Poems — The Book of Pictures III
They burn with an unquenched and smothered fire Consumed by longings over which they brood, Oblivious of time, without desire, Alone and lost in their great solitude.
REMEMBRANCE
Expectant and waiting you muse On the great rare thing which alone To enhance your life you would choose: The awakening of the stone, The deeps where yourself you would lose.
In the dusk of the shelves, embossed Shine the volumes in gold and browns, And you think of countries once crossed, Of pictures, of shimmering gowns Of the women that you have lost.
And it comes to you then at last-- And you rise for you are aware Of a year in the far off past With its wonder and fear and prayer.
MUSIC
What play you, O Boy?
Through the garden it stole Like wandering steps, like a whisper--then mute;
What play you, O Boy?
Lo!
your gypsying soul Is caught and held fast in the pipes of Pan's flute.
And what conjure you?
Imprisoned is the song, It lingers and longs in the reeds where it lies;
Your young life is strong, but how much more strong Is the longing that through your music sighs.
Let your flute be still and your soul float through Waves of sound formless as waves of the sea, For here your song lived and it wisely grew Before it was forced into melody.
Its wings beat gently, its note no more calls, Its flight has been spent by you, dreaming Boy!
Now it no longer steals over my walls-- But in my garden I'd woo it to joy.
MAIDEN MELANCHOLY
A young knight comes into my mind As from some myth of old.
He came!
You felt yourself entwined As a great storm would round you wind.
He went!
A blessing undefined Seemed left, as when church-bells declined And left you wrapt in prayer.
You fain would cry aloud--but bind Your scarf about you and tear-blind Weep softly in its fold.
A young knight comes into my mind Full armored forth to fare.
His smile was luminously kind Like glint of ivory enshrined, Like a home longing undivined, Like Christmas snows where dark ways wind, Like sea-pearls about turquoise twined, Like moonlight silver when combined With a loved book's rare gold.
MAIDENS AT CONFIRMATION
(Paris in May, 1903) The white veiled maids to confirmation go Through deep green garden paths they slowly wind;
Their childhood they are leaving now behind: The future will be different, they know.
Oh!
Will it come?
They wait--It must come soon!
The next long hour slowly strikes at last, The whole house stirs again, the feast is past, And sadly passes by the afternoon ...
Like resurrection were the garments white The wreathed procession walked through trees arched wide Into the church, as cool as silk inside, With long aisles of tall candles flaming bright: The lights all shone like jewels rich and rare To solemn eyes that watched them gleam and flare.
Then through the silence the great song rose high Up to the vaulted dome like clouds it soared, Then luminously, gently down it poured-- Over white veils like rain it seemed to die.
The wind through the white garments softly stirred And they grew vari-coloured in each fold And each fold hidden blossoms seemed to hold And flowers and stars and fluting notes of bird, And dim, quaint figures shimmering like gold Seemed to come forth from distant myths of old.
Outside the day was one of green and blue, With touches of a luminous glowing red, Across the quiet pond the small waves sped.
Beyond the city, gardens hidden from view Sent odors of sweet blossoms on the breeze And singing sounded through the far off trees.
It was as though garlands crowned everything And all things were touched softly by the sun;
And many windows opened one by one And the light trembled on them glistening.
THE WOMAN WHO LOVES
Ah yes!
I long for you.
To you I glide And lose myself--for to you I belong.
The hope that hitherto I have denied Imperious comes to me as from your side Serious, unfaltering and swift and strong.
Those times: the times when I was quite alone By memories wrapt that whispered to me low, My silence was the quiet of a stone Over which rippling murmuring waters flow.
But in these weeks of the awakening Spring Something within me has been freed--something That in the past dark years unconscious lay, Which rises now within me and commands And gives my poor warm life into your hands Who know not what I was that Yesterday.
PONT DU CARROUSEL
Upon the bridge the blind man stands alone, Gray like a mist veiled monument he towers As though of nameless realms the boundary stone About which circle distant starry hours.
He seems the center around which stars glow While all earth's ostentations surge below.
Immovably and silently he stands Placed where the confused current ebbs and flows;
Past fathomless dark depths that he commands A shallow generation drifting goes....
MADNESS
She thinks: I am--Have you not seen?
Who are you then, Marie?
I am a Queen, I am a Queen!
To your knee, to your knee!
And then she weeps: I was--a child-- Who were you then, Marie?
Know you that I was no man's child, Poor and in rags--said she.
And then a Princess I became To whom men bend their knees;
To princes things are not the same As those a beggar sees.
And those things which have made you great Came to you, tell me, when?
One night, one night, one night quite late, Things became different then.
I walked the lane which presently With strung chords seemed to bend;
Then Marie became Melody And danced from end to end.
The people watched with startled mien And passed with frightened glance For all know that only a Queen May dance in the lanes: dance!...
LAMENT
Oh!
All things are long passed away and far.
A light is shining but the distant star From which it still comes to me has been dead A thousand years ...
In the dim phantom boat That glided past some ghastly thing was said.
A clock just struck within some house remote.
Which house?
--I long to still my beating heart.
Beneath the sky's vast dome I long to pray ...
Of all the stars there must be far away A single star which still exists apart.
And I believe that I should know the one Which has alone endured and which alone Like a white City that all space commands At the ray's end in the high heaven stands.
SYMBOLS
From infinite longings finite deeds rise As fountains spring toward far-off glowing skies, But rushing swiftly upward weakly bend And trembling from their lack of power descend-- So through the falling torrent of our fears Our joyous force leaps like these dancing tears.
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