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anthology of massachusetts poets-第7章

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A saint like you must have his will;

But for myself I'd rather be

The common sinner that you see

Than make a crane ashamed of me;

And angels talk such idiocy。



E。 J。 V。  HUIGINN





MISS DOANE



MISS Doane was sixty; probably;

She rented third floor room

That opened on an airshaft full

Of cooking smells and gloom。



She worked in philanthropic man's

Well…known department store;

Cashiered in basement; hot and close;

For forty years or more。



Each night when she came home she'd stand

A moment in the hall;

Before she went into her room

With low and tender call。



And often I would hear her voice

Repeat a childish prayer;

Or read some old; old fairy tale

Of Princess; grand and fair。



One night I went to visit her

And spied; in little chair

A great wax doll; in dainty dress;

And curls of flaxen hair。



I praised the doll; its prettiness;

Miss Doane said; 〃I'm alone。

She comforts me。 I wanted so

A child to call my own。〃





Each night I heard her softly sing

A childish lullaby;

But once; and just before she died;

I heard her cry and cry!



WINIFRED VIRGINIA JACKSON





FALLEN FENCES



THE woods grew dark; black shadows

rocked

And I could scarcely see

My way along the old tote road;

That long had seemed to me



To wind on aimlessly; but now

Came full to life; the rain

Would soon strike down; ahead I saw

A clearing; and a lane



Between gray; fallen fences and

Wide; grayer; grim stone walls;

So grim and gray I shrank from thought

Of weary; aching spalles。



On stony knoll great aspens swayed

And swung in browsing teeth

Of wind; slim; silvered yearlings shook

And shivered underneath。

Beyond; some ancient oak trees bent

And wrangled over roof

Of weatherbeaten house; and barn

Whose sag bespoke no hoof。



And ivy crawled up either end

Of house; to chimney; where

It lashed in futile anger at

The wind wolves of the air。



I thought the house abandoned; and

I ran to get inside;

When suddenly the old front door

was opened and flung wide



And she stood there; with hand on knob;

As I went swiftly in;

Then closed the door most softly on

The storm and shrieking din。



A space I stood and looked at her;

So young; 'twas passing strange

That fifty years or more had gone

And brought no new style's change。



The sweetness; daintiness of her

In starched and dotted gown

Of creamy whiteness; over hoops;

With ruffles winding down!



We had not much to say; and yet

Of words I felt no lack;

Her smiles slipped into dimples; stopped

A moment; then dropped back。



I felt her pride of race; her taste

In silken rug and chair;

And quaintly fashioned furniture

Of patterns old and rare。



On window sill a rose bush stood;

'Twas bringing rose to bud;

One full bloomed there but yesterday;

Dropped petals; red as blood。



Quite soon; she asked to be excused

For just a moment; and

Went out; returning with a tray

In either slender hand。



My glance could not but linger on

Each thin and lovely cup;

〃This came; dear thing; from home!〃 she

sighed

The while she raised it up。



And when the storm was done and I

Arose; reluctantly

To go; she too was loath to have

Me go; it seemed to me。



When I reached old Joe Webber's place;

Upon the Corner Road;

I went into the Upper Field

Where Joe; round…shouldered; hoed



Potatoes; culling them with hoe

And practised; calloused hand;

In rounded piles that brownly glowed

Upon the fresh…turned land。



〃Say; Joe;〃 I said; 〃who is that girl

With beauty's smiling charm;

That lives beyond that hemlock growth;

On that old grown…up farm?〃



Joe listened; while I told him where

I'd been that afternoon;

Then straightened from his hoe; and hummed;

Before he spoke; a tune

〃They cum ter thet old place ter live

Some sixty years ago;

Jest where they cum from; who they ware;

Wy; no one got to know。



〃An' then; one day; he hired Hen's

Red racker an' the gig;

We never heard from him nor could

We track the hoss or rig。



〃Hen waited 'bout a week; an' then

He went ter see the Wife;

He found her in thet settin' room:

She'd taken of her life。



〃An' no one's lived in thet house sence;

Some say 'tis haunted;…but

I ain't no use fer foolishness;

So all I say's tut! tut!〃



WINIFRED VIRGINIA JACKSON





CROSS…CURRENTS



THEY wrapped my soul in eiderdown;

They placed me warm and snug

In carved chair; set me with care

Upon an old prayer rug。



They cased my feet in golden shoes

That hurt at toe and heel;

My restless feet; with youth all fleet;

Nor asked how they might feel。



And now they wonder where I am;

And search with shrill; cold cry;

But I crouch low where tall reeds grow;

And smile as they pass by!



WINIFRED VIRGINIA JACKSON



THE FAREWELL



WHAT is more beautiful

Than thought; soul…fed;

That I may be the crimson of a rose

When dead?



My soul; so light a joy

And grief will be;

That it will gently press the brown earth down

On me。



WINIFRED VIRGINIA JACKSON





SONG



LET me be great; as stars are great;

Singing of love; not of hate。



Love for sweet and simple things;

Like clouds and sea…shell whisperings;



Cool autumn winds; pale dew…kissed flowers;

Thin coils of smoke and granite towers;



Snow…capped mountain peaks that flash

High above a river's crash;



Shrill songs of birds and children's laughter;

Soft grey shadows trailing after



Sunbeam sprites that seek the woods

And lose themselves in solitudes。



All these I'll love; never hate;

And loving them; I will be great。



OLIVER JENKINS







LOVE AUTUMNAL



MY love will come in autumn…time

When leaves go spinning to the ground

And wistful stars in heaven chime

With the leaves' sound。



Then; we shall walk through dusty lanes

And pause beneath low…hanging boughs;

And there; while soft…hued beauty reigns

We'll make our vows。



Let others seek in spring for sighs

When love flames forth from every seed;

But love that blooms when nature dies

Is love indeed!



OLIVER JENKINS





ECHOS



TRAVELING at dusk the noisy city street;

I listened to the newsboys' strident cries

Of 〃Extra;〃 as with flying feet;

They strove to gain this man or that…their prize。

But one there was with neither shout nor stride;

And; having bought from him; I stood nearby;

Pondering the cruel crutches at his side;

Blaming the crowd's neglect; and wondering why…



When suddenly I heard a gruff voice greet

The cripple with 〃On time to…night?〃

Then; as he handed out the sheet;

The Youngster's answer…〃You're all right。

My other reg'lars are a little late。

They'll find I'm short one paper when they come;

You see; a strange guy bought one in the wait;

I tho't 'twould cheer him up…he looked so glum!〃



So; sheepishly I laughed; and went my way

For I had found a city's heart that day。



RUTH LAMBERT JONES





WAR PICTURES



〃GERMAN Retreat From Arras〃

〃Official Films〃…they came

After 〃Corinne and Her Minstrels〃

Had ministered to fame。



After 〃Corinne and Her Minstrels〃

Had pigeon…toed away;

We saw where bits of churches

And bits of horses lay。



We saw bleak desolation;

We saw no unscathed tree。

We shivered in our comfort

And murmured: 〃Can it be!〃



But later; walking homeward;

Repeating: 〃Is it true?〃

We brushed a khaki shoulder

And asked no more。  We knew!



RUTH LAMBERT JONES





AN OLD SONG



WHEN I was but a young lad;

And that is long ago;

I thought that luck loved every man;

And time his only foe;

And love was like a hawthorn bush

That blossomed every May;

And had but to choose his flower;

For that's the young lad's way。



Oh; youth's a thriftless squanderer;

It's easy come and spent;

And heavy is the going now

Where once the light foot went。

The hawthorn bush puts on its white;

The throstle whistles clear;

But Spring comes once for every man

Just once in all the year。



ARTHUR KETCHUM





ROADSIDE REST



SUCH quiet sleep has come to them!

The Springs and Autumns pass;

Nor do they know if it be snow

Or daisies in the grass。



All day the birches bend to hear

The river's undertone;

Across the hush a fluting thrush

Sings even…song alone。



But down their dream there drifts no sound;

The winds may sob and stir:

On the still breast of Peace they rest

And they are glad of her。



They ask not any giftthey mind

Nor any foot that fares;

Unheededly life passes by…

Such quiet sleep is theirs。



ARTHUR KETCHUM





OLD LIZETTE ON SLEEP



BED is the boon for me!

It's well to bake and sweep;

But hear the word of old Lizette:

It's better than all to sleep。



Summer and flowers a
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