a weaver deaf and blind; + A miracle was wrought for me, +But I have lost my skill to weave + Since I can see. + +For while I sang--ah swift and strange! + Love passed and touched me on the brow, +And I who made so many songs + Am silent now. + + + + + Wild Asters + + +In the spring I asked the daisies + If his words were true, +And the clever little daisies + Always knew. + +Now the fields are brown and barren, + Bitter autumn blows, +And of all the stupid asters + Not one knows. + + + + + When Love Goes + + + I + +O mother, I am sick of love, + I cannot laugh nor lift my head, +My bitter dreams have broken me, + I would my love were dead. + +"Drink of the draught I brew for thee, +Thou shalt have quiet in its stead." + + + II + +Where is the silver in the rain, + Where is the music in the sea, +Where is the bird that sang all day + To break my heart with melody? + +"The night thou badst Love fly away, +He hid them all from thee." + + + + + The Wayfarer + + +Love entered in my heart one day, + A sad, unwelcome guest; +But when he begged that he might stay, + I let him wait and rest. + +He broke my sleep with sorrowing, + And shook my dreams with tears, +And when my heart was fain to sing, + He stilled its joy with fears. + +But now that he has gone his way, + I miss the old sweet pain, +And sometimes in the night I pray + That he may come again. + + + + + The Princess in the Tower + + + I + +The Princess sings: + + I am the princess up in the tower + And I dream the whole day thro' + Of a knight who shall come with a silver spear + And a waving plume of blue. + + I am the princess up in the tower, + And I dream my dreams by day, + But sometimes I wake, and my eyes are wet, + When the dusk is deep and gray. + + For the peasant lovers go by beneath, + I hear them laugh and kiss, + And I forget my day-dream knight, + And long for a love like this. + + + II + +The Minstrel sings: + + I lie beside the princess' tower, + So close she cannot see my face, + And watch her dreaming all day long, + And bending with a lily's grace. + + Her cheeks are paler than the moon + That sails along a sunny sky, + And yet her silent mouth is red + Where tender words and kisses lie. + + I am a minstrel with a harp, + For love of her my songs are sweet, + And yet I dare not lift the voice + That lies so far beneath her feet. + + + III + +The Knight sings: + + O princess cease your dreams awhile + And look adown your tower's gray side-- + The princess gazes far away, + Nor hears nor heeds the words I cried. + + Perchance my heart was overbold, + God made her dreams too pure to break, + She sees the angels in the air + Fly to and fro for Mary's sake. + + Farewell, I mount and go my way, + --But oh her hair the sun sifts thro'-- + The tilts and tourneys wait my spear, + I am the Knight of the Plume of Blue. + + + + + When Love Was Born + + +When Love was born I think he lay + Right warm on Venus' breast, +And whiles he smiled and whiles would play + And whiles would take his rest. + +But always, folded out of sight, + The wings were growing strong +That were to bear him off in flight + Erelong, erelong. + + + + + The Shrine + + +There is no lord within my heart, + Left silent as an empty shrine + Where rose and myrtle intertwine, +Within a place apart. + +No god is there of carven stone + To watch with still approving eyes + My thoughts like steady incense rise; +I dream and weep alone. + +But if I keep my altar fair, + Some morning I shall lift my head + From roses deftly garlanded +To find the god is there. + + + + + The Blind + + +The birds are all a-building, + They say the world's a-flower, +And still I linger lonely + Within a barren bower. + +I weave a web of fancies + Of tears and darkness spun. +How shall I sing of sunlight + Who never saw the sun? + +I hear the pipes a-blowing, + But yet I may not dance, +I know that Love is passing, + I cannot catch his glance. + +And if his voice should call me + And I with groping dim +Should reach his place of calling + And stretch my arms to him, + +The wind would blow between my hands + For Joy that I shall miss, +The rain would fall upon my mouth + That his will never kiss. + + + + + Love Me + + +Brown-thrush singing all day long + In the leaves above me, +Take my love this little song, + "Love me, love me, love me!" + +When he harkens what you say, + Bid him, lest he miss me, +Leave his work or leave his play, + And kiss me, kiss me, kiss me! + + + + + The Song for Colin + + +I sang a song at dusking time + Beneath the evening star, +And Terence left his latest rhyme + To answer from afar. + +Pierrot laid down his lute to weep, + And sighed, "She sings for me," +But Colin slept a careless sleep + Beneath an apple tree. + + + + + Four Winds + + +"Four winds blowing thro' the sky, +You have seen poor maidens die, +Tell me then what I shall do +That my lover may be true." +Said the wind from out the south, +"Lay no kiss upon his mouth," +And the wind from out the west, +"Wound the heart within his breast," +And the wind from out the east, +"Send him empty from the feast," +And the wind from out the north, +"In the tempest thrust him forth, +When thou art more cruel than he, +Then will Love be kind to thee." + + + + + Roundel + + +If he could know my songs are all for him, +At silver dawn or in the evening glow, +Would he not smile and think it but a whim, + If he could know? + +Or would his heart rejoice and overflow, +As happy brooks that break their icy rim +When April's horns along the hillsides blow? + +I may not speak till Eros' torch is dim, +The god is bitter and will have it so; +And yet to-night our fate would seem less grim + If he could know. + + + + + Dew + + +I dream that he is mine, + I dream that he is true, +And all his words I keep + As rose-leaves hold the dew. + +O little thirsty rose, + O little heart beware, +Lest you should hope to hold + A hundred roses' share. + + + + + A Maiden + + +Oh if I were the velvet rose + Upon the red rose vine, +I'd climb to touch his window + And make his casement fine. + +And if I were the little bird + That twitters on the tree, +All day I'd sing my love for him + Till he should harken me. + +But since I am a maiden + I go with downcast eyes, +And he will never hear the songs + That he has turned to sighs. + +And since I am a maiden + My love will never know +That I could kiss him with a mouth + More red than roses blow. + + + + + "I Love You" + + +When April bends above me + And finds me fast asleep, +Dust need not keep the secret + A live heart died to keep. + +When April tells the thrushes, + The meadow-larks will know, +And pipe the three words lightly + To all the winds that blow. + +Above his roof the swallows, + In notes like far-blown rain, +Will tell the little sparrow + Beside his window-pane. + +O sparrow, little sparrow, + When I am fast asleep, +Then tell my love the secret + That I have died to keep. + + + + + But Not to Me + + +The April night is still and sweet + With flowers on every tree; +Peace comes to them on quiet feet, + But not to me. + +My peace is hidden in his breast + Where I shall never be, +Love comes to-night to all the rest, + But not to me. + + + + + Hidden Love + + +I hid the love within my heart, + And lit the laughter in my eyes, +That when we meet he may not know + My love that never dies. + +But sometimes when he dreams at night + Of fragrant forests green and dim, +It may be that my love crept out + And brought the dream to him. + +And sometimes when his heart is sick + And suddenly grows well again, +It may be that my love was there + To free his life of pain. + + + + + Snow Song + + +Fairy snow, fairy snow, +Blowing, blowing everywhere, + Would that I + Too, could fly +Lightly, lightly through the air. + +Like a wee, crystal star +I should drift, I should blow + Near, more near, + To my dear +Where he comes through the snow. + +I should fly to my love +Like a flake in the storm, + I should die, + I should die, +On his lips that are warm. + + + + + Youth and the Pilgrim + + +Gray pilgrim, you have journeyed far, + I pray you tell to me +Is there a land where Love is not, + By shore of any sea? + +For I am weary of the god, + And I would flee from him +Tho' I must take a ship and go + Beyond the ocean's rim. + +"I know a port where Love is not, + The ship is in your hand, +Then plunge your sword within your breast + And you will reach the land." + + + + + The Wanderer + + +I saw the sunset-colored sands, + The Nile like flowing fire between, + Where Rameses stares forth serene, +And Ammon's heavy temple stands. + +I saw the rocks where long ago, + Above the sea that cries and breaks, + Bright Perseus with Medusa's snakes +Set free the maiden white like snow. + +And many skies have covered me, + And many winds have blown me forth, + And I have loved the green bright north, +And I have loved the cold sweet sea. + +But what to me are north and south, + And what the lure of many lands, + Since you have leaned to catch my hands +And lay a kiss upon my mouth. + + + + + I Would Live in Your Love + + +I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea, +Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes; +I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me, +I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul + as it leads. + + + + + May + + +The wind is tossing the lilacs, + The new leaves laugh in the sun, +And the petals fall on the orchard wall, + But for me the spring is done. + +Beneath the apple blossoms + I go a wintry way, +For love that smiled in April + Is false to me in May. + + + + + Rispetto + + +Was that his step that sounded on the stair? + Was that his knock I heard upon the door? +I grow so tired I almost cease to care, + And yet I would that he might come once more. + +It was the wind I heard, that mocks at me, +The bitter wind that is more cruel than he; +It was the wind that knocked upon the door, +But he will never knock nor enter more. + + + + + Less than the Cloud to the Wind + + +Less than the cloud to the wind, + Less than the foam to the sea, +Less than the rose to the storm + Am I to thee. + +More than the star to the night, + More than the rain to the lea, +More than heaven to earth + Art thou to me. + + + + + Buried Love + + +I shall bury my weary Love + Beneath a tree, +In the forest tall and black + Where none can see. + +I shall put no flowers at his head, + Nor stone at his feet, +For the mouth I loved so much + Was bittersweet. + +I shall go no more to his grave, + For the woods are cold. +I shall gather as much of joy + As my hands can hold. + +I shall stay all day in the sun + Where the wide winds blow, +But oh, I shall weep at night + When none will know. + + + + + Song + + +O woe is me, my heart is sad, + For I should never know +If Love came by like any lad, + Without his silver bow. + +Or if he left his arrows sharp + And came a minstrel weary, +I'd never tell him by his harp + Nor know him for my dearie. + +"O go your ways and have no fear, + For tho' Love passes by, +He'll come a hundred times, my dear, + Before your turn to die." + + + + + Pierrot + + +Pierrot stands in the garden + Beneath a waning moon, +And on his lute he fashions + A little silver tune. + +Pierrot plays in the garden, + He thinks he plays for me, +But I am quite forgotten + Under the cherry tree. + +Pierrot plays in the garden, + And all the roses know +That Pierrot loves his music, + But I love Pierrot. + + + + + At Night + + +Love said, "Wake still and think of me," + Sleep, "Close your eyes till break of day," +But Dreams came by and smilingly + Gave both to Love and Sleep their way. + + + + + Song + + +When Love comes singing to his heart + That would not wake for me, +I think that I shall know his joy + By my own ecstasy. + +And tho' the sea were all between, + The time their hands shall meet, +My heart will know his happiness, + So wildly it will beat. + +And when he bends above her mouth, + Rejoicing for his sake, +My soul will sing a little song, + But oh, my heart will break. + + + + + Love in Autumn + + +I sought among the drifting leaves, + The golden leaves that once were green, +To see if Love were hiding there + And peeping out between. + +For thro' the silver showers of May + And thro' the summer's heavy heat, +In vain I sought his golden head + And light, fast-flying feet. + +Perhaps when all the world is bare + And cruel winter holds the land, +The Love that finds no place to hide + Will run and catch my hand. + +I shall not care to have him then, + I shall be bitter and a-cold-- +It grows too late for frolicking + When all the world is old. + +Then little hiding Love, come forth, + Come forth before the autumn goes, +And let us seek thro' ruined paths + The garden's last red rose. + + + + + The Kiss + + +I hoped that he would love me, + And he has kissed my mouth, +But I am like a stricken bird + That cannot reach the south. + +For tho' I know he loves me, + To-night my heart is sad; +His kiss was not so wonderful + As all the dreams I had. + + + + + November + + +The world is tired, the year is old, + The little leaves are glad to die, +The wind goes shivering with cold + Among the rushes dry. + +Our love is dying like the grass, + And we who kissed grow coldly kind, +Half glad to see our poor love pass + Like leaves along the wind. + + + + + A Song of the Princess + + +The princess has her lovers, + A score of knights has she, +And each can sing a madrigal, + And praise her gracefully. + +But Love that is so bitter + Hath put within her heart +A longing for the scornful knight + Who silent stands apart. + +And tho' the others praise and plead, + She maketh no reply, +Yet for a single word from him, + I ween that she would die. + + + + + The Wind + + +A wind is blowing over my soul, + I hear it cry the whole night thro'-- +Is there no peace for me on earth + Except with you? + +Alas, the wind has made me wise, + Over my naked soul it blew,-- +There is no peace for me on earth + Even with you. + + + + + A Winter Night + + +My window-pane is starred with frost, + The world is bitter cold to-night, +The moon is cruel and the wind + Is like a two-edged sword to smite. + +God pity all the homeless ones, + The beggars pacing to and fro. +God pity all the poor to-night + Who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow. + +My room is like a bit of June, + Warm and close-curtained fold on fold, +But somewhere, like a homeless child, + My heart is crying in the cold. + + + + + The Metropolitan Tower + + +We walked together in the dusk + To watch the tower grow dimly white, +And saw it lift against the sky + Its flower of amber light. + +You talked of half a hundred things, + I kept each little word you said; +And when at last the hour was full, + I saw the light turn red. + +You did not know the time had come, + You did not see the sudden flower, +Nor know that in my heart Love's birth + Was reckoned from that hour. + + + + + Gramercy Park + + For W. P. + + +The little park was filled with peace, + The walks were carpeted with snow, +But every iron gate was locked. + Lest if we entered, peace would go. + +We circled it a dozen times, + The wind was blowing from the sea, +I only felt your restless eyes + Whose love was like a cloak for me. + +Oh heavy gates that fate has locked + To bar the joy we may not win, +Peace would go out forevermore + If we should dare to enter in. + + + + + In the Metropolitan Museum + + +Within the tiny Pantheon + We stood together silently, +Leaving the restless crowd awhile + As ships find shelter from the sea. + +The ancient centuries came back + To cover us a moment's space, +And thro' the dome the light was glad + Because it shone upon your face. + +Ah, not from Rome but farther still, + Beyond sun-smitten Salamis, +The moment took us, till you stooped + To find the present with a kiss. + + + + + Coney Island + + +Why did you bring me here? +The sand is white with snow, +Over the wooden domes +The winter sea-winds blow-- +There is no shelter near, + Come, let us go. + +With foam of icy lace +The sea creeps up the sand, +The wind is like a hand +That strikes us in the face. +Doors that June set a-swing +Are bolted long ago; +We try them uselessly-- +Alas, there cannot be +For us a second spring; + Come, let us go. + + + + + Union Square + + +With the man I love who loves me not, + I walked in the street-lamps' flare; +We watched the world go home that night + In a flood through Union Square. + +I leaned to catch the words he said + That were light as a snowflake falling; +Ah well that he never leaned to hear + The words my heart was calling. + +And on we walked and on we walked + Past the fiery lights of the picture shows-- +Where the girls with thirsty eyes go by + On the errand each man knows. + +And on we walked and on we walked, + At the door at last we said good-bye; +I knew by his smile he had not heard + My heart's unuttered cry. + +With the man I love who loves me not + I walked in the street-lamps' flare-- +But oh, the girls who can ask for love + In the lights of Union Square. + + + + + Central Park at Dusk + + +Buildings above the leafless trees + Loom high as castles in a dream, +While one by one the lamps come out + To thread the twilight with a gleam. + +There is no sign of leaf or bud, + A hush is over everything-- +Silent as women wait for love, + The world is waiting for the spring. + + + + + Young Love + + + I + +I cannot heed the words they say, + The lights grow far away and dim, +Amid the laughing men and maids + My eyes unbidden seek for him. + +I hope that when he smiles at me + He does not guess my joy and pain, +For if he did, he is too kind + To ever look my way again. + + + II + +I have a secret in my heart + No ears have ever heard, +And still it sings there day by day + Most like a caged bird. + +And when it beats against the bars, + I do not set it free, +For I am happier to know + It only sings for me. + + + III + +I wrote his name along the beach, + I love the letters so. +Far up it seemed and out of reach, + For still the tide was low. + +But oh, the sea came creeping up, + And washed the name away, +And on the sand where it had been + A bit of sea-grass lay. + +A bit of sea-grass on the sand, + Dropped from a mermaid's hair-- +Ah, had she come to kiss his name + And leave a token there? + + + IV + +What am I that he should love me, +He who stands so far above me, + What am I? +I am like a cowslip turning + Toward the sky, +Where a planet's golden burning +Breaks the cowslip's heart with yearning, +What am I that he should love me, + What am I? + + + V + +O dreams that flock about my sleep, + I pray you bring my love to me, +And let me think I hear his voice + Again ring free. + +And if you care to please me well, + And live to-morrow in my mind, +Let him who was so cold before, + To-night seem kind. + + + VI + +I plucked a daisy in the fields, + And there beneath the sun +I let its silver petals fall + One after one. + +I said, "He loves me, loves me not," + And oh, my heart beat fast, +The flower was kind, it let me say + "He loves me," last. + +I kissed the little leafless stem, + But oh, my poor heart knew +The words the flower had said to me, + They were not true. + + + VII + +I sent my love a letter, + And if he loves me not, +He shall not find my love for him + In any line or dot. + +But if he loves me truly, + He'll find it hidden deep, +As dawn gleams red thro' chilly clouds + To eyes awaked from sleep. + + + VIII + +The world is cold and gray and wet, +And I am heavy-hearted, yet +When I am home and look to see +The place my letters wait for me, +If I should find ONE letter there, +I think I should not greatly care +If it were rainy or were fair, +For all the world would suddenly +Seem like a festival to me. + + + IX + +I hid three words within my heart, + That longed to fly to him, +At dawn they woke me with a start, + They sang till day was dim. + +And now at last I let them fly, + As little birds should do, +And he will know the first is "I", + The others "Love" and "You". + + + X + +Across the twilight's violet + His curtained window glimmers gold; +Oh happy light that round my love + Can fold. + +Oh happy book within his hand, + Oh happy page he glorifies, +Oh happy little word beneath + His eyes. + +But oh, thrice happy, happy I + Who love him more than songs can tell, +For in the heaven of his heart + I dwell. + + + + +Sonnets and Lyrics + + + + + Primavera Mia + + +As kings who see their little life-day pass, +Take off the heavy ermine and the crown, +So had the trees that autumn-time laid down +Their golden garments on the faded grass, +When I, who watched the seasons in the glass +Of mine own thoughts, saw all the autumn's brown +Leap into life and don a sunny gown +Of leafage such as happy April has. +Great spring came singing upward from the south; +For in my heart, far carried on the wind, +Your words like winged seeds took root and grew, +And all the world caught music from your mouth; +I saw the light as one who had been blind, +And knew my sun and song and spring were you. + + + + + Soul's Birth + + +When you were born, beloved, was your soul +New made by God to match your body's flower, +And were they both at one same precious hour +Sent forth from heaven as a perfect whole? +Or had your soul since dim creation burned, +A star in some still region of the sky, +That leaping earthward, left its place on high +And to your little new-born body yearned? +No words can tell in what celestial hour +God made your soul and gave it mortal birth, +Nor in the disarray of all the stars +Is any place so sweet that such a flower +Might linger there until thro' heaven's bars, +It heard God's voice that bade it down to earth. + + + + + Love and Death + + +Shall we, too, rise forgetful from our sleep, +And shall my soul that lies within your hand +Remember nothing, as the blowing sand +Forgets the palm where long blue shadows creep +When winds along the darkened desert sweep? +Or would it still remember, tho' it spanned +A thousand heavens, while the planets fanned +The vacant ether with their voices deep? +Soul of my soul, no word shall be forgot, +Nor yet alone, beloved, shall we see +The desolation of extinguished suns, +Nor fear the void wherethro' our planet runs, +For still together shall we go and not +Fare forth alone to front eternity. + + + + + For the Anniversary of John Keats' Death + + (February 23, 1821) + + +At midnight when the moonlit cypress trees +Have woven round his grave a magic shade, +Still weeping the unfinished hymn he made, +There moves fresh Maia like a morning breeze +Blown over jonquil beds when warm rains cease. +And stooping where her poet's head is laid, +Selene weeps while all the tides are stayed +And swaying seas are darkened into peace. +But they who wake the meadows and the tides +Have hearts too kind to bid him wake from sleep +Who murmurs sometimes when his dreams are deep, +Startling the Quiet Land where he abides, +And charming still, sad-eyed Persephone +With visions of the sunny earth and sea. + + + + + Silence + + (To Eleonora Duse) + + +We are anhungered after solitude, +Deep stillness pure of any speech or sound, +Soft quiet hovering over pools profound, +The silences that on the desert brood, +Above a windless hush of empty seas, +The broad unfurling banners of the dawn, +A faery forest where there sleeps a Faun; +Our souls are fain of solitudes like these. +O woman who divined our weariness, +And set the crown of silence on your art, +From what undreamed-of depth within your heart +Have you sent forth the hush that makes us free +To hear an instant, high above earth's stress, +The silent music of infinity? + + + + + The Return + + +I turned the key and opened wide the door +To enter my deserted room again, +Where thro' the long hot months the dust had lain. +Was it not lonely when across the floor +No step was heard, no sudden song that bore +My whole heart upward with a joyous pain? +Were not the pictures and the volumes fain +To have me with them always as before? +But Giorgione's Venus did not deign +To lift her lids, nor did the subtle smile +Of Mona Lisa deepen. Madeleine +Still wept against the glory of her hair, +Nor did the lovers part their lips the while, +But kissed unheeding that I watched them there. + + + + + Fear + + +I am afraid, oh I am so afraid! +The cold black fear is clutching me to-night +As long ago when they would take the light +And leave the little child who would have prayed, +Frozen and sleepless at the thought of death. +My heart that beats too fast will rest too soon; +I shall not know if it be night or noon,-- +Yet shall I struggle in the dark for breath? +Will no one fight the Terror for my sake, +The heavy darkness that no dawn will break? +How can they leave me in that dark alone, +Who loved the joy of light and warmth so much, +And thrilled so with the sense of sound and touch,-- +How can they shut me underneath a stone? + + + + + Anadyomene + + +The wide, bright temple of the world I found, +And entered from the dizzy infinite +That I might kneel and worship thee in it; +Leaving the singing stars their ceaseless round +Of silver music sound on orbed sound, +For measured spaces where the shrines are lit, +And men with wisdom or with little wit +Implore the gods that mercy may abound. +Ah, Aphrodite, was it not from thee +My summons came across the endless spaces? +Mother of Love, turn not thy face from me +Now that I seek for thee in human faces; +Answer my prayer or set my spirit free +Again to drift along the starry places. + + + + + Galahad in the Castle of the Maidens + + (To the maiden with the hidden face in Abbey's painting) + + +The other maidens raised their eyes to him +Who stumbled in before them when the fight +Had left him victor, with a victor's right. +I think his eyes with quick hot tears grew dim; +He scarcely saw her swaying white and slim, +And trembling slightly, dreaming of his might, +Nor knew he touched her hand, as strangely light +As a wan wraith's beside a river's rim. +The other maidens raised their eyes to see +And only she has hid her face away, +And yet I ween she loved him more than they, +And very fairly fashioned was her face. +Yet for Love's shame and sweet humility, +She dared not meet him with their queenlike grace. + + + + + To an Aeolian Harp + + +The winds have grown articulate in thee, +And voiced again the wail of ancient woe +That smote upon the winds of long ago: +The cries of Trojan women as they flee, +The quivering moan of pale Andromache, +Now lifted loud with pain and now brought low. +It is the soul of sorrow that we know, +As in a shell the soul of all the sea. +So sometimes in the compass of a song, +Unknown to him who sings, thro' lips that live, +The voiceless dead of long-forgotten lands +Proclaim to us their heaviness and wrong +In sweeping sadness of the winds that give +Thy strings no rest from weariless wild hands. + + + + + To Erinna + + +Was Time not harsh to you, or was he kind, +O pale Erinna of the perfect lyre, +That he has left no word of singing fire +Whereby you waked the dreaming Lesbian wind, +And kindled night along the lyric shore? +O girl whose lips Erato stooped to kiss, +Do you go sorrowing because of this +In fields where poets sing forevermore? +Or are you glad and is it best to be +A silent music men have never heard, +A dream in all our souls that we may say: +"Her voice had all the rapture of the sea, +And all the clear cool quiver of a bird +Deep in a forest at the break of day"? + + + + + To Cleis + + "I have a fair daughter with a form like a golden flower, + Cleis, the beloved." + Sapphic fragment. + + +When the dusk was wet with dew, + Cleis, did the muses nine + Listen in a silent line +While your mother sang to you? + +Did they weep or did they smile + When she crooned to still your cries, + She, a muse in human guise, +Who forsook her lyre awhile? + +Did you feel her wild heart beat? + Did the warmth of all the sun + Thro' your little body run +When she kissed your hands and feet? + +Did your fingers, babywise, + Touch her face and touch her hair, + Did you think your mother fair, +Could you bear her burning eyes? + +Are the songs that soothed your fears + Vanished like a vanished flame, + Save the line where shines your name +Starlike down the graying years? + +Cleis speaks no word to me, + For the land where she has gone + Lieth mute at dusk and dawn +Like a windless tideless sea. + + + + + Paris in Spring + + +The city's all a-shining + Beneath a fickle sun, +A gay young wind's a-blowing, + The little shower is done. +But the rain-drops still are clinging + And falling one by one-- +Oh it's Paris, it's Paris, + And spring-time has begun. + +I know the Bois is twinkling + In a sort of hazy sheen, +And down the Champs the gray old arch + Stands cold and still between. +But the walk is flecked with sunlight + Where the great acacias lean, +Oh it's Paris, it's Paris, + And the leaves are growing green. + +The sun's gone in, the sparkle's dead, + There falls a dash of rain, +But who would care when such an air + Comes blowing up the Seine? +And still Ninette sits sewing + Beside her window-pane, +When it's Paris, it's Paris, + And spring-time's come again. + + + + + Madeira from the Sea + + +Out of the delicate dream of the distance an emerald emerges +Veiled in the violet folds of the air of the sea; +Softly the dream grows awakening--shimmering white of a city, +Splashes of crimson, the gay bougainvillea, the palms. +High in the infinite blue of its heaven a quiet cloud lingers, +Lost and forgotten of winds that have fallen asleep, +Fallen asleep to the tune of a Portuguese song in a garden. + + + + + City Vignettes + + + I + Dawn + +The greenish sky glows up in misty reds, + The purple shadows turn to brick and stone, +The dreams wear thin, men turn upon their beds, + And hear the milk-cart jangle by alone. + + + II + Dusk + +The city's street, a roaring blackened stream + Walled in by granite, thro' whose thousand eyes +A thousand yellow lights begin to gleam, + And over all the pale untroubled skies. + + + III + Rain at Night + +The street-lamps shine in a yellow line + Down the splashy, gleaming street, +And the rain is heard now loud now blurred + By the tread of homing feet. + + + + + By the Sea + + +Beside an ebbing northern sea +While stars awaken one by one, +We walk together, I and he. + +He woos me with an easy grace +That proves him only half sincere; +A light smile flickers on his face. + +To him love-making is an art, +And as a flutist plays a flute, +So does he play upon his heart + +A music varied to his whim. +He has no use for love of mine, +He would not have me answer him. + +To hide my eyes within the night +I watch the changeful lighthouse gleam +Alternately with red and white. + +My laughter smites upon my ears, +So one who cries and wakes from sleep +Knows not it is himself he hears. + +What if my voice should let him know +The mocking words were all a sham, +And lips that laugh could tremble so? + +What if I lost the power to lie, +And he should only hear his name +In one low, broken cry? + + + + + On the Death of Swinburne + + +He trod the earth but yesterday, +And now he treads the stars. + He left us in the April time + He praised so often in his rhyme, +He left the singing and the lyre and went his way. + +He drew new music from our tongue, +A music subtly wrought, + And moulded words to his desire, + As wind doth mould a wave of fire; +From strangely fashioned harps slow golden tones he wrung. + +I think the singing understands +That he who sang is still, + And Iseult cries that he is dead,-- + Does not Dolores bow her head +And Fragoletta weep and wring her little hands? + +New singing now the singer hears +To lyre and lute and harp; + Catullus waits to welcome him, + And thro' the twilight sweet and dim, +Sappho's forgotten songs are falling on his ears. + + + + + Triolets + + + I + +Love looked back as he took his flight, + And lo, his eyes were filled with tears. +Was it for love of lost delight +Love looked back as he took his flight? +Only I know while day grew night, + Turning still to the vanished years, +Love looked back as he took his flight, + And lo, his eyes were filled with tears. + + + II + (Written in a copy of "La Vita Nuova". For M. C. S.) + +If you were Lady Beatrice + And I the Florentine, +I'd never waste my time like this-- +If you were Lady Beatrice +I'd woo and then demand a kiss, + Nor weep like Dante here, I ween, +If you were Lady Beatrice + And I the Florentine. + + + III + (Written in a copy of "The Poems of Sappho".) + +Beyond the dim Hesperides, + The girl who sang them long ago +Could never dream that over seas, +Beyond the dim Hesperides, +The wind would blow such songs as these-- + I wonder now if she can know, +Beyond the dim Hesperides, + The girl who sang them long ago? + + + IV + +Dead leaves upon the stream + And dead leaves on the air-- +All of my lost hopes seem +Dead leaves upon the stream; +I watch them in a dream, + Going I know not where, +Dead leaves upon the stream + And dead leaves on the air. + + + + + Vox Corporis + + +The beast to the beast is calling, + And the soul bends down to wait; +Like the stealthy lord of the jungle, + The white man calls his mate. + +The beast to the beast is calling, + They rush through the twilight sweet, +But the soul is a wary hunter, + He will not let them meet. + + + + + A Ballad of Two Knights + + +Two knights rode forth at early dawn + A-seeking maids to wed, +Said one, "My lady must be fair, + With gold hair on her head." + +Then spake the other knight-at-arms: + "I care not for her face, +But she I love must be a dove + For purity and grace." + +And each knight blew upon his horn + And went his separate way, +And each knight found a lady-love + Before the fall of day. + +But she was brown who should have had + The shining yellow hair-- +I ween the knights forgot their words + Or else they ceased to care. + +For he who wanted purity + Brought home a wanton wild, +And when each saw the other knight + I ween that each knight smiled. + + + + + Christmas Carol + + +The kings they came from out the south, + All dressed in ermine fine, +They bore Him gold and chrysoprase, + And gifts of precious wine. + +The shepherds came from out the north, + Their coats were brown and old, +They brought Him little new-born lambs-- + They had not any gold. + +The wise-men came from out the east, + And they were wrapped in white; +The star that led them all the way + Did glorify the night. + +The angels came from heaven high, + And they were clad with wings; +And lo, they brought a joyful song + The host of heaven sings. + +The kings they knocked upon the door, + The wise-men entered in, +The shepherds followed after them + To hear the song begin. + +And Mary held the little child + And sat upon the ground; +She looked up, she looked down, + She looked all around. + +The angels sang thro' all the night + Until the rising sun, +But little Jesus fell asleep + Before the song was done. + + + + + The Faery Forest + + +The faery forest glimmered + Beneath an ivory moon, +The silver grasses shimmered + Against a faery tune. + +Beneath the silken silence + The crystal branches slept, +And dreaming thro' the dew-fall + The cold white blossoms wept. + + + + + A Fantasy + + +Her voice is like clear water + That drips upon a stone +In forests far and silent + Where Quiet plays alone. + +Her thoughts are like the lotus + Abloom by sacred streams +Beneath the temple arches + Where Quiet sits and dreams. + +Her kisses are the roses + That glow while dusk is deep +In Persian garden closes + Where Quiet falls asleep. + + + + + A Minuet of Mozart's + + +Across the dimly lighted room + The violin drew wefts of sound, + Airily they wove and wound +And glimmered gold against the gloom. + +I watched the music turn to light, + But at the pausing of the bow, + The web was broken and the glow +Was drowned within the wave of night. + + + + + Twilight + + +Dreamily over the roofs + The cold spring rain is falling, +Out in the lonely tree + A bird is calling, calling. + +Slowly over the earth + The wings of night are falling; +My heart like the bird in the tree + Is calling, calling, calling. + + + + + The Prayer + + +My answered prayer came up to me, + And in the silence thus spake he: +"O you who prayed for me to come, + Your greeting is but cold and dumb." + +My heart made answer: "You are fair, + But I have prayed too long to care. +Why came you not when all was new, + And I had died for joy of you." + + + + + Two Songs for a Child + + + I + Grandfather's Love + +They said he sent his love to me, + They wouldn't put it in my hand, +And when I asked them where it was + They said I couldn't understand. + +I thought they must have hidden it, + I hunted for it all the day, +And when I told them so at night + They smiled and turned their heads away. + +They say that love is something kind, + That I can never see or touch. +I wish he'd sent me something else, + I like his cough-drops twice as much. + + + II + The Kind Moon + +I think the moon is very kind + To take such trouble just for me. +He came along with me from home + To keep me company. + +He went as fast as I could run; + I wonder how he crossed the sky? +I'm sure he hasn't legs and feet + Or any wings to fly. + +Yet here he is above their roof; + Perhaps he thinks it isn't right +For me to go so far alone, + Tho' mother said I might. + + + + +On the Tower + + + +Under the leaf of many a Fable lies the Truth for those who look for it. + Jami. + + + +On the Tower + +(A play in one act.) + + +The Knight. +The Lady. + +Voices of men and women on the ground at the foot of the tower. +The voice of the Knight's Page. + + + + The top of a high battlemented tower of a castle. A stone ledge, + which serves as a seat, extends part way around the parapet. + Small clouds float by in the blue sky, and occasionally a swallow + passes. + Entrance R. from an unseen stairway which is supposed to extend + around the outside of the tower. + + +The Lady (unseen). + Oh do not climb so fast, for I am faint + With looking down the tower to where the earth + Lies dreaming in the sun. I fear to fall. + +The Knight (unseen). + Lean on me, love, my love, and look not down. + +L. + Call me not "love", call me your conquered foe, + That now, since you have battered down her gates, + Gives you the keys that lock the highest tower + And mounts with you to prove her homage true; + Oh bid me go no farther lest I fall, + My foot has slipped upon the rain-worn stones, + Why are the stairs so narrow and so steep? + Let us go back, my lord. + +K. + Are you afraid, + Who were so dauntless till the walls gave way? + Courage, my sweet. I would that I could climb + A thousand times by wind-swept stairs like these, + That lead so near to heaven. + +L. + Sir, you may, + You are a knight and very valorous; + I am a woman. I shall never come + This way but once. + (The Knight and the Lady appear on the top of the tower.) + +K. + Kiss me at last, my love. + +L. + Oh, my sweet lord, I am too tired to kiss. + Look how the earth is like an emerald, + With rivers veined and flawed with fallow fields. + +K. (Lifting her veil) + Then I kiss you, a thousand thousand kisses + For all the days ere I had won to you + Beyond the walls and gates you barred so close. + Call me at last your love, your castle's lord. + +L. (After a pause) + I love you. + + (She kisses him. Her veil blows away like a white butterfly + over the parapet. Faint cries and laughter from men and women + under the tower.) + +Men and Women. + The veil, the lady's veil! + + (The knight takes the lady in his arms.) + +L. + My lord, I pray you loose me from your arms + Lest that my people see how much we love. + +K. + May they not see us? All of them have loved. + +L. + But you have been an enemy, my lord, + With walls between us and with moss-grown moats, + Now on a sudden must I kiss your mouth? + I who was taught before I learned to speak + That all my house was hostile unto yours, + Now can I put my head against your breast + Here in the sight of all who choose to come? + +K. + Are we not past the caring for their eyes + And nearer to the heaven than to earth? + Look up and see. + +L. + I only see your face. + + (She touches his hair with her hands. Murmuring under the tower.) + +K. + Why came we here in all the noon-day light + With only darting swallows over us + To make a speck of darkness on the sun? + Let us go down where walls will shut us round. + Your castle has a hundred quiet halls, + A hundred chambers, where the shadows lie + On things put by, forgotten long ago. + Forgotten lutes with strings that Time has slackened, + We two shall draw them close and bid them sing-- + Forgotten games, forgotten books still open + Where you had laid them by at vesper-time, + And your embroidery, whereon half-worked + Weeps Amor wounded by a rose's thorn. + Shall I not see the room in which you slept, + Palpitant still and breathing of your thoughts, + Where maiden dreams adown the ways of sleep + Swept noiselessly with damosels and knights + To tourneys where the trumpet made no sound, + Blow as he might, the scarlet trumpeter, + And were the dreams not sometimes brimmed with tears + That waked you when the night was loneliest? + Will you not bring me to your oratory + Where prayers arose like little birds set free + Still upward, upward without sound of flight? + Shall I not find your turrets toward the north, + Where you defied white winter armed for war; + Your southern casements where the sun blows in + Between the leaf-bent boughs the wind has lifted? + Shall we not see the sunrise toward the east, + Watch dawn by dawn the rose of day unfolding + Its golden-hearted beauty sovereignly; + And toward the west look quietly at evening? + Shall I not see all these and all your treasures? + In carven coffers hidden in the dark + Have you not laid a sapphire lit with flame + And amethysts set round with deep-wrought gold, + Perhaps a ruby? + +L. + All my gems are yours + And all my chambers curtained from the sun. + My lord shall see them all, in time, in time. + + + (The sun begins to sink.) + +K. + Shall I not see them now? To-day, to-night? + +L. + How could I show you in one day, my lord, + My castle and my treasures and my tower? + Let all the days to come suffice for this + Since all the past days made them what they are. + You will not be impatient, my sweet lord. + Some of the halls have long been locked and barred, + And some have secret doors and hard to find + Till suddenly you touch them unawares, + And down a sable way runs silver light. + We two will search together for the keys, + But not to-day. Let us sit here to-day, + Since all is yours and always will be yours. + + (The stars appear faintly one by one.) + +K. (After a pause.) + I grow a little drowsy with the dusk. + +L. (Singing.) + There was a man that loved a maid, + (Sleep and take your rest) + Over her lips his kiss was laid, + Over her heart, his breast. + + (The knight sleeps.) + + All of his vows were sweet to hear, + Sweet was his kiss to take; + Why was her breast so quick to fear, + Why was her heart, to break? + + Why was the man so glad to woo? + (Sleep and take your rest) + Why were the maiden's words so few---- + + (She sees that he is asleep, and slipping off her long cloak-like + outer garment, she pillows his head upon it against the parapet, + and half kneeling at his feet she sings very softly:) + + I love you, I love you, I love you, + I am the flower at your feet, + The birds and the stars are above you, + My place is more sweet. + + The birds and the stars are above you, + They envy the flower in the grass, + For I, only I, while I love you + Can die as you pass. + + (Light clouds veil the stars, growing denser constantly. + The castle bell rings for vespers, and rising, the lady moves + to a corner of the parapet and kneels there.) + +L. + Ave Maria! gratia plena, Dominus---- + +Voice of the Page (from the foot of the tower.) + My lord, my lord, they call for you at court! + + (The knight wakes. It is now quite dark.) + + There is a tourney toward; your enemy + Has challenged you. My lord, make haste to come! + + (The knight rises and gropes his way toward the stairs.) + +K. + I will make haste. Await me where you are. + + (To himself.) + There was a lady on this tower with me---- + + (He glances around hurriedly but does not see her in the darkness.) + +Page. + My lord has far to ride before the dawn! + +K. (To himself.) + Why should I tarry? + + (To the page.) + Bring my horse and shield! + + (He descends. As the noise of his footfall on the stairs dies away, + the lady gropes toward the stairway, then turns suddenly, and going to + the ledge where they have sat, she throws herself over the parapet.) + + +CURTAIN. + + + + +[End of Helen of Troy And Other Poems.] + + + + +Sara Teasdale + +Sara Teasdale was born in St. Louis, Missouri, where she attended a +school that was founded by the grandfather of another great poet from +St. Louis--T. S. Eliot. She later associated herself more with New +York City. Her first book of poems was "Sonnets to Duse" (1907), but +"Helen of Troy" (1911) was the true launch of her career, followed by +"Rivers to the Sea" (1915), "Love Songs" (1917), "Flame and Shadow" +(1920) and more. Her final volume, "Strange Victory", is considered +by many to be predictive of her suicide. + +It is interesting to note that in Teasdale's Collected Works, about +half of the poems in this volume--some more justly than others--have +been excluded, and most of the rest have been slightly changed. Most +of the poems from this volume which were selected to be included in +"Love Songs" also had some minor changes. This edition preserves the +original readings, but they are not to be considered authoritative. + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Helen of Troy and Other Poems, by Sara Teasdale + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELEN OF TROY AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 400.txt or 400.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/400/ + +Produced by A. Light and L. Bowser. For Gwenette. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + + +Helen of Troy And Other Poems +By Sara Teasdale [American (Missouri & New York) Poet] + + + + + +[Note on text: Italicized stanzas are indented 5 spaces. +Italicized words or phrases are capitalized. +Lines longer than 78 characters are broken, and the continuation +is indented two spaces. Some obvious errors may be corrected.] + +[This etext has been transcribed from the original edition, +which was published in New York in 1911.] + + + + + + +Helen of Troy And Other Poems + +By Sara Teasdale +Author of "Sonnets to Duse, and Other Poems" + + + + + + +To Marion Cummings Stanley + + + + + + +Contents + + + +Helen of Troy +Beatrice +Sappho +Marianna Alcoforando +Guenevere +Erinna +Love Songs + Song + The Rose and the Bee + The Song Maker + Wild Asters + When Love Goes + The Wayfarer + The Princess in the Tower + When Love Was Born + The Shrine + The Blind + Love Me + The Song for Colin + Four Winds + Roundel + Dew + A Maiden + "I Love You" + But Not to Me + Hidden Love + Snow Song + Youth and the Pilgrim + The Wanderer + I Would Live in Your Love + May + Rispetto + Less than the Cloud to the Wind + Buried Love + Song + Pierrot + At Night + Song + Love in Autumn + The Kiss + November + A Song of the Princess + The Wind + A Winter Night + The Metropolitan Tower + Gramercy Park + In the Metropolitan Museum + Coney Island + Union Square + Central Park at Dusk + Young Love +Sonnets and Lyrics + Primavera Mia + Soul's Birth + Love and Death + For the Anniversary of John Keats' Death + Silence + The Return + Fear + Anadyomene + Galahad in the Castle of the Maidens + To an Aeolian Harp + To Erinna + To Cleis + Paris in Spring + Madeira from the Sea + City Vignettes + By the Sea + On the Death of Swinburne + Triolets + Vox Corporis + A Ballad of Two Knights + Christmas Carol + The Faery Forest + A Fantasy + A Minuet of Mozart's + Twilight + The Prayer + Two Songs for a Child +On the Tower + + + + + + +Helen of Troy and Other Poems + + + + + + +Helen of Troy + + + +Wild flight on flight against the fading dawn +The flames' red wings soar upward duskily. +This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead +That sparkled so the day I saw it first, +And darkened slowly after. I am she +Who loves all beauty -- yet I wither it. +Why have the high gods made me wreak their wrath -- +Forever since my maidenhood to sow +Sorrow and blood about me? Lo, they keep +Their bitter care above me even now. +It was the gods who led me to this lair, +That tho' the burning winds should make me weak, +They should not snatch the life from out my lips. +Olympus let the other women die; +They shall be quiet when the day is done +And have no care to-morrow. Yet for me +There is no rest. The gods are not so kind +To her made half immortal like themselves. +It is to you I owe the cruel gift, +Leda, my mother, and the Swan, my sire, +To you the beauty and to you the bale; +For never woman born of man and maid +Had wrought such havoc on the earth as I, +Or troubled heaven with a sea of flame +That climbed to touch the silent whirling stars +And blotted out their brightness ere the dawn. +Have I not made the world to weep enough? +Give death to me. Yet life is more than death; +How could I leave the sound of singing winds, +The strong sweet scent that breathes from off the sea, +Or shut my eyes forever to the spring? +I will not give the grave my hands to hold, +My shining hair to light oblivion. +Have those who wander through the ways of death, +The still wan fields Elysian, any love +To lift their breasts with longing, any lips +To thirst against the quiver of a kiss? +Lo, I shall live to conquer Greece again, +To make the people love, who hate me now. +My dreams are over, I have ceased to cry +Against the fate that made men love my mouth +And left their spirits all too deaf to hear +The little songs that echoed through my soul. +I have no anger now. The dreams are done; +Yet since the Greeks and Trojans would not see +Aught but my body's fairness, till the end, +In all the islands set in all the seas, +And all the lands that lie beneath the sun, +Till light turn darkness, and till time shall sleep, +Men's lives shall waste with longing after me, +For I shall be the sum of their desire, +The whole of beauty, never seen again. +And they shall stretch their arms and starting, wake +With "Helen!" on their lips, and in their eyes +The vision of me. Always I shall be +Limned on the darkness like a shaft of light +That glimmers and is gone. They shall behold +Each one his dream that fashions me anew; -- +With hair like lakes that glint beneath the stars +Dark as sweet midnight, or with hair aglow +Like burnished gold that still retains the fire. +Yea, I shall haunt until the dusk of time +The heavy eyelids filled with fleeting dreams. + +I wait for one who comes with sword to slay -- +The king I wronged who searches for me now; +And yet he shall not slay me. I shall stand +With lifted head and look within his eyes, +Baring my breast to him and to the sun. +He shall not have the power to stain with blood +That whiteness -- for the thirsty sword shall fall +And he shall cry and catch me in his arms, +Bearing me back to Sparta on his breast. +Lo, I shall live to conquer Greece again! + + + + +Beatrice + + + +Send out the singers -- let the room be still; +They have not eased my pain nor brought me sleep. +Close out the sun, for I would have it dark +That I may feel how black the grave will be. +The sun is setting, for the light is red, +And you are outlined in a golden fire, +Like Ursula upon an altar-screen. +Come, leave the light and sit beside my bed, +For I have had enough of saints and prayers. +Strange broken thoughts are beating in my brain, +They come and vanish and again they come. +It is the fever driving out my soul, +And Death stands waiting by the arras there. + +Ornella, I will speak, for soon my lips +Shall keep a silence till the end of time. +You have a mouth for loving -- listen then: +Keep tryst with Love before Death comes to tryst; +For I, who die, could wish that I had lived +A little closer to the world of men, +Not watching always thro' the blazoned panes +That show the world in chilly greens and blues +And grudge the sunshine that would enter in. +I was no part of all the troubled crowd +That moved beneath the palace windows here, +And yet sometimes a knight in shining steel +Would pass and catch the gleaming of my hair, +And wave a mailed hand and smile at me, +Whereat I made no sign and turned away, +Affrighted and yet glad and full of dreams. +Ah, dreams and dreams that asked no answering! +I should have wrought to make my dreams come true, +But all my life was like an autumn day, +Full of gray quiet and a hazy peace. + +What was I saying? All is gone again. +It seemed but now I was the little child +Who played within a garden long ago. +Beyond the walls the festal trumpets blared. +Perhaps they carried some Madonna by +With tossing ensigns in a sea of flowers, +A painted Virgin with a painted Child, +Who saw for once the sweetness of the sun +Before they shut her in an altar-niche +Where tapers smoke against the windy gloom. +I gathered roses redder than my gown +And played that I was Saint Elizabeth, +Whose wine had turned to roses in her hands. +And as I played, a child came thro' the gate, +A boy who looked at me without a word, +As tho' he saw stretch far behind my head +Long lines of radiant angels, row on row. +That day we spoke a little, timidly, +And after that I never heard the voice +That sang so many songs for love of me. +He was content to stand and watch me pass, +To seek for me at matins every day, +Where I could feel his eyes the while I prayed. +I think if he had stretched his hands to me, +Or moved his lips to say a single word, +I might have loved him -- he had wondrous eyes. + +Ornella, are you there? I cannot see -- +Is every one so lonely when he dies? + +The room is filled with lights -- with waving lights -- +Who are the men and women 'round the bed? +What have I said, Ornella? Have they heard? +There was no evil hidden in my life, +And yet, and yet, I would not have them know -- + +Am I not floating in a mist of light? +O lift me up and I shall reach the sun! + + + + +Sappho + + + +The twilight's inner flame grows blue and deep, +And in my Lesbos, over leagues of sea, +The temples glimmer moonwise in the trees. +Twilight has veiled the little flower face +Here on my heart, but still the night is kind +And leaves her warm sweet weight against my breast. +Am I that Sappho who would run at dusk +Along the surges creeping up the shore +When tides came in to ease the hungry beach, +And running, running, till the night was black, +Would fall forespent upon the chilly sand +And quiver with the winds from off the sea? +Ah, quietly the shingle waits the tides +Whose waves are stinging kisses, but to me +Love brought no peace, nor darkness any rest. +I crept and touched the foam with fevered hands +And cried to Love, from whom the sea is sweet, +From whom the sea is bitterer than death. +Ah, Aphrodite, if I sing no more +To thee, God's daughter, powerful as God, +It is that thou hast made my life too sweet +To hold the added sweetness of a song. +There is a quiet at the heart of love, +And I have pierced the pain and come to peace. +I hold my peace, my Cleis, on my heart; +And softer than a little wild bird's wing +Are kisses that she pours upon my mouth. +Ah, never any more when spring like fire +Will flicker in the newly opened leaves, +Shall I steal forth to seek for solitude +Beyond the lure of light Alcaeus' lyre, +Beyond the sob that stilled Erinna's voice. +Ah, never with a throat that aches with song, +Beneath the white uncaring sky of spring, +Shall I go forth to hide awhile from Love +The quiver and the crying of my heart. +Still I remember how I strove to flee +The love-note of the birds, and bowed my head +To hurry faster, but upon the ground +I saw two winged shadows side by side, +And all the world's spring passion stifled me. +Ah, Love, there is no fleeing from thy might, +No lonely place where thou hast never trod, +No desert thou hast left uncarpeted +With flowers that spring beneath thy perfect feet. +In many guises didst thou come to me; +I saw thee by the maidens while they danced, +Phaon allured me with a look of thine, +In Anactoria I knew thy grace, +I looked at Cercolas and saw thine eyes; +But never wholly, soul and body mine, +Didst thou bid any love me as I loved. +Now I have found the peace that fled from me; +Close, close, against my heart I hold my world. +Ah, Love that made my life a lyric cry, +Ah, Love that tuned my lips to lyres of thine, +I taught the world thy music, now alone +I sing for one who falls asleep to hear. + + + + +Marianna Alcoforando + +(The Portuguese Nun -- 1640-1723) + + + +The sparrows wake beneath the convent eaves; +I think I have not slept the whole night through. +But I am old; the aged scarcely know +The times they wake and sleep, for life burns down; +They breathe the calm of death before they die. +The long night ends, the day comes creeping in, +Showing the sorrows that the darkness hid, +The bended head of Christ, the blood, the thorns, +The wall's gray stains of damp, the pallet bed +Where little Sister Marta dreams of saints, +Waking with arms outstretched imploringly +That seek to stay a vision's vanishing. +I never had a vision, yet for me +Our Lady smiled while all the convent slept +One winter midnight hushed around with snow -- +I thought she might be kinder than the rest, +And so I came to kneel before her feet, +Sick with love's sorrow and love's bitterness. +But when I would have made the blessed sign, +I found the water frozen in the font, +And touched but ice within the carved stone. +The saints had hid themselves away from me, +Leaving the windows black against the night; +And when I sank upon the altar steps, +Before the Virgin Mother and her Child, +The last, pale, low-burnt taper flickered out, +But in the darkness, smooth and fathomless, +Still twinkled like a star the holy lamp +That cast a dusky glow upon her face. +Then through the numbing cold peace fell on me, +Submission and the gracious gift of tears, +For when I looked, Oh! blessed miracle, +Her lips had parted and Our Lady smiled! +And then I knew that Love is worth its pain +And that my heart was richer for his sake, +Since lack of love is bitterest of all. + +The day is broad awake -- the first long beam +Of level sun finds Sister Marta's face, +And trembling there it lights a timid smile +Upon the lips that say so many prayers, +And have no words for hate and none for love. +But when she passes where her prayers have gone, +Will God not smile a little sadly then, +And send her back with gentle words to earth +That she may hold a child against her breast +And feel its little hands upon her hair? +We weep before the Blessed Mother's shrine, +To think upon her sorrows, but her joys +What nun could ever know a tithing of? +The precious hours she watched above His sleep +Were worth the fearful anguish of the end. +Yea, lack of love is bitterest of all; +Yet I have felt what thing it is to know +One thought forever, sleeping or awake; +To say one name whose sweetness grows so strange +That it might work a spell on those who weep; +To feel the weight of love upon my heart +So heavy that the blood can scarcely flow. +Love comes to some unlooked-for, quietly, +As when at twilight, with a soft surprise, +We see the new-born crescent in the blue; +And unto others love is planet-like, +A cold and placid gleam that wavers not, +And there are those who wait the call of love +Expectant of his coming, as we watch +To see the east grow pallid ere the moon +Lifts up her flower-like head against the night. +Love came to me as comes a cruel sun, +That on some rain-drenched morning, when the leaves +Are bowed beneath their clinging weight of drops, +Tears through the mist, and burns with fervent heat +The tender grasses and the meadow flowers; +Then suddenly the heavy clouds close in +And through the dark the thunder's muttering +Is drowned amid the dashing of the rain. + +But I have seen my day grow calm again. +The sun sets slowly on a peaceful world, +And sheds a quiet light across the fields. + + + + +Guenevere + + + +I was a queen, and I have lost my crown; +A wife, and I have broken all my vows; +A lover, and I ruined him I loved: -- +There is no other havoc left to do. +A little month ago I was a queen, +And mothers held their babies up to see +When I came riding out of Camelot. +The women smiled, and all the world smiled too. +And now, what woman's eyes would smile on me? +I still am beautiful, and yet what child +Would think of me as some high, heaven-sent thing, +An angel, clad in gold and miniver? +The world would run from me, and yet am I +No different from the queen they used to love. +If water, flowing silver over stones, +Is forded, and beneath the horses' feet +Grows turbid suddenly, it clears again, +And men will drink it with no thought of harm. +Yet I am branded for a single fault. + +I was the flower amid a toiling world, +Where people smiled to see one happy thing, +And they were proud and glad to raise me high; +They only asked that I should be right fair, +A little kind, and gowned wondrously, +And surely it were little praise to me +If I had pleased them well throughout my life. + +I was a queen, the daughter of a king. +The crown was never heavy on my head, +It was my right, and was a part of me. +The women thought me proud, the men were kind, +And bowed right gallantly to kiss my hand, +And watched me as I passed them calmly by, +Along the halls I shall not tread again. +What if, to-night, I should revisit them? +The warders at the gates, the kitchen-maids, +The very beggars would stand off from me, +And I, their queen, would climb the stairs alone, +Pass through the banquet-hall, a loathed thing, +And seek my chambers for a hiding-place, +And I should find them but a sepulchre, +The very rushes rotted on the floors, +The fire in ashes on the freezing hearth. +I was a queen, and he who loved me best +Made me a woman for a night and day, +And now I go unqueened forevermore. +A queen should never dream on summer eves, +When hovering spells are heavy in the dusk: -- +I think no night was ever quite so still, +So smoothly lit with red along the west, +So deeply hushed with quiet through and through. +And strangely clear, and deeply dyed with light, +The trees stood straight against a paling sky, +With Venus burning lamp-like in the west. + +I walked alone amid a thousand flowers, +That drooped their heads and drowsed beneath the dew, +And all my thoughts were quieted to sleep. +Behind me, on the walk, I heard a step -- +I did not know my heart could tell his tread, +I did not know I loved him till that hour. +Within my breast I felt a wild, sick pain, +The garden reeled a little, I was weak, +And quick he came behind me, caught my arms, +That ached beneath his touch; and then I swayed, +My head fell backward and I saw his face. + +All this grows bitter that was once so sweet, +And many mouths must drain the dregs of it. +But none will pity me, nor pity him +Whom Love so lashed, and with such cruel thongs. + + + + +Erinna + + + +They sent you in to say farewell to me, +No, do not shake your head; I see your eyes +That shine with tears. Sappho, you saw the sun +Just now when you came hither, and again, +When you have left me, all the shimmering +Great meadows will laugh lightly, and the sun +Put round about you warm invisible arms +As might a lover, decking you with light. +I go toward darkness tho' I lie so still. +If I could see the sun, I should look up +And drink the light until my eyes were blind; +I should kneel down and kiss the blades of grass, +And I should call the birds with such a voice, +With such a longing, tremulous and keen, +That they would fly to me and on the breast +Bear evermore to tree-tops and to fields +The kiss I gave them. Sappho, tell me this, +Was I not sometimes fair? My eyes, my mouth, +My hair that loved the wind, were they not worth +The breath of love upon them? Yet he passed, +And he will pass to-night when all the air +Is blue with twilight; but I shall not see. +I shall have gone forever. Hold my hands, +Hold fast that Death may never come between; +Swear by the gods you will not let me go; +Make songs for Death as you would sing to Love -- +But you will not assuage him. He alone +Of all the gods will take no gifts from men. +I am afraid, afraid. + + Sappho, lean down. +Last night the fever gave a dream to me, +It takes my life and gives a little dream. +I thought I saw him stand, the man I love, +Here in my quiet chamber, with his eyes +Fixed on me as I entered, while he drew +Silently toward me -- he who night by night +Goes by my door without a thought of me -- +Neared me and put his hand behind my head, +And leaning toward me, kissed me on the mouth. +That was a little dream for Death to give, +Too short to take the whole of life for, yet +I woke with lips made quiet by a kiss. +The dream is worth the dying. Do not smile +So sadly on me with your shining eyes, +You who can set your sorrow to a song +And ease your hurt by singing. But to me +My songs are less than sea-sand that the wind +Drives stinging over me and bears away. +I have no care what place the grains may fall, +Nor of my songs, if Time shall blow them back, +As land-wind breaks the lines of dying foam +Along the bright wet beaches, scattering +The flakes once more against the laboring sea, +Into oblivion. What care have I +To please Apollo since Love hearkens not? +Your words will live forever, men will say +"She was the perfect lover" -- I shall die, +I loved too much to live. Go Sappho, go -- +I hate your hands that beat so full of life, +Go, lest my hatred hurt you. I shall die, +But you will live to love and love again. +He might have loved some other spring than this; +I should have kept my life -- I let it go. +He would not love me now tho' Cypris bound +Her girdle round me. I am Death's, not Love's. +Go from me, Sappho, back to find the sun. + + +I am alone, alone. O Cyprian . . . + + + + + + +Love Songs + + + + + + + Song + + + +You bound strong sandals on my feet, + You gave me bread and wine, +And bade me out, 'neath sun and stars, + For all the world was mine. + +Oh take the sandals off my feet, + You know not what you do; +For all my world is in your arms, + My sun and stars are you. + + + + + The Rose and the Bee + + + +If I were a bee and you were a rose, +Would you let me in when the gray wind blows? +Would you hold your petals wide apart, +Would you let me in to find your heart, + If you were a rose? + +"If I were a rose and you were a bee, +You should never go when you came to me, +I should hold my love on my heart at last, +I should close my leaves and keep you fast, + If you were a bee." + + + + + The Song Maker + + + +I made a hundred little songs + That told the joy and pain of love, +And sang them blithely, tho' I knew + No whit thereof. + +I was a weaver deaf and blind; + A miracle was wrought for me, +But I have lost my skill to weave + Since I can see. + +For while I sang -- ah swift and strange! + Love passed and touched me on the brow, +And I who made so many songs + Am silent now. + + + + + Wild Asters + + + +In the spring I asked the daisies + If his words were true, +And the clever little daisies + Always knew. + +Now the fields are brown and barren, + Bitter autumn blows, +And of all the stupid asters + Not one knows. + + + + + When Love Goes + + + + I + +O mother, I am sick of love, + I cannot laugh nor lift my head, +My bitter dreams have broken me, + I would my love were dead. + +"Drink of the draught I brew for thee, +Thou shalt have quiet in its stead." + + + II + +Where is the silver in the rain, + Where is the music in the sea, +Where is the bird that sang all day + To break my heart with melody? + +"The night thou badst Love fly away, +He hid them all from thee." + + + + + The Wayfarer + + + +Love entered in my heart one day, + A sad, unwelcome guest; +But when he begged that he might stay, + I let him wait and rest. + +He broke my sleep with sorrowing, + And shook my dreams with tears, +And when my heart was fain to sing, + He stilled its joy with fears. + +But now that he has gone his way, + I miss the old sweet pain, +And sometimes in the night I pray + That he may come again. + + + + + The Princess in the Tower + + + + I + +The Princess sings: + + I am the princess up in the tower + And I dream the whole day thro' + Of a knight who shall come with a silver spear + And a waving plume of blue. + + I am the princess up in the tower, + And I dream my dreams by day, + But sometimes I wake, and my eyes are wet, + When the dusk is deep and gray. + + For the peasant lovers go by beneath, + I hear them laugh and kiss, + And I forget my day-dream knight, + And long for a love like this. + + + II + +The Minstrel sings: + + I lie beside the princess' tower, + So close she cannot see my face, + And watch her dreaming all day long, + And bending with a lily's grace. + + Her cheeks are paler than the moon + That sails along a sunny sky, + And yet her silent mouth is red + Where tender words and kisses lie. + + I am a minstrel with a harp, + For love of her my songs are sweet, + And yet I dare not lift the voice + That lies so far beneath her feet. + + + III + +The Knight sings: + + O princess cease your dreams awhile + And look adown your tower's gray side -- + The princess gazes far away, + Nor hears nor heeds the words I cried. + + Perchance my heart was overbold, + God made her dreams too pure to break, + She sees the angels in the air + Fly to and fro for Mary's sake. + + Farewell, I mount and go my way, + -- But oh her hair the sun sifts thro' -- + The tilts and tourneys wait my spear, + I am the Knight of the Plume of Blue. + + + + + When Love Was Born + + + +When Love was born I think he lay + Right warm on Venus' breast, +And whiles he smiled and whiles would play + And whiles would take his rest. + +But always, folded out of sight, + The wings were growing strong +That were to bear him off in flight + Erelong, erelong. + + + + + The Shrine + + + +There is no lord within my heart, + Left silent as an empty shrine + Where rose and myrtle intertwine, +Within a place apart. + +No god is there of carven stone + To watch with still approving eyes + My thoughts like steady incense rise; +I dream and weep alone. + +But if I keep my altar fair, + Some morning I shall lift my head + From roses deftly garlanded +To find the god is there. + + + + + The Blind + + + +The birds are all a-building, + They say the world's a-flower, +And still I linger lonely + Within a barren bower. + +I weave a web of fancies + Of tears and darkness spun. +How shall I sing of sunlight + Who never saw the sun? + +I hear the pipes a-blowing, + But yet I may not dance, +I know that Love is passing, + I cannot catch his glance. + +And if his voice should call me + And I with groping dim +Should reach his place of calling + And stretch my arms to him, + +The wind would blow between my hands + For Joy that I shall miss, +The rain would fall upon my mouth + That his will never kiss. + + + + + Love Me + + + +Brown-thrush singing all day long + In the leaves above me, +Take my love this little song, + "Love me, love me, love me!" + +When he harkens what you say, + Bid him, lest he miss me, +Leave his work or leave his play, + And kiss me, kiss me, kiss me! + + + + + The Song for Colin + + + +I sang a song at dusking time + Beneath the evening star, +And Terence left his latest rhyme + To answer from afar. + +Pierrot laid down his lute to weep, + And sighed, "She sings for me," +But Colin slept a careless sleep + Beneath an apple tree. + + + + + Four Winds + + + +"Four winds blowing thro' the sky, +You have seen poor maidens die, +Tell me then what I shall do +That my lover may be true." +Said the wind from out the south, +"Lay no kiss upon his mouth," +And the wind from out the west, +"Wound the heart within his breast," +And the wind from out the east, +"Send him empty from the feast," +And the wind from out the north, +"In the tempest thrust him forth, +When thou art more cruel than he, +Then will Love be kind to thee." + + + + + Roundel + + + +If he could know my songs are all for him, +At silver dawn or in the evening glow, +Would he not smile and think it but a whim, + If he could know? + +Or would his heart rejoice and overflow, +As happy brooks that break their icy rim +When April's horns along the hillsides blow? + +I may not speak till Eros' torch is dim, +The god is bitter and will have it so; +And yet to-night our fate would seem less grim + If he could know. + + + + + Dew + + + +I dream that he is mine, + I dream that he is true, +And all his words I keep + As rose-leaves hold the dew. + +O little thirsty rose, + O little heart beware, +Lest you should hope to hold + A hundred roses' share. + + + + + A Maiden + + + +Oh if I were the velvet rose + Upon the red rose vine, +I'd climb to touch his window + And make his casement fine. + +And if I were the little bird + That twitters on the tree, +All day I'd sing my love for him + Till he should harken me. + +But since I am a maiden + I go with downcast eyes, +And he will never hear the songs + That he has turned to sighs. + +And since I am a maiden + My love will never know +That I could kiss him with a mouth + More red than roses blow. + + + + + "I Love You" + + + +When April bends above me + And finds me fast asleep, +Dust need not keep the secret + A live heart died to keep. + +When April tells the thrushes, + The meadow-larks will know, +And pipe the three words lightly + To all the winds that blow. + +Above his roof the swallows, + In notes like far-blown rain, +Will tell the little sparrow + Beside his window-pane. + +O sparrow, little sparrow, + When I am fast asleep, +Then tell my love the secret + That I have died to keep. + + + + + But Not to Me + + + +The April night is still and sweet + With flowers on every tree; +Peace comes to them on quiet feet, + But not to me. + +My peace is hidden in his breast + Where I shall never be, +Love comes to-night to all the rest, + But not to me. + + + + + Hidden Love + + + +I hid the love within my heart, + And lit the laughter in my eyes, +That when we meet he may not know + My love that never dies. + +But sometimes when he dreams at night + Of fragrant forests green and dim, +It may be that my love crept out + And brought the dream to him. + +And sometimes when his heart is sick + And suddenly grows well again, +It may be that my love was there + To free his life of pain. + + + + + Snow Song + + + +Fairy snow, fairy snow, +Blowing, blowing everywhere, + Would that I + Too, could fly +Lightly, lightly through the air. + +Like a wee, crystal star +I should drift, I should blow + Near, more near, + To my dear +Where he comes through the snow. + +I should fly to my love +Like a flake in the storm, + I should die, + I should die, +On his lips that are warm. + + + + + Youth and the Pilgrim + + + +Gray pilgrim, you have journeyed far, + I pray you tell to me +Is there a land where Love is not, + By shore of any sea? + +For I am weary of the god, + And I would flee from him +Tho' I must take a ship and go + Beyond the ocean's rim. + +"I know a port where Love is not, + The ship is in your hand, +Then plunge your sword within your breast + And you will reach the land." + + + + + The Wanderer + + + +I saw the sunset-colored sands, + The Nile like flowing fire between, + Where Rameses stares forth serene, +And Ammon's heavy temple stands. + +I saw the rocks where long ago, + Above the sea that cries and breaks, + Bright Perseus with Medusa's snakes +Set free the maiden white like snow. + +And many skies have covered me, + And many winds have blown me forth, + And I have loved the green bright north, +And I have loved the cold sweet sea. + +But what to me are north and south, + And what the lure of many lands, + Since you have leaned to catch my hands +And lay a kiss upon my mouth. + + + + + I Would Live in Your Love + + + +I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea, +Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes; +I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me, +I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul + as it leads. + + + + + May + + + +The wind is tossing the lilacs, + The new leaves laugh in the sun, +And the petals fall on the orchard wall, + But for me the spring is done. + +Beneath the apple blossoms + I go a wintry way, +For love that smiled in April + Is false to me in May. + + + + + Rispetto + + + +Was that his step that sounded on the stair? + Was that his knock I heard upon the door? +I grow so tired I almost cease to care, + And yet I would that he might come once more. + +It was the wind I heard, that mocks at me, +The bitter wind that is more cruel than he; +It was the wind that knocked upon the door, +But he will never knock nor enter more. + + + + + Less than the Cloud to the Wind + + + +Less than the cloud to the wind, + Less than the foam to the sea, +Less than the rose to the storm + Am I to thee. + +More than the star to the night, + More than the rain to the lea, +More than heaven to earth + Art thou to me. + + + + + Buried Love + + + +I shall bury my weary Love + Beneath a tree, +In the forest tall and black + Where none can see. + +I shall put no flowers at his head, + Nor stone at his feet, +For the mouth I loved so much + Was bittersweet. + +I shall go no more to his grave, + For the woods are cold. +I shall gather as much of joy + As my hands can hold. + +I shall stay all day in the sun + Where the wide winds blow, +But oh, I shall weep at night + When none will know. + + + + + Song + + + +O woe is me, my heart is sad, + For I should never know +If Love came by like any lad, + Without his silver bow. + +Or if he left his arrows sharp + And came a minstrel weary, +I'd never tell him by his harp + Nor know him for my dearie. + +"O go your ways and have no fear, + For tho' Love passes by, +He'll come a hundred times, my dear, + Before your turn to die." + + + + + Pierrot + + + +Pierrot stands in the garden + Beneath a waning moon, +And on his lute he fashions + A little silver tune. + +Pierrot plays in the garden, + He thinks he plays for me, +But I am quite forgotten + Under the cherry tree. + +Pierrot plays in the garden, + And all the roses know +That Pierrot loves his music, + But I love Pierrot. + + + + + At Night + + + +Love said, "Wake still and think of me," + Sleep, "Close your eyes till break of day," +But Dreams came by and smilingly + Gave both to Love and Sleep their way. + + + + + Song + + + +When Love comes singing to his heart + That would not wake for me, +I think that I shall know his joy + By my own ecstasy. + +And tho' the sea were all between, + The time their hands shall meet, +My heart will know his happiness, + So wildly it will beat. + +And when he bends above her mouth, + Rejoicing for his sake, +My soul will sing a little song, + But oh, my heart will break. + + + + + Love in Autumn + + + +I sought among the drifting leaves, + The golden leaves that once were green, +To see if Love were hiding there + And peeping out between. + +For thro' the silver showers of May + And thro' the summer's heavy heat, +In vain I sought his golden head + And light, fast-flying feet. + +Perhaps when all the world is bare + And cruel winter holds the land, +The Love that finds no place to hide + Will run and catch my hand. + +I shall not care to have him then, + I shall be bitter and a-cold -- +It grows too late for frolicking + When all the world is old. + +Then little hiding Love, come forth, + Come forth before the autumn goes, +And let us seek thro' ruined paths + The garden's last red rose. + + + + + The Kiss + + + +I hoped that he would love me, + And he has kissed my mouth, +But I am like a stricken bird + That cannot reach the south. + +For tho' I know he loves me, + To-night my heart is sad; +His kiss was not so wonderful + As all the dreams I had. + + + + + November + + + +The world is tired, the year is old, + The little leaves are glad to die, +The wind goes shivering with cold + Among the rushes dry. + +Our love is dying like the grass, + And we who kissed grow coldly kind, +Half glad to see our poor love pass + Like leaves along the wind. + + + + + A Song of the Princess + + + +The princess has her lovers, + A score of knights has she, +And each can sing a madrigal, + And praise her gracefully. + +But Love that is so bitter + Hath put within her heart +A longing for the scornful knight + Who silent stands apart. + +And tho' the others praise and plead, + She maketh no reply, +Yet for a single word from him, + I ween that she would die. + + + + + The Wind + + + +A wind is blowing over my soul, + I hear it cry the whole night thro' -- +Is there no peace for me on earth + Except with you? + +Alas, the wind has made me wise, + Over my naked soul it blew, -- +There is no peace for me on earth + Even with you. + + + + + A Winter Night + + + +My window-pane is starred with frost, + The world is bitter cold to-night, +The moon is cruel and the wind + Is like a two-edged sword to smite. + +God pity all the homeless ones, + The beggars pacing to and fro. +God pity all the poor to-night + Who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow. + +My room is like a bit of June, + Warm and close-curtained fold on fold, +But somewhere, like a homeless child, + My heart is crying in the cold. + + + + + The Metropolitan Tower + + + +We walked together in the dusk + To watch the tower grow dimly white, +And saw it lift against the sky + Its flower of amber light. + +You talked of half a hundred things, + I kept each little word you said; +And when at last the hour was full, + I saw the light turn red. + +You did not know the time had come, + You did not see the sudden flower, +Nor know that in my heart Love's birth + Was reckoned from that hour. + + + + + Gramercy Park + + For W. P. + + + +The little park was filled with peace, + The walks were carpeted with snow, +But every iron gate was locked. + Lest if we entered, peace would go. + +We circled it a dozen times, + The wind was blowing from the sea, +I only felt your restless eyes + Whose love was like a cloak for me. + +Oh heavy gates that fate has locked + To bar the joy we may not win, +Peace would go out forevermore + If we should dare to enter in. + + + + + In the Metropolitan Museum + + + +Within the tiny Pantheon + We stood together silently, +Leaving the restless crowd awhile + As ships find shelter from the sea. + +The ancient centuries came back + To cover us a moment's space, +And thro' the dome the light was glad + Because it shone upon your face. + +Ah, not from Rome but farther still, + Beyond sun-smitten Salamis, +The moment took us, till you stooped + To find the present with a kiss. + + + + + Coney Island + + + +Why did you bring me here? +The sand is white with snow, +Over the wooden domes +The winter sea-winds blow -- +There is no shelter near, + Come, let us go. + +With foam of icy lace +The sea creeps up the sand, +The wind is like a hand +That strikes us in the face. +Doors that June set a-swing +Are bolted long ago; +We try them uselessly -- +Alas, there cannot be +For us a second spring; + Come, let us go. + + + + + Union Square + + + +With the man I love who loves me not, + I walked in the street-lamps' flare; +We watched the world go home that night + In a flood through Union Square. + +I leaned to catch the words he said + That were light as a snowflake falling; +Ah well that he never leaned to hear + The words my heart was calling. + +And on we walked and on we walked + Past the fiery lights of the picture shows -- +Where the girls with thirsty eyes go by + On the errand each man knows. + +And on we walked and on we walked, + At the door at last we said good-bye; +I knew by his smile he had not heard + My heart's unuttered cry. + +With the man I love who loves me not + I walked in the street-lamps' flare -- +But oh, the girls who can ask for love + In the lights of Union Square. + + + + + Central Park at Dusk + + + +Buildings above the leafless trees + Loom high as castles in a dream, +While one by one the lamps come out + To thread the twilight with a gleam. + +There is no sign of leaf or bud, + A hush is over everything -- +Silent as women wait for love, + The world is waiting for the spring. + + + + + Young Love + + + + I + +I cannot heed the words they say, + The lights grow far away and dim, +Amid the laughing men and maids + My eyes unbidden seek for him. + +I hope that when he smiles at me + He does not guess my joy and pain, +For if he did, he is too kind + To ever look my way again. + + + II + +I have a secret in my heart + No ears have ever heard, +And still it sings there day by day + Most like a caged bird. + +And when it beats against the bars, + I do not set it free, +For I am happier to know + It only sings for me. + + + III + +I wrote his name along the beach, + I love the letters so. +Far up it seemed and out of reach, + For still the tide was low. + +But oh, the sea came creeping up, + And washed the name away, +And on the sand where it had been + A bit of sea-grass lay. + +A bit of sea-grass on the sand, + Dropped from a mermaid's hair -- +Ah, had she come to kiss his name + And leave a token there? + + + IV + +What am I that he should love me, +He who stands so far above me, + What am I? +I am like a cowslip turning + Toward the sky, +Where a planet's golden burning +Breaks the cowslip's heart with yearning, +What am I that he should love me, + What am I? + + + V + +O dreams that flock about my sleep, + I pray you bring my love to me, +And let me think I hear his voice + Again ring free. + +And if you care to please me well, + And live to-morrow in my mind, +Let him who was so cold before, + To-night seem kind. + + + VI + +I plucked a daisy in the fields, + And there beneath the sun +I let its silver petals fall + One after one. + +I said, "He loves me, loves me not," + And oh, my heart beat fast, +The flower was kind, it let me say + "He loves me," last. + +I kissed the little leafless stem, + But oh, my poor heart knew +The words the flower had said to me, + They were not true. + + + VII + +I sent my love a letter, + And if he loves me not, +He shall not find my love for him + In any line or dot. + +But if he loves me truly, + He'll find it hidden deep, +As dawn gleams red thro' chilly clouds + To eyes awaked from sleep. + + + VIII + +The world is cold and gray and wet, +And I am heavy-hearted, yet +When I am home and look to see +The place my letters wait for me, +If I should find ONE letter there, +I think I should not greatly care +If it were rainy or were fair, +For all the world would suddenly +Seem like a festival to me. + + + IX + +I hid three words within my heart, + That longed to fly to him, +At dawn they woke me with a start, + They sang till day was dim. + +And now at last I let them fly, + As little birds should do, +And he will know the first is "I", + The others "Love" and "You". + + + X + +Across the twilight's violet + His curtained window glimmers gold; +Oh happy light that round my love + Can fold. + +Oh happy book within his hand, + Oh happy page he glorifies, +Oh happy little word beneath + His eyes. + +But oh, thrice happy, happy I + Who love him more than songs can tell, +For in the heaven of his heart + I dwell. + + + + + + +Sonnets and Lyrics + + + + + + + Primavera Mia + + + +As kings who see their little life-day pass, +Take off the heavy ermine and the crown, +So had the trees that autumn-time laid down +Their golden garments on the faded grass, +When I, who watched the seasons in the glass +Of mine own thoughts, saw all the autumn's brown +Leap into life and don a sunny gown +Of leafage such as happy April has. +Great spring came singing upward from the south; +For in my heart, far carried on the wind, +Your words like winged seeds took root and grew, +And all the world caught music from your mouth; +I saw the light as one who had been blind, +And knew my sun and song and spring were you. + + + + + Soul's Birth + + + +When you were born, beloved, was your soul +New made by God to match your body's flower, +And were they both at one same precious hour +Sent forth from heaven as a perfect whole? +Or had your soul since dim creation burned, +A star in some still region of the sky, +That leaping earthward, left its place on high +And to your little new-born body yearned? +No words can tell in what celestial hour +God made your soul and gave it mortal birth, +Nor in the disarray of all the stars +Is any place so sweet that such a flower +Might linger there until thro' heaven's bars, +It heard God's voice that bade it down to earth. + + + + + Love and Death + + + +Shall we, too, rise forgetful from our sleep, +And shall my soul that lies within your hand +Remember nothing, as the blowing sand +Forgets the palm where long blue shadows creep +When winds along the darkened desert sweep? +Or would it still remember, tho' it spanned +A thousand heavens, while the planets fanned +The vacant ether with their voices deep? +Soul of my soul, no word shall be forgot, +Nor yet alone, beloved, shall we see +The desolation of extinguished suns, +Nor fear the void wherethro' our planet runs, +For still together shall we go and not +Fare forth alone to front eternity. + + + + + For the Anniversary of John Keats' Death + + (February 23, 1821) + + + +At midnight when the moonlit cypress trees +Have woven round his grave a magic shade, +Still weeping the unfinished hymn he made, +There moves fresh Maia like a morning breeze +Blown over jonquil beds when warm rains cease. +And stooping where her poet's head is laid, +Selene weeps while all the tides are stayed +And swaying seas are darkened into peace. +But they who wake the meadows and the tides +Have hearts too kind to bid him wake from sleep +Who murmurs sometimes when his dreams are deep, +Startling the Quiet Land where he abides, +And charming still, sad-eyed Persephone +With visions of the sunny earth and sea. + + + + + Silence + + (To Eleonora Duse) + + + +We are anhungered after solitude, +Deep stillness pure of any speech or sound, +Soft quiet hovering over pools profound, +The silences that on the desert brood, +Above a windless hush of empty seas, +The broad unfurling banners of the dawn, +A faery forest where there sleeps a Faun; +Our souls are fain of solitudes like these. +O woman who divined our weariness, +And set the crown of silence on your art, +From what undreamed-of depth within your heart +Have you sent forth the hush that makes us free +To hear an instant, high above earth's stress, +The silent music of infinity? + + + + + The Return + + + +I turned the key and opened wide the door +To enter my deserted room again, +Where thro' the long hot months the dust had lain. +Was it not lonely when across the floor +No step was heard, no sudden song that bore +My whole heart upward with a joyous pain? +Were not the pictures and the volumes fain +To have me with them always as before? +But Giorgione's Venus did not deign +To lift her lids, nor did the subtle smile +Of Mona Lisa deepen. Madeleine +Still wept against the glory of her hair, +Nor did the lovers part their lips the while, +But kissed unheeding that I watched them there. + + + + + Fear + + + +I am afraid, oh I am so afraid! +The cold black fear is clutching me to-night +As long ago when they would take the light +And leave the little child who would have prayed, +Frozen and sleepless at the thought of death. +My heart that beats too fast will rest too soon; +I shall not know if it be night or noon, -- +Yet shall I struggle in the dark for breath? +Will no one fight the Terror for my sake, +The heavy darkness that no dawn will break? +How can they leave me in that dark alone, +Who loved the joy of light and warmth so much, +And thrilled so with the sense of sound and touch, -- +How can they shut me underneath a stone? + + + + + Anadyomene + + + +The wide, bright temple of the world I found, +And entered from the dizzy infinite +That I might kneel and worship thee in it; +Leaving the singing stars their ceaseless round +Of silver music sound on orbed sound, +For measured spaces where the shrines are lit, +And men with wisdom or with little wit +Implore the gods that mercy may abound. +Ah, Aphrodite, was it not from thee +My summons came across the endless spaces? +Mother of Love, turn not thy face from me +Now that I seek for thee in human faces; +Answer my prayer or set my spirit free +Again to drift along the starry places. + + + + + Galahad in the Castle of the Maidens + + (To the maiden with the hidden face in Abbey's painting) + + + +The other maidens raised their eyes to him +Who stumbled in before them when the fight +Had left him victor, with a victor's right. +I think his eyes with quick hot tears grew dim; +He scarcely saw her swaying white and slim, +And trembling slightly, dreaming of his might, +Nor knew he touched her hand, as strangely light +As a wan wraith's beside a river's rim. +The other maidens raised their eyes to see +And only she has hid her face away, +And yet I ween she loved him more than they, +And very fairly fashioned was her face. +Yet for Love's shame and sweet humility, +She dared not meet him with their queenlike grace. + + + + + To an Aeolian Harp + + + +The winds have grown articulate in thee, +And voiced again the wail of ancient woe +That smote upon the winds of long ago: +The cries of Trojan women as they flee, +The quivering moan of pale Andromache, +Now lifted loud with pain and now brought low. +It is the soul of sorrow that we know, +As in a shell the soul of all the sea. +So sometimes in the compass of a song, +Unknown to him who sings, thro' lips that live, +The voiceless dead of long-forgotten lands +Proclaim to us their heaviness and wrong +In sweeping sadness of the winds that give +Thy strings no rest from weariless wild hands. + + + + + To Erinna + + + +Was Time not harsh to you, or was he kind, +O pale Erinna of the perfect lyre, +That he has left no word of singing fire +Whereby you waked the dreaming Lesbian wind, +And kindled night along the lyric shore? +O girl whose lips Erato stooped to kiss, +Do you go sorrowing because of this +In fields where poets sing forevermore? +Or are you glad and is it best to be +A silent music men have never heard, +A dream in all our souls that we may say: +"Her voice had all the rapture of the sea, +And all the clear cool quiver of a bird +Deep in a forest at the break of day"? + + + + + To Cleis + + "I have a fair daughter with a form like a golden flower, + Cleis, the beloved." + Sapphic fragment. + + + +When the dusk was wet with dew, + Cleis, did the muses nine + Listen in a silent line +While your mother sang to you? + +Did they weep or did they smile + When she crooned to still your cries, + She, a muse in human guise, +Who forsook her lyre awhile? + +Did you feel her wild heart beat? + Did the warmth of all the sun + Thro' your little body run +When she kissed your hands and feet? + +Did your fingers, babywise, + Touch her face and touch her hair, + Did you think your mother fair, +Could you bear her burning eyes? + +Are the songs that soothed your fears + Vanished like a vanished flame, + Save the line where shines your name +Starlike down the graying years? + +Cleis speaks no word to me, + For the land where she has gone + Lieth mute at dusk and dawn +Like a windless tideless sea. + + + + + Paris in Spring + + + +The city's all a-shining + Beneath a fickle sun, +A gay young wind's a-blowing, + The little shower is done. +But the rain-drops still are clinging + And falling one by one -- +Oh it's Paris, it's Paris, + And spring-time has begun. + +I know the Bois is twinkling + In a sort of hazy sheen, +And down the Champs the gray old arch + Stands cold and still between. +But the walk is flecked with sunlight + Where the great acacias lean, +Oh it's Paris, it's Paris, + And the leaves are growing green. + +The sun's gone in, the sparkle's dead, + There falls a dash of rain, +But who would care when such an air + Comes blowing up the Seine? +And still Ninette sits sewing + Beside her window-pane, +When it's Paris, it's Paris, + And spring-time's come again. + + + + + Madeira from the Sea + + + +Out of the delicate dream of the distance an emerald emerges +Veiled in the violet folds of the air of the sea; +Softly the dream grows awakening -- shimmering white of a city, +Splashes of crimson, the gay bougainvillea, the palms. +High in the infinite blue of its heaven a quiet cloud lingers, +Lost and forgotten of winds that have fallen asleep, +Fallen asleep to the tune of a Portuguese song in a garden. + + + + + City Vignettes + + + + I + Dawn + +The greenish sky glows up in misty reds, + The purple shadows turn to brick and stone, +The dreams wear thin, men turn upon their beds, + And hear the milk-cart jangle by alone. + + + II + Dusk + +The city's street, a roaring blackened stream + Walled in by granite, thro' whose thousand eyes +A thousand yellow lights begin to gleam, + And over all the pale untroubled skies. + + + III + Rain at Night + +The street-lamps shine in a yellow line + Down the splashy, gleaming street, +And the rain is heard now loud now blurred + By the tread of homing feet. + + + + + By the Sea + + + +Beside an ebbing northern sea +While stars awaken one by one, +We walk together, I and he. + +He woos me with an easy grace +That proves him only half sincere; +A light smile flickers on his face. + +To him love-making is an art, +And as a flutist plays a flute, +So does he play upon his heart + +A music varied to his whim. +He has no use for love of mine, +He would not have me answer him. + +To hide my eyes within the night +I watch the changeful lighthouse gleam +Alternately with red and white. + +My laughter smites upon my ears, +So one who cries and wakes from sleep +Knows not it is himself he hears. + +What if my voice should let him know +The mocking words were all a sham, +And lips that laugh could tremble so? + +What if I lost the power to lie, +And he should only hear his name +In one low, broken cry? + + + + + On the Death of Swinburne + + + +He trod the earth but yesterday, +And now he treads the stars. + He left us in the April time + He praised so often in his rhyme, +He left the singing and the lyre and went his way. + +He drew new music from our tongue, +A music subtly wrought, + And moulded words to his desire, + As wind doth mould a wave of fire; +From strangely fashioned harps slow golden tones he wrung. + +I think the singing understands +That he who sang is still, + And Iseult cries that he is dead, -- + Does not Dolores bow her head +And Fragoletta weep and wring her little hands? + +New singing now the singer hears +To lyre and lute and harp; + Catullus waits to welcome him, + And thro' the twilight sweet and dim, +Sappho's forgotten songs are falling on his ears. + + + + + Triolets + + + + I + +Love looked back as he took his flight, + And lo, his eyes were filled with tears. +Was it for love of lost delight +Love looked back as he took his flight? +Only I know while day grew night, + Turning still to the vanished years, +Love looked back as he took his flight, + And lo, his eyes were filled with tears. + + + II + (Written in a copy of "La Vita Nuova". For M. C. S.) + +If you were Lady Beatrice + And I the Florentine, +I'd never waste my time like this -- +If you were Lady Beatrice +I'd woo and then demand a kiss, + Nor weep like Dante here, I ween, +If you were Lady Beatrice + And I the Florentine. + + + III + (Written in a copy of "The Poems of Sappho".) + +Beyond the dim Hesperides, + The girl who sang them long ago +Could never dream that over seas, +Beyond the dim Hesperides, +The wind would blow such songs as these -- + I wonder now if she can know, +Beyond the dim Hesperides, + The girl who sang them long ago? + + + IV + +Dead leaves upon the stream + And dead leaves on the air -- +All of my lost hopes seem +Dead leaves upon the stream; +I watch them in a dream, + Going I know not where, +Dead leaves upon the stream + And dead leaves on the air. + + + + + Vox Corporis + + + +The beast to the beast is calling, + And the soul bends down to wait; +Like the stealthy lord of the jungle, + The white man calls his mate. + +The beast to the beast is calling, + They rush through the twilight sweet, +But the soul is a wary hunter, + He will not let them meet. + + + + + A Ballad of Two Knights + + + +Two knights rode forth at early dawn + A-seeking maids to wed, +Said one, "My lady must be fair, + With gold hair on her head." + +Then spake the other knight-at-arms: + "I care not for her face, +But she I love must be a dove + For purity and grace." + +And each knight blew upon his horn + And went his separate way, +And each knight found a lady-love + Before the fall of day. + +But she was brown who should have had + The shining yellow hair -- +I ween the knights forgot their words + Or else they ceased to care. + +For he who wanted purity + Brought home a wanton wild, +And when each saw the other knight + I ween that each knight smiled. + + + + + Christmas Carol + + + +The kings they came from out the south, + All dressed in ermine fine, +They bore Him gold and chrysoprase, + And gifts of precious wine. + +The shepherds came from out the north, + Their coats were brown and old, +They brought Him little new-born lambs -- + They had not any gold. + +The wise-men came from out the east, + And they were wrapped in white; +The star that led them all the way + Did glorify the night. + +The angels came from heaven high, + And they were clad with wings; +And lo, they brought a joyful song + The host of heaven sings. + +The kings they knocked upon the door, + The wise-men entered in, +The shepherds followed after them + To hear the song begin. + +And Mary held the little child + And sat upon the ground; +She looked up, she looked down, + She looked all around. + +The angels sang thro' all the night + Until the rising sun, +But little Jesus fell asleep + Before the song was done. + + + + + The Faery Forest + + + +The faery forest glimmered + Beneath an ivory moon, +The silver grasses shimmered + Against a faery tune. + +Beneath the silken silence + The crystal branches slept, +And dreaming thro' the dew-fall + The cold white blossoms wept. + + + + + A Fantasy + + + +Her voice is like clear water + That drips upon a stone +In forests far and silent + Where Quiet plays alone. + +Her thoughts are like the lotus + Abloom by sacred streams +Beneath the temple arches + Where Quiet sits and dreams. + +Her kisses are the roses + That glow while dusk is deep +In Persian garden closes + Where Quiet falls asleep. + + + + + A Minuet of Mozart's + + + +Across the dimly lighted room + The violin drew wefts of sound, + Airily they wove and wound +And glimmered gold against the gloom. + +I watched the music turn to light, + But at the pausing of the bow, + The web was broken and the glow +Was drowned within the wave of night. + + + + + Twilight + + + +Dreamily over the roofs + The cold spring rain is falling, +Out in the lonely tree + A bird is calling, calling. + +Slowly over the earth + The wings of night are falling; +My heart like the bird in the tree + Is calling, calling, calling. + + + + + The Prayer + + + +My answered prayer came up to me, + And in the silence thus spake he: +"O you who prayed for me to come, + Your greeting is but cold and dumb." + +My heart made answer: "You are fair, + But I have prayed too long to care. +Why came you not when all was new, + And I had died for joy of you." + + + + + Two Songs for a Child + + + + I + Grandfather's Love + +They said he sent his love to me, + They wouldn't put it in my hand, +And when I asked them where it was + They said I couldn't understand. + +I thought they must have hidden it, + I hunted for it all the day, +And when I told them so at night + They smiled and turned their heads away. + +They say that love is something kind, + That I can never see or touch. +I wish he'd sent me something else, + I like his cough-drops twice as much. + + + II + The Kind Moon + +I think the moon is very kind + To take such trouble just for me. +He came along with me from home + To keep me company. + +He went as fast as I could run; + I wonder how he crossed the sky? +I'm sure he hasn't legs and feet + Or any wings to fly. + +Yet here he is above their roof; + Perhaps he thinks it isn't right +For me to go so far alone, + Tho' mother said I might. + + + + + + +On the Tower + + + + + + + Under the leaf of many a Fable lies the Truth for those who look for it. + Jami. + + + + + + +On the Tower + +(A play in one act.) + + + +The Knight. +The Lady. + +Voices of men and women on the ground at the foot of the tower. +The voice of the Knight's Page. + + + + The top of a high battlemented tower of a castle. A stone ledge, + which serves as a seat, extends part way around the parapet. + Small clouds float by in the blue sky, and occasionally a swallow passes. + Entrance R. from an unseen stairway which is supposed to extend around + the outside of the tower. + + +The Lady (unseen). + Oh do not climb so fast, for I am faint + With looking down the tower to where the earth + Lies dreaming in the sun. I fear to fall. + +The Knight (unseen). + Lean on me, love, my love, and look not down. + +L. + Call me not "love", call me your conquered foe, + That now, since you have battered down her gates, + Gives you the keys that lock the highest tower + And mounts with you to prove her homage true; + Oh bid me go no farther lest I fall, + My foot has slipped upon the rain-worn stones, + Why are the stairs so narrow and so steep? + Let us go back, my lord. + +K. + Are you afraid, + Who were so dauntless till the walls gave way? + Courage, my sweet. I would that I could climb + A thousand times by wind-swept stairs like these, + That lead so near to heaven. + +L. + Sir, you may, + You are a knight and very valorous; + I am a woman. I shall never come + This way but once. + (The Knight and the Lady appear on the top of the tower.) + +K. + Kiss me at last, my love. + +L. + Oh, my sweet lord, I am too tired to kiss. + Look how the earth is like an emerald, + With rivers veined and flawed with fallow fields. + +K. (Lifting her veil) + Then I kiss you, a thousand thousand kisses + For all the days ere I had won to you + Beyond the walls and gates you barred so close. + Call me at last your love, your castle's lord. + +L. (After a pause) + I love you. + + (She kisses him. Her veil blows away like a white butterfly + over the parapet. Faint cries and laughter from men and women + under the tower.) + +Men and Women. + The veil, the lady's veil! + + (The knight takes the lady in his arms.) + +L. + My lord, I pray you loose me from your arms + Lest that my people see how much we love. + +K. + May they not see us? All of them have loved. + +L. + But you have been an enemy, my lord, + With walls between us and with moss-grown moats, + Now on a sudden must I kiss your mouth? + I who was taught before I learned to speak + That all my house was hostile unto yours, + Now can I put my head against your breast + Here in the sight of all who choose to come? + +K. + Are we not past the caring for their eyes + And nearer to the heaven than to earth? + Look up and see. + +L. + I only see your face. + + (She touches his hair with her hands. Murmuring under the tower.) + +K. + Why came we here in all the noon-day light + With only darting swallows over us + To make a speck of darkness on the sun? + Let us go down where walls will shut us round. + Your castle has a hundred quiet halls, + A hundred chambers, where the shadows lie + On things put by, forgotten long ago. + Forgotten lutes with strings that Time has slackened, + We two shall draw them close and bid them sing -- + Forgotten games, forgotten books still open + Where you had laid them by at vesper-time, + And your embroidery, whereon half-worked + Weeps Amor wounded by a rose's thorn. + Shall I not see the room in which you slept, + Palpitant still and breathing of your thoughts, + Where maiden dreams adown the ways of sleep + Swept noiselessly with damosels and knights + To tourneys where the trumpet made no sound, + Blow as he might, the scarlet trumpeter, + And were the dreams not sometimes brimmed with tears + That waked you when the night was loneliest? + Will you not bring me to your oratory + Where prayers arose like little birds set free + Still upward, upward without sound of flight? + Shall I not find your turrets toward the north, + Where you defied white winter armed for war; + Your southern casements where the sun blows in + Between the leaf-bent boughs the wind has lifted? + Shall we not see the sunrise toward the east, + Watch dawn by dawn the rose of day unfolding + Its golden-hearted beauty sovereignly; + And toward the west look quietly at evening? + Shall I not see all these and all your treasures? + In carven coffers hidden in the dark + Have you not laid a sapphire lit with flame + And amethysts set round with deep-wrought gold, + Perhaps a ruby? + +L. + All my gems are yours + And all my chambers curtained from the sun. + My lord shall see them all, in time, in time. + + + (The sun begins to sink.) + +K. + Shall I not see them now? To-day, to-night? + +L. + How could I show you in one day, my lord, + My castle and my treasures and my tower? + Let all the days to come suffice for this + Since all the past days made them what they are. + You will not be impatient, my sweet lord. + Some of the halls have long been locked and barred, + And some have secret doors and hard to find + Till suddenly you touch them unawares, + And down a sable way runs silver light. + We two will search together for the keys, + But not to-day. Let us sit here to-day, + Since all is yours and always will be yours. + + (The stars appear faintly one by one.) + +K. (After a pause.) + I grow a little drowsy with the dusk. + +L. (Singing.) + There was a man that loved a maid, + (Sleep and take your rest) + Over her lips his kiss was laid, + Over her heart, his breast. + + (The knight sleeps.) + + All of his vows were sweet to hear, + Sweet was his kiss to take; + Why was her breast so quick to fear, + Why was her heart, to break? + + Why was the man so glad to woo? + (Sleep and take your rest) + Why were the maiden's words so few ---- + + (She sees that he is asleep, and slipping off her long cloak-like + outer garment, she pillows his head upon it against the parapet, + and half kneeling at his feet she sings very softly:) + + I love you, I love you, I love you, + I am the flower at your feet, + The birds and the stars are above you, + My place is more sweet. + + The birds and the stars are above you, + They envy the flower in the grass, + For I, only I, while I love you + Can die as you pass. + + (Light clouds veil the stars, growing denser constantly. + The castle bell rings for vespers, and rising, the lady moves + to a corner of the parapet and kneels there.) + +L. + Ave Maria! gratia plena, Dominus ---- + +Voice of the Page (from the foot of the tower.) + My lord, my lord, they call for you at court! + + (The knight wakes. It is now quite dark.) + + There is a tourney toward; your enemy + Has challenged you. My lord, make haste to come! + + (The knight rises and gropes his way toward the stairs.) + +K. + I will make haste. Await me where you are. + + (To himself.) + There was a lady on this tower with me ---- + + (He glances around hurriedly but does not see her in the darkness.) + +Page. + My lord has far to ride before the dawn! + +K. (To himself.) + Why should I tarry? + + (To the page.) + Bring my horse and shield! + + (He descends. As the noise of his footfall on the stairs dies away, + the lady gropes toward the stairway, then turns suddenly, and going to + the ledge where they have sat, she throws herself over the parapet.) + + +CURTAIN. + + + + + + +[End of Helen of Troy And Other Poems.] + + + + + + +Sara Teasdale + +Sara Teasdale was born in St. Louis, Missouri, where she attended a school +that was founded by the grandfather of another great poet from St. Louis -- +T. S. Eliot. She later associated herself more with New York City. +Her first book of poems was "Sonnets to Duse" (1907), +but "Helen of Troy" (1911) was the true launch of her career, +followed by "Rivers to the Sea" (1915), "Love Songs" (1917), +"Flame and Shadow" (1920) and more. Her final volume, "Strange Victory", +is considered by many to be predictive of her suicide. + +It is interesting to note that in Teasdale's Collected Works, +about half of the poems in this volume -- some more justly than others -- +have been excluded, and most of the rest have been slightly changed. +Most of the poems from this volume which were selected to be included +in "Love Songs" also had some minor changes. This edition preserves +the original readings, but they are not to be considered authoritative. + + + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Helen of Troy And Other Poems + + + + diff --git a/old/helen10.zip b/old/helen10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a1486cd --- /dev/null +++ b/old/helen10.zip |