Willow Pollen 10
This starlit road with its dark towering pines,
Its dust of misty pollen blown in cloud
From field to field, its silences, its shroud
Of clinging dark and all its trailing vines
White with moonshine and the priestly dew,
We shared. Tonight I travel it alone,--
Alone I go towards that glistening stone
Which marks your rest, my thought a prayer for you.
Singing the water rushes past your quiet grave
Beneath this little town whose ancient name
Suggests the fair collegiate dream and fame
Of Oxford and her clustered towers. With wave
The river winds a garland for your rest--
The woven sound of grieving without end.
To you I bring the memory of a friend
And lay these words on your remembered breast.
THE NEST
I
Oh, is there room at your feet, dear one?
And is there room at your side?
And can you hear the sound of my breath
And sorrow that cries like a tide?
II
Oh, may I take your hand, dear one,
As the nest enfolds the bird,
Lie close to your heart and breast to breast
And never a spoken word?
III
What then if the stars be gone, dear one,
What then if the wind be still,
And words that we spoke long years ago
Drift pale and faint and chill?
IV
Our dust shall be warmed by the sun, dear one,
Our grief shall fade with the snow;
And mingled in spring by sun and rain
Our love to a flower blow.
V
Oh, is there room at your feet, dear one?
And is there room at your side?
And can you hear the sound of my breath
And sorrow that cries like a tide?
LOST LOVE
You have her mouth of grief,--
Your parted lips half-shape a moan;
You have her brow branded with memory;
You have her downcast eyes
Brooding like doves above the body’s need;
You have her heart of love
Where music flows
And sorrows nurse.
O Voice of all lost love and agony,
Cecilia, Saint,
We beg the healing of your breast,
Music at our lips
And sleep!
“WHEN SPRING”
A BALLAD OF LOVE
I
When spring was in her heart beat,
Her lover came from sea;
She gave him passion’s lily cup,
He gave her thistles three.
II
When spring was in her heart beat,
He filled their lily cup
With bitter dew and star dust
And frozen spray to sup.
III
When spring was in her heart beat,
He snared the only star
Still racing on her dream path:
Now other thistles are!
IV
He said a little tinsel
Would serve her last journee,
And nailed a glittering handful
Upon a willow tree.
V
Now death drags at her heart beat
She sees gray branches weep;
They drip but ashen starlight,
Singing, “Sleep! Sleep! Sleep!”
TWO CANDLES
TO MY MOTHER AT FLEUR DE LYS
I
Two candles place I at her feet,
Two candles at her head;
These are the gifts that I would bring
To my Belovèd Dead.
II
I sought the violet of her eyes,
Her eyes were closed in sleep;
My love was trembling like a child
And could not even weep.
III
I clad her in a purple shroud,
Some said it should be white;
I said, “The passion of her eyes
Found peace in candlelight!”
IV
Sometimes I see her ash-gold hair
Shimmer within the night;
Sometimes I feel her violet eyes
Searching for candlelight.
V
Sometimes I hear her drifting feet
That seek from door to door,
Guided by star and blowing wind,
Dream-shod forevermore.
VI
When will she come again to me
Led by the wind and star?
She need not even call my name,
I could not wander far.
VII
Two candles place I at her feet,
Two candles at her head:
Remembrance and Oblivion
Enfold my lonely dead.
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