I give you this, the bitter and the sweet. It holds my heart, can you not hear it beat? So poor a gift to put within your hand— Apples and Herbs!—but you will understand.
TO NEIGHBOR LIFE
Neighbor Life, I love you well, Have you any goods to sell? Let me buy or let me borrow Joy, to tide me o'er the morrow; I will give you in exchange Baskets full of thoughts that range, Bright utensils of my brain; Coins of feeling you shall gain. All I ask in equal measure Is your store of joy and pleasure. Neighbor Life, I love you well, Have you any joy to sell?
THE UNBURIED
In the wood the dead trees stand, Dead and living, hand to hand, Being Winter, who can tell Which is sick and which is well? Standing upright, day by day Sullenly their hearts decay Till a wise wind lays them low, Prostrate, empty, then we know.
So thro' forests of the street, Men stand dead upon their feet, Corpses without epitaph; God withholds his wind of wrath, So we greet them, and they smile, Dead and doomed a weary while, Only sometimes thro' their eyes We can see the worm that plies.
UP A LITTLE ROAD
Up a little road with the morning in my arms, Drenched with dew and tipsy with the madness of the May, Leafy fingers on my face, I stop not for your charms! Love is waiting round the turn, to be my Love to-day.
Shouting as I ride on the springing ringing sod, Ah! my pony knows the goal to which his course is laid, Galloping thro' dawn he knows he bears a little god Bacchus-mad with happiness who burns to meet his maid.
ON CEDAR STREET, NEW YORK
I, whose totem was a tree In the days when earth was new, Joyous leafy ancestry Known of twilight and of dew, Now within this iron wall Slave of tasks that irk the soul, To my parents send one call— That they give me of their dole.
Thro' the roar of alien sound Grimy noise of work-a-day, Secretly a voice, half drowned, Whispers thro' the evening's grey, "Child, we know the path you tread, Ghost and manes, we are true; Cedar spirits, long since dead, Calm and sweet abide with you."
CHE SARÀ SARÀ
Deep as the permanent earth is deep, Fierce as its central fire, Man is his own conclusion, Woman her great desire.
THE DEAD WANTON
She was so light, so frail a thing, She had no wisdom but her face, Which caught men's fancy like the Spring Yet held them but a moment's space.
She is the youngest of the dead, And so the great lean round her feet; They strive to learn from her fair head Why far-forgotten life was sweet.
For now she knows what Plato knows, And lapped in languor she agrees With Kant, and as her soft hair blows, Smiling, she flouts Demosthenes.
LEAVEN
Others furnish bread and meat, Busy hucksters on the street, They will give you what you need, All the facts your life to feed.
Mine are not these wares of earth, I can give my love but mirth; Let, oh let this part be mine, I would be your salt and wine.
QUAERITUR
What if to-day, when I have made so sure That love is utterly and wholly mine, What if I found that faith should not endure And all my trust in you I should resign;
That when I send my thoughts like homing birds To your dear heart they find no resting place, But all misunderstood, far, foreign words, They die away like strangers at your face.
Love, make me certain, make the circuit true, And when I wonder, give the faith I seek Perfectly trusting, let me end in you Heart against heart, and cheek upon your cheek.
LOVE LAND
Where is El Dorado? Where is bright Cathay? These are lands where we should go To live and love to-day.
Miles of glistening beaches Over all the sun, Tropic, spicy-laden breeze To lull when day is done.
Gypsy lass and lover With the tides we'd rove; We be natives of no land Save the land of love.
BY THE WESTERN GATE
You and you only!—By the Western gate That fronts the falling sun I shade my face And watch for you. As one who's lost the race Tries to demand no further gift from Fate Lest he be hurled more low, so I, who wait And want you, ask no pity of your grace On my defeat, I only long to trace My lost heart; come to me, my need is great.
I see the young men with their crystal eyes, They stand about my door, their hearts, I know Are breaking in the poppies that they bring. I cannot love them for I am not wise; Ah, come, or else forever let me go, I grow so tired with waiting in the Spring.