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Only my heart； only my heart responds。
Yet； ah； my path is sweet on either side
All through the dragging day；sharp underfoot
And hot； and like dead mist the dry dust hangs
But far； oh； far as passionate eye can reach；
And long； ah； long as rapturous eye can cling；
The world is mine： blue hill； still silver lake；
Broad field； bright flower； and the long white road
A gateless garden； and an open path：
My feet to follow； and my heart to hold。
EEL…GRASS
No matter what I say；
All that I really love
Is the rain that flattens on the bay；
And the eel…grass in the cove；
The jingle…shells that lie and bleach
At the tide…line； and the trace
Of higher tides along the beach：
Nothing in this place。
ELEGY BEFORE DEATH
There will be rose and rhododendron
When you are dead and under ground；
Still will be heard from white syringas
Heavy with bees； a sunny sound；
Still will the tamaracks be raining
After the rain has ceased； and still
Will there be robins in the stubble；
Brown sheep upon the warm green hill。
Spring will not ail nor autumn falter；
Nothing will know that you are gone；
Saving alone some sullen plough…land
None but yourself sets foot upon；
Saving the may…weed and the pig…weed
Nothing will know that you are dead；
These； and perhaps a useless wagon
Standing beside some tumbled shed。
Oh； there will pass with your great passing
Little of beauty not your own；
Only the light from common water；
Only the grace from simple stone！
THE BEAN…STALK
Ho； Giant！ This is I！
I have built me a bean…stalk into your sky！
La；but it's lovely； up so high！
This is how I came；I put
Here my knee； there my foot；
Up and up； from shoot to shoot
And the blessed bean…stalk thinning
Like the mischief all the time；
Till it took me rocking； spinning；
In a dizzy； sunny circle；
Making angles with the root；
Far and out above the cackle
Of the city I was born in；
Till the little dirty city
In the light so sheer and sunny
Shone as dazzling bright and pretty
As the money that you find
In a dream of finding money
What a wind！ What a morning！
Till the tiny； shiny city；
When I shot a glance below；
Shaken with a giddy laughter；
Sick and blissfully afraid；
Was a dew…drop on a blade；
And a pair of moments after
Was the whirling guess I made；
And the wind was like a whip
Cracking past my icy ears；
And my hair stood out behind；
And my eyes were full of tears；
Wide…open and cold；
More tears than they could hold；
The wind was blowing so；
And my teeth were in a row；
Dry and grinning；
And I felt my foot slip；
And I scratched the wind and whined；
And I clutched the stalk and jabbered；
With my eyes shut blind；
What a wind！ What a wind！
Your broad sky； Giant；
Is the shelf of a cupboard；
I make bean…stalks； I'm
A builder； like yourself；
But bean…stalks is my trade；
I couldn't make a shelf；
Don't know how they're made；
Now； a bean…stalk is more pliant
La； what a climb！
WEEDS
White with daisies and red with sorrel
And empty； empty under the sky！
Life is a quest and love a quarrel
Here is a place for me to lie。
Daisies spring from damned seeds；
And this red fire that here I see
Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds；
Cursed by farmers thriftily。
But here； unhated for an hour；
The sorrel runs in ragged flame；
The daisy stands； a bastard flower；
Like flowers that bear an honest name。
And here a while； where no wind brings
The baying of a pack athirst；
May sleep the sleep of blessed things；
The blood too bright； the brow accurst。
PASSER MORTUUS EST
Death devours all lovely things；
Lesbia with her sparrow
Shares the darkness；presently
Every bed is narrow。
Unremembered as old rain
Dries the sheer libation；
And the little petulant hand
Is an annotation。
After all； my erstwhile dear；
My no longer cherished；
Need we say it was not love；
Now that love is perished？
PASTORAL
If it were only still！
With far away the shrill
Crying of a cock；
Or the shaken bell
From a cow's throat
Moving through the bushes；
Or the soft shock
Of wizened apples falling
From an old tree
In a forgotten orchard
Upon the hilly rock！
Oh； grey hill；
Where the grazing herd
Licks the purple blossom；
Crops the spiky weed！
Oh； stony pasture；
Where the tall mullein
Stands up so sturdy
On its little seed！
ASSAULT
I
I had forgotten how the frogs must sound
After a year of silence； else I think
I should not so have ventured forth alone
At dusk upon this unfrequented road。
II
I am waylaid by Beauty。 Who will walk
Between me and the crying of the frogs？
Oh； savage Beauty； suffer me to pass；
That am a timid woman； on her way
From one house to another！
TRAVEL
The railroad track is miles away；
And the day is loud with voices speaking；
Yet there isn't a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking。
All night there isn't a train goes by；
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming
But I see its cinders red on the sky；
And hear its engine steaming。
My heart is warm with the friends I make；
And better friends I'll not be knowing；
Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take；
No matter where it's going。
LOW…TIDE
These wet rocks where the tide has been；
Barnacled white and weeded brown
And slimed beneath to a beautiful green；
These wet rocks where the tide went down
Will show again when the tide is high
Faint and perilous； far from shore；
No place to dream； but a place to die；
The bottom of the sea once more。
There was a child that wandered through
A giant's empty house all day；
House full of wonderful things and new；
But no fit place for a child to play。
SONG OF A SECOND APRIL
April this year； not otherwise
Than April of a year ago；
Is full of whispers； full of sighs；
Of dazzling mud and dingy snow；
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again； and butterflies。
There rings a hammering all day；
And shingles lie about the doors；
In orchards near and far away
The grey wood…pecker taps and bores；
The men are merry at their chores；
And children earnest at their play。
The larger streams run still and deep；
Noisy and swift the small brooks run
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun；
Pensively；only you are gone；
You that alone I cared to keep。
ROSEMARY
For the sake of some things
That be now no more
I will strew rushes
On my chamber…floor；
I will plant bergamot
At my kitchen…door。
For the sake of dim things
That were once so plain
I will set a barrel
Out to catch the rain；
I will hang an iron pot
On an iron crane。
Many things be dead and gone
That were brave and gay；
For the sake of these things
I will learn to say；
〃An it please you； gentle sirs；〃
〃Alack！〃 and 〃Well…a…day！〃
THE POET AND HIS BOOK
Down； you mongrel； Death！
Back into your kennel！
I have stolen breath
In a stalk of fennel！
You shall scratch and you shall whine
Many a night； and you shall worry
Many a bone； before you bury
One sweet bone of mine！
When shall I be dead？
When my flesh is withered；
And above my head
Yellow pollen gathered
All the empty afternoon？
When sweet lovers pause and wonder
Who am I that lie thereunder；
Hidden from the moon？
This my personal death？
That lungs be failing
To inhale the breath
Others are exhaling？
This my subtle spirit's end？
Ah； when the thawed winter splashes
Over these chance dust and ashes；
Weep not me； my friend！
Me； by no means dead
In that hour； but surely
When this book； unread；
Rots to earth obscurely；
And no more to any breast；
Close against the clamorous swelling
Of the thing there is no telling；
Are these pages pressed！
When this book is mould；
And a book of many
Waiting to be sold
For a casual penny；
In a little open case；
In a street unclean and cluttered；
Where a heavy mud is spattered
From the passing drays；
Stranger； pause and look；
From the dust of ages
Lift this little book；
Turn the tattered pages；
Read me； do not let me die！
Search the fading letters； finding
Steadfast in the broken binding
All that once was I！
When these veins are weeds；
When these hollowed sockets
Watch the rooty seeds
Bursting down like rockets；
And surmise the spring again；
Or； remote in that black cupboard；
Watch the pink worms writhing upward
At the smell of rain；