Part 3

Chapter 34,005 wordsPublic domain

If we must die, let it not be like hogs Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs, Making their mock at our accursèd lot. If we must die, O let us nobly die, So that our precious blood may not be shed In vain; then even the monsters we defy Shall be constrained to honor us though dead! O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe! Though far outnumbered let us show us brave, And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow! What though before us lies the open grave? Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack, Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!

SUBWAY WIND

Far down, down through the city’s great, gaunt gut The gray train rushing bears the weary wind; In the packed cars the fans the crowd’s breath cut, Leaving the sick and heavy air behind. And pale-cheeked children seek the upper door To give their summer jackets to the breeze; Their laugh is swallowed in the deafening roar Of captive wind that moans for fields and seas; Seas cooling warm where native schooners drift Through sleepy waters, while gulls wheel and sweep, Waiting for windy waves the keels to lift Lightly among the islands of the deep; Islands of lofty palm trees blooming white That lend their perfume to the tropic sea, Where fields lie idle in the dew drenched night, And the Trades float above them fresh and free.

THE NIGHT FIRE

No engines shrieking rescue storm the night, And hose and hydrant cannot here avail; The flames laugh high and fling their challenging light, And clouds turn gray and black from silver-pale. The fire leaps out and licks the ancient walls, And the big building bends and twists and groans. A bar drops from its place; a rafter falls Burning the flowers. The wind in frenzy moans. The watchers gaze, held wondering by the fire, The dwellers cry their sorrow to the crowd, The flames beyond themselves rise higher, higher, To lose their glory in the frowning cloud, Yielding at length the last reluctant breath. And where life lay asleep broods darkly death.

POETRY

Sometimes I tremble like a storm-swept flower, And seek to hide my tortured soul from thee. Bowing my head in deep humility Before the silent thunder of thy power. Sometimes I flee before thy blazing light, As from the specter of pursuing death; Intimidated lest thy mighty breath, Windways, will sweep me into utter night. For oh, I fear they will be swallowed up-- The loves which are to me of vital worth, My passion and my pleasure in the earth-- And lost forever in thy magic cup! I fear, I fear my truly human heart Will perish on the altar-stone of art!

TO A POET

There is a lovely noise about your name, Above the shoutings of the city clear, More than a moment’s merriment, whose claim Will greater grow with every mellowed year.

The people will not bear you down the street, Dancing to the strong rhythm of your words, The modern kings will throttle you to greet The piping voice of artificial birds.

But the rare lonely spirits, even mine, Who love the immortal music of all days, Will see the glory of your trailing line, The bedded beauty of your haunting lays.

A PRAYER

’Mid the discordant noises of the day I hear thee calling; I stumble as I fare along Earth’s way; keep me from falling.

Mine eyes are open but they cannot see for gloom of night; I can no more than lift my heart to thee for inward light.

The wild and fiery passion of my youth consumes my soul; In agony I turn to thee for truth and self-control.

For Passion and all the pleasures it can give will die the death; But this of me eternally must live, thy borrowed breath.

’Mid the discordant noises of the day I hear thee calling; I stumble as I fare along Earth’s way; keep me from falling.

WHEN DAWN COMES TO THE CITY

The tired cars go grumbling by, The moaning, groaning cars, And the old milk carts go rumbling by Under the same dull stars. Out of the tenements, cold as stone, Dark figures start for work; I watch them sadly shuffle on, ’Tis dawn, dawn in New York.

But I would be on the island of the sea, In the heart of the island of the sea, Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing, And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree, Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn, And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing, And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying, And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously! There, oh there! on the island of the sea, There I would be at dawn.

The tired cars go grumbling by, The crazy, lazy cars, And the same milk carts go rumbling by Under the dying stars. A lonely newsboy hurries by, Humming a recent ditty; Red streaks strike through the gray of the sky, The dawn comes to the city.

O WORD I LOVE TO SING

O word I love to sing! thou art too tender For all the passions agitating me; For all my bitterness thou art too tender, I cannot pour my red soul into thee.

O haunting melody! thou art too slender, Too fragile like a globe of crystal glass; For all my stormy thoughts thou art too slender, The burden from my bosom will not pass.

O tender word! O melody so slender! O tears of passion saturate with brine, O words, unwilling words, ye can not render My hatred for the foe of me and mine.

ABSENCE

Your words dropped into my heart like pebbles into a pool, Rippling around my breast and leaving it melting cool.

Your kisses fell sharp on my flesh like dawn-dews from the limb, Of a fruit-filled lemon tree when the day is young and dim.

Like soft rain-christened sunshine, as fragile as rare gold lace, Your breath, sweet-scented and warm, has kindled my tranquil face.

But a silence vasty-deep, oh deeper than all these ties Now, through the menacing miles, brooding between us lies.

And more than the songs I sing, I await your written word, To stir my fluent blood as never your presence stirred.

SUMMER MORN IN NEW HAMPSHIRE

All yesterday it poured, and all night long I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat Upon the shingled roof like a weird song, Upon the grass like running children’s feet. And down the mountains by the dark cloud kissed, Like a strange shape in filmy veiling dressed, Slid slowly, silently, the wraith-like mist, And nestled soft against the earth’s wet breast.

But lo, there was a miracle at dawn! The still air stirred at touch of the faint breeze, The sun a sheet of gold bequeathed the lawn, The songsters twittered in the rustling trees. And all things were transfigured in the day, But me whom radiant beauty could not move; For you, more wonderful, were far away, And I was blind with hunger for your love.

REST IN PEACE

No more for you the city’s thorny ways, The ugly corners of the Negro belt; The miseries and pains of these harsh days By you will never, never again be felt.

No more, if still you wander, will you meet With nights of unabating bitterness; They cannot reach you in your safe retreat, The city’s hate, the city’s prejudice!

’Twas sudden--but your menial task is done, The dawn now breaks on you, the dark is over, The sea is crossed, the longed-for port is won; Farewell, oh, fare you well! my friend and lover.

A RED FLOWER

Your lips are like a southern lily red, Wet with the soft rain-kisses of the night, In which the brown bee buries deep its head, When still the dawn’s a silver sea of light.

Your lips betray the secret of your soul, The dark delicious essence that is you, A mystery of life, the flaming goal I seek through mazy pathways strange and new.

Your lips are the red symbol of a dream. What visions of warm lilies they impart, That line the green bank of a fair blue stream, With butterflies and bees close to each heart!

Brown bees that murmur sounds of music rare, That softly fall upon the languorous breeze, Wafting them gently on the quiet air Among untended avenues of trees.

O were I hovering, a bee, to probe Deep down within your scented heart, fair flower, Enfolded by your soft vermilion robe, Amorous of sweets, for but one perfect hour!

COURAGE

O lonely heart so timid of approach, Like the shy tropic flower that shuts its lips To the faint touch of tender finger tips: What is your word? What question would you broach?

Your lustrous-warm eyes are too sadly kind To mask the meaning of your dreamy tale, Your guarded life too exquisitely frail Against the daggers of my warring mind.

There is no part of the unyielding earth, Even bare rocks where the eagles build their nest, Will give us undisturbed and friendly rest. No dewfall softens this vast belt of dearth.

But in the socket-chiseled teeth of strife, That gleam in serried files in all the lands, We may join hungry, understanding hands, And drink our share of ardent love and life.

TO O.E.A.

Your voice is the color of a robin’s breast, And there’s a sweet sob in it like rain--still rain in the night. Among the leaves of the trumpet-tree, close to his nest, The pea-dove sings, and each note thrills me with strange delight Like the words, wet with music, that well from your trembling throat. I’m afraid of your eyes, they’re so bold, Searching me through, reading my thoughts, shining like gold. But sometimes they are gentle and soft like the dew on the lips of the eucharis Before the sun comes warm with his lover’s kiss. You are sea-foam, pure with the star’s loveliness, Not mortal, a flower, a fairy, too fair for the beauty-shorn earth. All wonderful things, all beautiful things, gave of their wealth to your birth. Oh I love you so much, not recking of passion, that I feel it is wrong! But men will love you, flower, fairy, non-mortal spirit burdened with flesh, Forever, life-long.

ROMANCE

To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed, Scented and warm against my beating breast;

To whisper soft and quivering your name, And drink the passion burning in your frame;

To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek, And tease your mouth with kisses till you speak

Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words, Melodious like notes of mating birds;

To hear you ask if I shall love always, And myself answer: Till the end of days;

To feel your easeful sigh of happiness When on your trembling lips I murmur: Yes;

It is so sweet. We know it is not true. What matters it? The night must shed her dew.

We know it is not true, but it is sweet-- The poem with this music is complete.

FLOWER OF LOVE

The perfume of your body dulls my sense. I want nor wine nor weed; your breath alone Suffices. In this moment rare and tense I worship at your breast. The flower is blown, The saffron petals tempt my amorous mouth, The yellow heart is radiant now with dew Soft-scented, redolent of my loved South; O flower of love! I give myself to you. Uncovered on your couch of figured green, Here let us linger indivisible. The portals of your sanctuary unseen Receive my offering, yielding unto me. Oh, with our love the night is warm and deep! The air is sweet, my flower, and sweet the flute Whose music lulls our burning brain to sleep, While we lie loving, passionate and mute.

THE SNOW FAIRY

Throughout the afternoon I watched them there, Snow-fairies falling, falling from the sky, Whirling fantastic in the misty air, Contending fierce for space supremacy. And they flew down a mightier force at night, As though in heaven there was revolt and riot, And they, frail things had taken panic flight Down to the calm earth seeking peace and quiet. I went to bed and rose at early dawn To see them huddled together in a heap, Each merged into the other upon the lawn, Worn out by the sharp struggle, fast asleep. The sun shone brightly on them half the day, By night they stealthily had stol’n away.

And suddenly my thoughts then turned to you Who came to me upon a winter’s night, When snow-sprites round my attic window flew, Your hair disheveled, eyes aglow with light. My heart was like the weather when you came, The wanton winds were blowing loud and long; But you, with joy and passion all aflame, You danced and sang a lilting summer song. I made room for you in my little bed, Took covers from the closet fresh and warm, A downful pillow for your scented head, And lay down with you resting in my arm. You went with Dawn. You left me ere the day, The lonely actor of a dreamy play.

LA PALOMA IN LONDON

About Soho we went before the light; We went, unresting six, craving new fun, New scenes, new raptures, for the fevered night Of rollicking laughter, drink and song, was done. The vault was void, but for the dawn’s great star That shed upon our path its silver flame, When La Paloma on a low guitar Abruptly from a darkened casement came-- Harlem! All else shut out, I saw the hall, And you in your red shoulder sash come dancing With Val against me languid by the wall, Your burning coffee-colored eyes keen glancing Aslant at mine, proud in your golden glory! I loved you, Cuban girl, fond sweet Diory.

A MEMORY OF JUNE

When June comes dancing o’er the death of May, With scarlet roses tinting her green breast, And mating thrushes ushering in her day, And Earth on tiptoe for her golden guest,

I always see the evening when we met-- The first of June baptized in tender rain-- And walked home through the wide streets, gleaming wet, Arms locked, our warm flesh pulsing with love’s pain.

I always see the cheerful little room, And in the corner, fresh and white, the bed, Sweet scented with a delicate perfume, Wherein for one night only we were wed;

Where in the starlit stillness we lay mute, And heard the whispering showers all night long, And your brown burning body was a lute Whereon my passion played his fevered song.

When June comes dancing o’er the death of May, With scarlet roses staining her fair feet, My soul takes leave of me to sing all day A love so fugitive and so complete.

FLIRTATION

Upon thy purple mat thy body bare Is fine and limber like a tender tree. The motion of thy supple form is rare, Like a lithe panther lolling languidly, Toying and turning slowly in her lair. Oh, I would never ask for more of thee, Thou art so clean in passion and so fair. Enough! if thou wilt ask no more of me!

TORMENTED

I will not reason, wrestle here with you, Though you pursue and worry me about; As well put forth my swarthy arm to stop The wild wind howling, darkly mad without.

The night is yours for revels; day will light. I will not fight you, bold and tigerish, For I am weak, while you are gaining strength; Peace! cease tormenting me to have your wish.

But when you’re filled and sated with the flesh, I shall go swiftly to the silver stream, To cleanse my body for the spirit’s sake, And sun my limbs, and close my eyes to dream.

POLARITY

Nay, why reproach each other, be unkind, For there’s no plane on which we two may meet? Let’s both forgive, forget, for both were blind, And life is of a day, and time is fleet.

And I am fire, swift to flame and burn, Melting with elements high overhead, While you are water in an earthly urn, All pure, but heavy, and of hue like lead.

ONE YEAR AFTER

Not once in all our days of poignant love, Did I a single instant give to thee My undivided being wholly free. Not all thy potent passion could remove The barrier that loomed between to prove The full supreme surrendering of me. Oh, I was beaten, helpless utterly Against the shadow-fact with which I strove. For when a cruel power forced me to face The truth which poisoned our illicit wine, That even I was faithless to my race Bleeding beneath the iron hand of thine, Our union seemed a monstrous thing and base! I was an outcast from thy world and mine.

Adventure-seasoned and storm-buffeted, I shun all signs of anchorage, because The zest of life exceeds the bound of laws. New gales of tropic fury round my head Break lashing me through hours of soulful dread; But when the terror thins and, spent, withdraws, Leaving me wondering awhile, I pause-- But soon again the risky ways I tread! No rigid road for me, no peace, no rest, While molten elements run through my blood; And beauty-burning bodies manifest Their warm, heart-melting motions to be wooed; And passion boldly rising in my breast, Like rivers of the Spring, lets loose its flood.

FRENCH LEAVE

No servile little fear shall daunt my will This morning. I have courage steeled to say I will be lazy, conqueringly still, I will not lose the hours in toil this day.

The roaring world without, careless of souls, Shall leave me to my placid dream of rest, My four walls shield me from its shouting ghouls, And all its hates have fled my quiet breast.

And I will loll here resting, wide awake, Dead to the world of work, the world of love, I laze contented just for dreaming’s sake With not the slightest urge to think or move.

How tired unto death, how tired I was! Now for a day I put my burdens by, And like a child amidst the meadow grass Under the southern sun, I languid lie

And feel the bed about me kindly deep, My strength ooze gently from my hollow bones, My worried brain drift aimlessly to sleep, Like softening to a song of tuneful tones.

JASMINES

Your scent is in the room. Swiftly it overwhelms and conquers me! Jasmines, night jasmines, perfect of perfume, Heavy with dew before the dawn of day! Your face was in the mirror. I could see You smile and vanish suddenly away, Leaving behind the vestige of a tear. Sad suffering face, from parting grown so dear! Night jasmines cannot bloom in this cold place; Without the street is wet and weird with snow; The cold nude trees are tossing to and fro; Too stormy is the night for your fond face; For your low voice too loud the wind’s mad roar. But oh, your scent is here--jasmines that grow Luxuriant, clustered round your cottage door!

COMMEMORATION

When first your glory shone upon my face My body kindled to a mighty flame, And burnt you yielding in my hot embrace Until you swooned to love, breathing my name.

And wonder came and filled our night of sleep, Like a new comet crimsoning the sky; And stillness like the stillness of the deep Suspended lay as an unuttered sigh.

I never again shall feel your warm heart flushed, Panting with passion, naked unto mine, Until the throbbing world around is hushed To quiet worship at our scented shrine.

Nor will your glory seek my swarthy face, To kindle and to change my jaded frame Into a miracle of godlike grace, Transfigured, bathed in your immortal flame.

MEMORIAL

Your body was a sacred cell always, A jewel that grew dull in garish light, An opal which beneath my wondering gaze Gleamed rarely, softly throbbing in the night.

I touched your flesh with reverential hands, For you were sweet and timid like a flower That blossoms out of barren tropic sands, Shedding its perfume in one golden hour.

You yielded to my touch with gentle grace, And though my passion was a mighty wave That buried you beneath its strong embrace, You were yet happy in the moment’s grave.

Still more than passion consummate to me, More than the nuptials immemorial sung, Was the warm thrill that melted me to see Your clean brown body, beautiful and young;

The joy in your maturity at length, The peace that filled my soul like cooling wine, When you responded to my tender strength, And pressed your heart exulting into mine.

How shall I with such memories of you In coarser forms of love fruition find? No, I would rather like a ghost pursue The fairy phantoms of my lonely mind.

THIRST

My spirit wails for water, water now! My tongue is aching dry, my throat is hot For water, fresh rain shaken from a bough, Or dawn dews heavy in some leafy spot. My hungry body’s burning for a swim In sunlit water where the air is cool, As in Trout Valley where upon a limb The golden finch sings sweetly to the pool. Oh water, water, when the night is done, When day steals gray-white through the windowpane, Clear silver water when I wake, alone, All impotent of parts, of fevered brain; Pure water from a forest fountain first, To wash me, cleanse me, and to quench my thirst!

FUTILITY

Oh, I have tried to laugh the pain away, Let new flames brush my love-springs like a feather. But the old fever seizes me to-day, As sickness grips a soul in wretched weather. I have given up myself to every urge, With not a care of precious powers spent, Have bared my body to the strangest scourge, To soothe and deaden my heart’s unhealing rent. But you have torn a nerve out of my frame, A gut that no physician can replace, And reft my life of happiness and aim. Oh what new purpose shall I now embrace? What substance hold, what lovely form pursue, When my thought burns through everything to you?

THROUGH AGONY

All night, through the eternity of night, Pain was my portion though I could not feel. Deep in my humbled heart you ground your heel, Till I was reft of even my inner light, Till reason from my mind had taken flight, And all my world went whirling in a reel. And all my swarthy strength turned cold like steel, A passive mass beneath your puny might. Last night I gave you triumph over me, So I should be myself as once before, I marveled at your shallow mystery, And haunted hungrily your temple door. I gave you sum and substance to be free, Oh, you shall never triumph any more!