Chapter 2
Where do your flocks graze, gentlemen? Are there no sheep or shepherds any more? All day long I sought the flocks And came by night to a wide, grassy place, Where I could sit and watch the stars wheel by-- And in the morning some one brought me here.
La Felice
La Felice, by the forest pond looks through leaves to the Western screen of Chinese gold that lies beyond black trees and boughs of golden-green.
The little body of La Felice weary of everything on earth has passed from love to love, till peace and beauty alone have any worth.
So still and deep the water lies, so fiery-cool, so yellow-clear; Here beauty sleeps! La Felice cries, I will give myself to beauty here!"
The mud is smooth and deep, the weeds beneath her feet are soft and cool, ripples widen and glistening beads of bubble rise on the forest pool.
The water reaches to her knee, now to her thigh, now to her breast, till like a child all peacefully does La Felice lie down to rest.
She struggles like a fearful bride with ecstasy--then La Felice turns quietly upon her side and over the sunset pool is peace.
The Journey
Three women walked through the snow Beneath an empty sky, And one was blind, and one was old, And one was I.
Bravely the Blind One led, I questioned from behind "Tell me, where do we go?" She said "Have courage... I am blind!"
We came at last to a cliff, The Blind One plunged, and was gone-- I looked behind me, stark and stiff The Old One stood in the dawn.
The deep crevasse was black Beneath the dawning day, I could not turn and travel back, The Old One barred the way.
I could not turn aside, (To lead, one dare not see) I think that day I must have died Such silence is in me.
The Last Illusion
Along the twilight road I met three women, And they were neither old nor very young; In her hands each bore what she most cherished, For they were neither rich, nor very poor.
In the hands of the first woman I saw white ashes in an urn, In the hands of the next woman I saw a tarnished mirror gleam, In the hands of the last woman I saw a heavy, jagged stone--
Along the twilight road I met three women, And they were neither fools nor very wise, For each was troubled lest another covet Her precious burden--so they walked alone.
The Desert
Through dusty years, and drearily, Two lovers rode across a desert hill While patient love followed them wearily Through the long, sultry day... But when night came, the desert had its way, Turning, they found love cold and still.
It lay so pitiful a thing, Threadbare, and soiled, and worn-- "Why have we kept such starveling love?" she cried, "Was it worth treasuring?" And he replied: "Bury it then! I shall not mourn!"
The wind came from the West, It seemed to blow Across a million graves to the sordid bier Where lay their love. She said: "We will bury it here!" They laid it low, They rode on, dispossessed.
And all around Rose silent hills against the darkening sky, Wave upon motionless wave. The night wind made a mournful sound. The woman turned: "It is lonely here! I am afraid!" she said. He made reply: "What is there left to lose or save? What is there left to fear? Our hearts are empty. Have we not buried our dead?" She said, "I fear the empty dark, be kind!" He said, "I am still here, be comforted!"
Then from its shallow grave Their love rose up and followed close behind.
The Picnic
Here they come, in pairs, carrying baskets, Pale clerks with brilliant neckties, and cheap serge suits, Steering girls by the arm, clerks, too, Pretty and slim and smart, Even to yellow kid boots, laced up behind.
They take the electric cars far into the country, They descend, gaily chattering, at the Amusement Park. Under the trees they eat the lunch they have carried-- Salad, sausages, sandwiches, candy, warm beer. They ride in the roller-coaster, two in a seat, (Glorious danger! Warm, delicious proximity!) The unaccustomed beer floods their veins like heady wine, And smothered youth awakens with shrill screams of joy.
The sun sets, and evening is drowned in electric lights; Arm-in-arm, they wander under the trees Everywhere meeting others, wandering arm-in-arm In the same wistful wonder, seeking they know not what.
Two leave the park and the crowds--The stars shine out, A river runs at their feet, behind them, a leafy copse, Away on the other shore, the fields of grain Lie sleeping peacefully in the starlight. Tonight the world is theirs, a legacy From those who lived familiar friends with river, field and forest-- Their forebears.
Through the night, the same earth-magic moves them Which swayed those ancient ones, long-dead-- And these, too, lean and drink, Drink deeply from the river, the flowing river of life.
Slowly they return to the crowds and the brilliant lights, Dazzled, they look aside, silently climb on the cars. They cling to the swaying straps, weary, inert, confused. The lurching ear makes halt--they are thrown in each others' arms-- Alien and unmoved, they sway apart again-- The car moves through the fields and suburbs back to the town.
They leave the car in pairs, the picnic basket's Rattling dismally, plate and spoon and jar. The boy takes his girl to her lodgings in awkward silence.
They look askance--"Good-night!"--the front door closes, Indeed their eyes have not met, since by the river Those wondrous moments Linked them to earth and night, not to each other.
IV. INTERLUDE
Mountain Trails (GLACIER PARK, SEPT. '17)
I
Night stands in the valley Her head Is bound with stars, While Dawn, a grey-eyed nun Steals through the silent trees. Behind the mountains Morning shouts and sings And dances upward.
II
The peaks even today show finger prints Where God last touched the earth Before he set it joyously in space Finding it good.
III
You, slender shining-- You, downward leaping-- Born from silent snow To drown at last in the blue silent Mountain lake-- You are not snow or water, You are only a silver spirit Singing!
IV
Sharp crags of granite, Pointing, threatening, Thrust fiercely up at me; And near the edge, their menace Would whirl me down.
V
Climbing desperately toward the heights I glance in terror behind me To be deafened--to be shattered-- By a thunderbolt of beauty.
VI
The mountains hold communion; They are priests, silent and austere, They have come together In a secret place With unbowed heads.
VII
This hidden lake Is a sapphire cup-- An offering clearer than wine, Colder than tears. The mountains hold it toward the sky In silence.
October Morning
October is brown In field and row--
Yet goldenrod And goldenglow, Purple asters And ruddy oaks, Sumach spreading Crimson cloaks, Apples red And pumpkins gold--?
Perhaps it's gayer To be old!
October Afternoon
The air is warm and winey-sweet, Over my head the oak-leaves shine Like rich Madeira, glossy brown, Or garnet red, like old Port wine. Wild grapes are ripening on the hill, Dead leaves curl thickly at my feet, Yet not one falls, it is so still. Crickets are singing in the sun, And aimlessly grasshoppers leap From discontent to discontent, Their days of leaping nearly done. There's a rich quietness of earth That holds no promise any more, And like a cup, Today is filled With the last wine the year shall pour.
Maternity
Sturdy is earth, Dull and mighty, Unresentful-- Of her own fertility Covering scars With healing green.
You cannot anger earth, You cannot cause her pain Nor make her remember Your hungry, querulous love.
At last your unwilling body She tranquilly receives And turns it to her uses.
The Father Speaks
My little son, when you were born There died a being, sweet and wild, A lovely, careless, radiant child, A passionate woman--her I mourn.
And in her place has come another, With troubled smile and brooding eyes, Insatiate of sacrifice And wholly, utterly your mother.
To Allen
Beauty, the dream that I have dreamed so much Comes true in your quick smile, And on your cheek I see her touch And sometimes in your eyes a while Immortal beauty's fleeting image lies. Dear child, in whose veins beat The marching centuries of lovers' feet, All those brave, ardent ghosts in you arise-- The souls who, loving beauty, gave you birth, With a chain of passion binding beauty to earth, A captured dream--these souls breathe with your breath Living again in beauty that knows no death.
To Helen
Lie still in my arms, little four-years-old, Little bud that glows With more beauty and passion than it can hold, Little flaming rose,
The spring's red blossoms, when winter lies deep On a wind-swept world Of tossing branches, lie safely asleep In brown buds curled.
They wake--and the wind strips their petals away And spills them afar-- Can I keep you from blooming, whatever I say, Wild bud that you are!
The Immortal
Child of a love denied, a dream unborn, Spirit more brave Than passion's unfulfilment, wiser than fate-- Nor breast nor grave As cradle you have known,-- I mourn That my soul knows its own Too late!
A soul's half-breath, Passion's unremembered dream, Perfume without a vase, Intangible you seem To life or death.
And when the coloured mantle of the days Slips from my shoulders, and I lie Forgetful, dumb, Mingled with earth in passionless embrace, Will you, forgotten as a bird, Singing unheard In space, Will you not come When every other dream is gone, Bringing to that silent place The shadow of a gesture flung By motionless hands, a floating echo hung From an unspoken word, And to the empty sky The sunset of a day which did not dawn And cannot die!
To an Absent Child
I
At first in dreams I pressed you so close That you melted away on my breast, But now I wait, breathless and motionless, Till I feel your slender arms caress me Like swallows blown against me And quickly flown.
II
Small flower, My body is the earth from which you sprang, But we are more to each other than earth and flower, Closer, even, than earth and flower, For the sky in me is one with the sky in you...
My love for you Is like sunlight shining in a quiet place, You shall feel my love like soft light Pouring about you.
III
I will not kiss you, For my kisses are a chain without an end; Nor take you in my arms, My arms would smother you against my breast; I will not even touch your shining head-- But lift your eyes up, flower-face, And I will fill them as full of love As they can hold!
IV
Ah no! If you were here I would sweep you into my arms and hold you close! Though my love is of the spirit I must feel your little restless body Pressed for a moment against my heart.
Summer Night
Rain, rain murmuring endless complaints In mournful whisperings that never cease, You bring my tired brain a certain peace Like Latin prayers to absent-minded saints.
And whether silently to earth you fall, Or dashed and driven in tempestuous flight Like souls before God's wrath, the thirsty night, The soft and fecund earth shall drink you all.
Maura
I
Maura dreams unwakened-- The warm winds touch the bands That hold her hair. The call of a silver horn floats by, A lover tosses flowers into her hands.
Maura dreams unwakened-- She joins the maidens in their dance, Her limbs follow slow rhythms, A lover leads her into the shade, She moves as in a trance.
II
What dim confusion Troubles her dream, What passionate caress Disturbs her spirit's rapt seclusion?
Earth draws her close. How warm Is lover-earth! Like a sleeping bird She gives herself, then suddenly She is a leaf whirled in the storm.
Somewhere in a quiet room, her soul unstirred, Dead... or sleeping, Through the blind tumult hears afar The note of a horn, like a silver thread. She has given her soul to an echo's keeping.
III
Who knows the mountain where the hunter rides Winding his horn? Maura who heard it in her dream Wakens forlorn, Too late to catch the tenuous thread Of silver sound Which in the troubled, intricate fugue of earth Is drowned.
IV
Maura cannot follow over the hill, Her youth is landlocked as a hidden pool Where thirsty love drinks deep, A shining pool, where lingers The colour of an unseen golden sky, A pool where echoes fall asleep.
But restless fingers Trouble the waters cool, Snatch at reflected beauty, and destroy The mirrored dream. The pool is never still, And broken echoes die.
V
The silver call has gone, but there is left to her The gentleness of earth, The simple mysteries of sleep and death, Of love and birth. There are faces hungry for smiles, and starving fingers Reaching for dreams.
And like a memory are the wind-swept chords of night, And the wide melody of evening sky Where gleams A colour like the echo of a horn. There is a far hill where winds die, And over the hill lies music yet unborn.
VI
Maura lies dead at last, The body she gave to child and lover Now feeds flower and tree.
Earth's arms are wide to her. What breast Offers such gentle sleeping? Her limbs lie peacefully.
From the dark West There comes a note like the echoing cry Of one who rides through the dusk alone After the hunt sweeps by.
It fades--the night wind is forlorn-- Music is still, But Maura has followed the silver horn Over the distant hill, Over the hill where all winds die.
November Dusk
Where like ghosts of verdant days Whispering down, Leaves in the November dusk Drift and drown,
Stand two lovers, motionless And apart In their sturdy nakedness Of the heart,
Two dark figures, side by side Through the mist Standing as though time had died Since they kissed,
Whose deep roots, alive and sound Blindly reach Mingling in the fertile ground Each with each--
Pray that we, when gaunt and old Like bare trees Through our common earth may hold Close, like these!
Winter Valley
I
Grey grasses drown in thin brown water Wound like a chain on the valley's Sunken breast.
Fallen leaves on the stream Float motionless--rest-- So secretly the pale Water winds around Toward hidden pools,
Or sinking in the earth Is drowned.
II
Curved crimson stems, Thorny fingers of vine, Reach toward the wind.
Sunlight, thin and cold, Touches them--they shine.
Nothing passes for thorns to hold-- Red thorns, Catching at shadows of the wind.
III
Silence in the valley, Silence without wings--
Like the caught breath Of an unspoken word When no words come.
Withered reeds, and thin brown water Above the reeds Are dumb.
IV
For what are you waiting, winter valley, Withered valley, brown with reeds? You are hushed with waiting.
You are old with secrets, You are tranquil with forgetting.
You are harsh with thorns Of fruits long vanished.
V. Love Poems in Autumn
Ballad
Follow, follow me into the South, And if you are brave and wise I'll buy you laughter for your mouth, Sorrow for your eyes.
I'll buy you laughter, wild and sweet, And sorrow, grey and still, But you must follow with willing feet Over the farthest hill.
Follow, follow me into the South, You may return tomorrow Wearing my kisses on your mouth, In your eyes my sorrow.
The Pathway of Black Leaves
I. THE TURNING
The pathway opened before her eyes Between black leaves-- She laughed, and shivered, and turned aside From the dusty road.
Her feet moved on like heart-beats, She could not stop them; Relentlessly each step fulfilled itself And the steps behind it-- A hidden chain, drawing her onward Captive.
And yet she said: "Now I walk free At last!"
II. TOLL-GATE
The sign read:
"Paupers may pass untaxed, The Rich shall pay a penny, The Poor Must give all they possess."
She emptied her pockets bravely and passed through... They gave her a golden coin in return for her silver, Bearing on one side the head of a king, And on the other a worn inscription Curved like a wreath And written in a tongue she did not know.
III. THE INN
There was the inn, beside the path, Standing like the words of an ancient prophet Forgotten long, now suddenly come true.
"They who break bread here Shall not eat for hunger; They who lie here Shall not sleep."
All night long the black leaves, one by one, Laughed, and shivered, and fell into darkness.
IV. RETURN
She has come home To the house she knew: But she has forgotten The square oaken smile of the door.
The room is a stranger, The fire is sullen; On her hair a black leaf shines And clings where it fell.
Against her heart She has hidden away The bitter golden profile of a king.
Elegy
I would be autumn earth, and hold Your beautiful body, slain, Where, lying still and cold, Only the winter rain Shall touch your limbs and face; Where the white frost shall wed. Your body to black mould In the close, passionless embrace Of that dark marriage bed: I would be autumn earth, and hold Your beautiful body, dead.
Sequence
I. ARRIVAL
Shining highways Sing to your step, Windows beckon, Doorways open a square embrace.
Doors laugh gently Swinging together Behind you.
II. THE TOWER
There's a flag on my tower, And my windows Are orange to the night. They are set in grey stone that frowns At the black wind.
Inside, there's a guest at my hearth, And a fire Painting the grey stone gold. My windows are black With the hungry night peering through them.
Blackness lurks in corners, Wind snatches the sparks, Tongs and poker jangle together Like the iron bones Of a man that was hanged.
III. THEY WHO DANCE
The feet of dancers Shine with mirth, Their hearts are vibrant as bells:
The air flows by them Divided like water Cut by a gleaming ship.
Triumphantly their bodies sing, Their eyes are blind With music.
They move through threatening ghosts Feeling them cool as mist On their brows.
They who dance Find infinite golden floors Beneath their feet.
IV. PIANISSIMO
I took Night Into my arms, Night lay upon my breast.
If night had wings She would have brought me Stars for my hair.
The stars laughed Lightly From far away.
About my shoulders White mist curled.
V. PORTRAIT BY ZULOAGA
Death lies in wait For those who do not know What they desire, And Hell for those Who fear what they have taken.
These hands are wrinkled From stretching forth, Brown From the winds blowing upon them.
They are strong with seizing, They do not tremble.
VI. GESTURES
Let there be dancing figures On our wine-flask, Swastikas on our rug, Inscriptions in our rings And on our dwelling.
Let us build ritual For our worship, Pledge our love With vows and holy promises.
If oaths are broken, Let it be darkly With threatening gestures.
Thus we ignore That we love and die Like insects.
VII. VEILS
I shall punish your blindness With a veil.
I shall choose words that join Gaily word to word, I shall weave them flauntingly Into veil upon veil,
I shall wind them defiantly Over my lips, over my eyes.
You shall not see your name On my lips, You shall not see your image In my eyes!
And through my veils I shall not see That you are blind.
VIII. FREEDOM
I would be free From two old superstitions, Thanks and Forgiveness.
So I would think of you As Flame, As Wind, As Night,
To whom I have been Wind, And Flame And Night,
Together burned and swept, Now smothered In separate darkness.
IX. MUD
I am dazed and weary From the shapelessness Of what I am--
I am poured Among haphazard stones In meaningless patterns.
Yesterday's sun dried me Between rounded cobbles, Today's deluge sweeps me Toward alien pavements, Tomorrow's sun shall dry me In a new design.
Better the turbid gutter Toward the open sea!
X. FOOLS SAY--
November's breath Is black in the branches of trees And under the bushes,
Harsh rain Whips down the rustling dance Of leaves.
There is smoke In the throat of the wind, Its teeth Bite away beauty.
Let fools say: "Spring Will come again!"
Disillusion
I touch joy and it crumbles under my fingers-- The dust from it rises and fills the world, It blinds my eyes--I cannot see the sun. A choking fog of dust shuts me apart.
I remember the sparkling wind on a bright autumn morning, I let down my hair and danced in the golden gale, Then chased the wind as the wind chased fallen leaves-- Wind cannot be caught and tamed like a bird.
I touch joy and it crumbles to dust in my fingers.
November Afternoon
Upon our heads The oak leaves fall Like silent benedictions Closing Autumn's gorgeous ritual, And we, upborne by worship, Lift our eyes to the altar of distant hills.
Beloved How can I know What gods are yours, How can I guess the visions of your spirit, Or hear The silent prayers your heart has said?
Only by this I feel Your gods akin to mine, That when our lips have met On this last golden Autumn afternoon They have confessed in silence Our kisses were less precious than our dreams.
Today, our passion drowned in beauty, We turn away our faces toward the hills Where purple haze, old incense, Spreads its veil.
Yareth at Solomon's Tomb
At last Your search is at an end, King Solomon,
You, restless dreamer, For whom each face held promise Unfulfilled, Whose hungry arms held many women, (Though none could fill your need) Who seized, but never loved, This is your sepulchre...
I who till today Questioned my heart Now find it buried with you In this tomb;
So now I can forgive you That you never believed My love!
Argolis
Like sun on grasses Warming to life Quaint beetles, curious weeds, Till earth awakens, pregnant beneath its rays-- So came the shepherds down to Argolis.
As nameless trees Cast cloud-grey shadows there On moon-pale, tarnished snow, Till snow and shadow are lost, Alike confused and forgotten Among the withered reeds-- So lies their memory across its heart.
St. Faith's Eve
We stood together on a balcony An hour when the night Died into blankness, And light mist Curling beneath us, hid the earth, And the cold, unburied stars Drew further into space...
I turned to meet your eyes And saw Like a light, rosy veil Your flesh sink gently down Leaving only the simple skeleton And a white voice which said: "This still is I, Do you love me Now?"
Quietly, and without sadness I looked upon you, For comfort blindly reached my soul And primitive beauty. Without passion, without fervour, I spoke at last: "Somehow Faith Shines from your empty eye-holes, And Truth Speaks mutely from your fleshless jaws. I choose your skeleton to lie with In the peaceful bed of earth Through all the dreamless, mornless, utter night!"
Poems of Elijah Hay
The Golden Stag
O hungry hearted ones, sharp-limbed, keen-eyed, Let me have place! I too would ride On your fantastic chase.
Your hunger is a silver hunting horn, I heard it sweep The frozen, peaceful morn: Its note bit me from sleep.