For These Moments

For These Moments

'Life gives

these

us

moments, and for

moments we

give our lives."

^ol Anese

UYioraents

BY ELEANOR GRAHAM

^^^^M,^^ /W.e-.6_^

Designed and Printed

at Brattleboro

By The Stephen Daye MDCCCCXXXIX

Press

COPYRIGHT,

1939,

The author thanks

New

Yorker,

the editors of

,

and

other

reprint

magazines

poems

The Saturday Evening

Good Housekeeping, The

This Week, Parents' The

that

GRAHAM

BY ELEANOR

New

and

originally

Ladies'

York Times, All

newspapers

for

Post,

Home

The

Journal,

Story, Yankee,

permission

to

appeared in their publications.

Typography by Carolyn Sherman

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY THE VERMONT PRINTING COMPANY BRATTLEBORO •

J,o ^Jriotnei

* *

^ ^

Introduction

Several years ago,

I

was among those privileged

attend an open air concert on a sumptuous estate.

to

At

the climax of the entertainment, a distinguished and

expensive baritone w^as intoning w^hat sounded like a particularly lugubrious dirge,

when

nearby thicket began to warble and

a bobolink in a trill

just received assurance that the joy of

he had

June would

last

am confident that I was not the only one in audience who vastly preferred the bobolink, and

forever.

the

as if

I

even though the wellbred applause went to the baritone,

it is

delight

my

and

more more enduringly and much more

guess that the bird's song gave far is

warmly remembered. In Eleanor Graham's

poems

ripple of the bobolink, though

note of the

wood

tentious, so true.

expression of a

They know them

thrush. I

I

sometimes catch a

more often

the pure

are so clear, so unpreto be the

spontaneous

fine, well-trained, sensitive

mind and

of a nature as sweet and lovely as a mountain spring,

and

I

am

sure that they will delight

genuine feeling and

lyric

many with

their

charm.

Arthur Guiterman. Hillhouse Arlington, Vermont.

August, 1939.

^ ^

^^

Contents

Prima Donna

Toast

78

Window to Heaven The

Little

79 80

House

For Mary Anne

81

Man-Child

82

Exhortation

83

Bride

84

Thrift Little

85

Brother

86

Philanderer

87

Pretend

88

Spring in the City

89

»/ne Perfect Srvound

The Children Would There Be Tears ? To a Cigarette

94

Chimneys

96

Kinship

97

93 95

Questions

98

Judgment

99 100

On

Hearing of a Suicide Seeking Request

^ ^ ^

101

102

— Poet to Reader Black on white,

Made

my

letters trace a pattern

for your delight.

And you

will see,

Beyond

the page, beyond the careful phrases,

All that

I

cannot say and cannot be.

Design is easy; meaning, difficult; cannot interpret any dream. My poems are but pictures for your fancy I build the structure; you will find the theme.

And I

<^U

cJieaUs

In tn

«Lc u^ove

"All hearts in love use their own tongues." Shakespeare,

Muc^ Ado About Nothing

— Farm

Letter

—

(There is so much to say so much to say, yet I tell you little things like these:) I made those sugar cakes you like, today.

And

And picked a mess The hens

Accounts for

They

that.

The

weather's very dry.

say this year will be

And oats The

of tender early peas.

aren't laying well. Perhaps the heat

are heading

oldest

cow came

up

no good for wheat. six inches high!

fresh again last

week

A pretty little heifer calf. The mare Can take

the

jump

so nicely at the creek

That people on the highway turn and stare. (I cannot find the words for love, and so and hope that you will know.) I send you news

—

17

How By I

It

Happened

candlelight, by candlelight,

wrote

my

rhymes into the night.

still. No one was nigh. Only the paper, the candle, and I Heard the scratch of my noisy pen Going and coming again and again.

The house was

But when the dawn came peeping through, I had a love song made for you.

18

Even For you That all I

I

a

Poet

played the poet

lest

my thoughts were

hid behind a sonnet

Is

Human you see

thought in terms of you.

made by me,

And never let a word of mine creep through To give the game away. Poems, for us. Were objects criticized objectively; And tete-a-tetes were moments to discuss Phenomena

of thought and theory.

I

have been too successful in

I

am

not

girl,

my act:

but intellect to you.

On this high plane a fact is just a fact. And there is nothing I would dare to do To show you that my poems are my heart, And love to me is something more than art.

19

Ingratitude Love was

a bird that

Warmly and "Sleep,

cozily

I

tucked in a nest,

—tucked

Ingrate!

in to stay.

me rest!' He wakened me long before day.

little rascal," I said.

20

"Let

Sharp Moonlight Last night sharp moonlight taught

There Given There

is

no beauty

in a is

me

this:

in a kiss

half-way fashion.

no beauty

in a passion

Cultivated for a night.

There

is

no rapture or delight

A casual friend, A casual word, a casual end In casual things.

To life or thought can never bring The spark that glows in anything That knows completeness. There must be

A touch of bright intensity In things that count.

The true,

Are only what we deeply

21

feel.

the real,

— Some Other Time Not now

—

a little later, please,

I

pray

"When tingling memories of your touch have waned;

When

I

have better learned to greet the day

With lonely courage; when my soul has drained The essence of your love to make me strong;

When these quick hands are wise enough to hold Shadow instead of substance; and the long Ribbons of thought have wrapped me from the cold.

Then you may

To

live

go, and leave

without you. But

me knowing how

—my dear—not now.

22

Dilemma One woman Deep

And

in a

steals

keeps her treasure hid:

wood

away

she stores the chest,

to raise the

For her, that secret joy

is

Hd;

best.

Another one with outstretched hands Wide open for the world to see

What joys are hers, enraptured stands, And cries, "This all belongs to me!" Which one

is

For, dearest,

I

wiser? Tell me, please;

am both of these.

23

White Oaks Even before

I

knew them by their name,

loved their faithfulness: All winter long,

I

No matter when the frosts and blizzards came, Nor how

the stormwind roared his battle-song.

They kept their leaves they would not let them go. Through all the cold, those russet fronds were bright ;

Against the barren blanket of the snow; I

heard their faithful

murmur

every night.

how

If

oaks are meant to stand for strength,

It

seems to see that sturdy strength combined

With

loyalty in love

!

right

My heart is light.

now I know such things are well-designed; And like a leaf I still may cling to you For

Who are so strong, because you love me, too.

24

Mental Telepathy Somehow I knew you'd write to me today. Somehow I knew Why, all along the way !

I

whispered

softly,

"Hurry, hurry, car!"

Machinery was slow, and home seemed far; But here I am and here's my note from you. You wrote to me today. Somehow I knew!

—

25

—

;

Compromise The goodly folk are lovely: They go to church and pray; They live such careful, saintly They do some good each day. The goodly folk are lovely, I've

heard the good folk

lives;

say.

The wicked folk are lovely: They never have a care They have such fun in wickedness; Their consciences are bare.

The wicked folk are lovely, The wicked folk declare.

And you and I go right along Oh, could it be that we are wrong There's just one thing for us to do: Let's say that zve are lovely, too!

26

.^

— Valentine in

Time of Adversity

We who are young and full of youth's warm zest, Having been born when time was out of joint, Must guard our hearts if we would make the best Of days like these. We must evade the point Of life and love and all our youthful dreams, For love deserves more help than we can see And how can two build up their eager schemes Without a promise of security ? Rebuke me not if in my weary eyes You see no hope of present consummation. Looking at truth, I find the only prize I have to offer you is conversation. Since I have naught with which to pay I

give

my love

in tear-stained

27

I.

O.

my

U.'s.

dues,

— Between the Lines you are busy, do not write. (Oh, don't be busy, dearest dear!) Don't bother when you're tired at night. If

(I'm never tired Just send (I I

me

if

letters

you are near.)

when you can

look for mail the whole day through.)

know you are a busy man. (I

have no business, dear, but you!)

28

No Time So short is It

life,

for

so swift

its

Doubt

shining

fliglit,

gives so very, very Uttle space

For loving you; so quickly goes the night That I must swear, while we are face to face, to doubt you. Hold me to your breast, And print the mark of love upon my heart To be my hidden shield against the test That still may come when we are far apart.

Never

We have no time for doubt. Each little hour Must overflow with

perfect understanding.

Lest something of the beauty of the flower

Of

love be

Let

me

dimmed by

petulant demanding.

be true to love, but

To knowledge of your

still

love,

29

more

and

true

faith in you.

— Relativity

A time to mourn, a time to weep, A

time to

eat, a

time to sleep,

A time to work, a time to play, A time to go, a time to stay, A time to laugii, a time to sing, A time, they say, for everytliing But Is

all

my

time

my whole

life

not enough to think of you.

30

through

Woman I

can be brave

when daytime weather

Brings a storm and

me

together.

windows, laugh to hear The rain, and show no trace of fear When lightning throws a blinding Into my face. At every crash I

close the

Of thunder Glad

I

flash

cry out in glee.

that a storm has

come

to

me.

But when the lightning comes at night, I need you here to hold me tight.

31

!

How

Proud!

How

proud I'd be if I could say, "I didn't need you anyway. It didn't matter that you went. The time I was alone I spent Quite happily." How proud I'd be If

I

could

lie

successfully

32

Unmanageable Queer words! I string them out across the page While they stare back defiantly to gauge My thought concerning them. Some words are bold; They never take their orders when they're told, But choose instead to go their stubborn way, Laughing at me for spending half a day To make them right. Like valiant little men. They march across the page and back again. And when I try to send my words to you, They never say the things I want them to.

33

The Answer You wonder why I give you only smiles And kisses when we meet. You ask to share

My burdens,

You'd carry them for miles And never even think them much to bear. too.

But, darling, there

My

is

nothing that

I

hide;

troubles simply vanish by your side!

34

— Independence I

can do

it

all

myself

Boil an egg and brew

some

tea,

Stack the canned goods on a shelf,

Make a kitchen sweet to see. Wind the clock, put out the cat, Kneel

to say a little prayer,

and rise, and don my hat. Take a walk to get the air. Sleep,

I

can do these things for one,

And yet I often think,

don't you,

That there would be a lot more fun In doing things for two ?

35

Backslider "Oh, love,"

I

said, "brings bitterness.

And

I

said, "is pain.

I

love,"

shall stop loving

anything

More permanent than

rain."

And then I turned to look at you, And then I saw your eyes. How quickly my philosophy Grows

old!

How soon

36

it

dies!

;

Eternal be a mountain stream,

I

shall

I

And you will be my bed. shall be my own sweet dream Of things that you have said.

I

shall be a story's words,

And you I

it.

shall be the flight of birds,

And you I

the author of

the sky above

shall be the

it.

swaying wheat,

And you the wind that blows And we shall find each other, sweet. In everything that grows.

What matter if my youth should fade, Or if your step should falter.? The pattern of our love is made

On lines that

never

37

alter.

!

;

Please love I always need, my sweet, But bring me, as a special treat When I have given you delight

Your

Or happiness, some

flower at night:

A rose for when I

comfort you Forget-me-nots, resigned though blue. When you must go away; and then Blithe daisies

when

you're back again.

Oh, may we have a garden, dear. With green enchantment all the year ? And, if I love you very hard. Magnolia trees in our front yard ?

38

Jfe

^L Own wn u^iace

"The mind Can make

is its

a

own

place,

heaven of

and

in itself

hell, a hell

of heaven."

Milton, Paradise Lost

Winter Spring-Song I

love to walk in Winter rain

And know that Spring will come again, Though heaps of sodden leaves lie here

To Is

whisper that the dying year

nearly dead.

With

I

love to walk

chin uptilted.

Then

Within myself of lovely

I

talk

things,

And in my heart

a gladness sings

So dazzling that

I

hardly see

The dull gray sky that covers me; For hopes may fail, and years may

die,

But Spring will always light the sky. And any heart that looks to Spring Will always find a song to sing.

41

Twelfth Night A Christmas tree must have a

fireplace

To burn in when its lights and stars are dead, And there will be a glow upon the face Of one who watches. It is even said That

in the

piney fragrance of the

air,

Voices will sing the song of mountain streams;

And on

the hearthstone, peace will settle where

The ashes hold the

sparks of children's dreams.

42

— Farm

Widow

He always did the milking. When I came Back from the funeral,

I

tried.

But though

— good and tame As any Alderney— she seemed know Lady's a quiet

cow

as

to

That I was green. I gave the calves dry feed, Got hay down for the horses, called the dogs, Gathered the table scraps I wouldn't need. And put them in the pig pen for the hogs.

mooing at the pasture gate as well; for she'll be glad tomorrow To let her milk down. Now; I'll sleep. It's late. Lady

is

It's just

I'll have too much to do to think of sorrow. The bed seems big, but still it helps somehow

To

save

my pity for

that

43

bawling cow.

Prima Donna Now on the high and poignant note She

feels the fingers at her throat.

The audience is hers. And Its

yet

close attention will not let

Her

rigid

Panic

Her

is

body

rest a while.

there behind the smile.

birthdays add up

What

When

of the night to

courage

much

too

come

at last

fails to

fast.

push the tone,

And she is left on stage alone ? The programs rustle. One secure And jewelled woman says, "How She

is!

sure

How confident and grand!"

Nobody sees the diva's hand Clenched for a moment at her side, Clutching at bravery and pride

To keep them there against the night

When all her Enough

skill will

not be quite

to bring the sweet,

And then

hushed pause

the music of applause.

44

— Carpenter Joe Skyscrapers do not tempt him.

Close to the ground

He must build

— compact and square and

He makes a peg to match the hole he And smiles to see it fit as puzzles do

true.

drilled,

No gaping cracks, no binding at the edges. He knew

it

would, of course.

He

couldn't

make

A sloppy job. He can't stand window ledges That slope because somebody didn't take The time to set them right, once and for all. He wants a shipshape world where all that's good Will stand its ground, and all that's bad will fall. Meantime, he works away with tools and wood, Finding his satisfaction Built

in designs

on the clean directness of

45

straight lines.

—— —— Morning Ride Before the sun has dried the dew, I

mount my horse

But none should

to ride with you.

call a friend his

own

We ride together, each alone. We do not probe each other's minds; Enough

for us that

morning

A vividness in things And

finds

that live

yearn and eat and grow, and give

A pulse

to life.

I

think the grass

Gives signals that

A horse and you,

we

four should pass

a horse

and

I

Moving and breathing to defy The crowding thoughts of war and sorrow And fear to meet a vague tomorrow. I

gulp deep breaths of gratitude

For

Of

all

life

the quiet of this

mood

within the midst of

life

That asks no questions, bears no knife

To cut a silent thought in half. Nor seeks to label wheat and chaff. Nature, impersonal and cold, Is

kinder than a friend too bold.

And you and

Do

I

—alone—together

not speak about "the weather,"

But take our cue from nature's way: Silence says more than words can say.

46

Rooms

for Tourists

Beyond the clipped green lawn, the house retires Within the sun-flecked shade of oak and elm.

Though hospitality is here, the fires Of welcome burn but dimly in the realm Of summer-boarder, teacher-on-vacation,

And

salesman-staying-only-for-the-night.

Approach with reverence. No rude elation At having found a place so clean and light Will win your entrance to a village dwelling. Greet reticence with dignified

And curb

restraint,

effusive exclamations welling

Within your homesick mind. Accept the quaint. But do not stop to label it. For here No time is wasted on the surface charms. They want you only if you are sincere; They shy away from Greeks with gift-filled arms. And if they do not like you, they will say (Quite honestly, for truth is hidden deep In words) "We have no room for you today." But if they let you stay to eat and sleep, And share their home with them a little while, ,

Thank

fate for your position in the sun;

And if

your presence wins a weathered smile,

That will be something precious,

47

rarely

won.

The Village Recluse Those who play with If

fire

will not be

burned

they have learned the rules, and watch their play;

For she has played, and she

is

innocent.

"Miraculous escape!" the gossips Yes, she has played with

fire,

say.

and has no

scar,

And in her playing this is all she learned: The hurt of coming spotless through the flame, The bitterness of never being burned.

48

May Night Softly the moonlight lingers

on the

hill,

And sprays of blossom-shadow touch the grass, While from the wood, an

early whip-poor-will

Comforts the waiting silence. If you pass, Unshaken by the magic of the night.

You

No

are a captive of reality.

sweet, consoling visions of delight

Will ever bless your groping memory.

But

if

you give yourself

Though

first this

in quick surrender,

loveliness should rend your soul.

May Night will minister with touch so tender That what was riven shall again be whole. Open your eyes to see, your heart to feel: The wound that Beauty gives, her balm will heal.

49

Portrait She

likes to play for her

In quiet parlor dusk.

admiring friends

Then one

will say,

"How gracefully that fast cadenza ends !" And one She

will nod,

"But most,

slips into those stern

I

like the

way

adagios;"

While she plays on, pretending not to hear Remarks she loves. And no one ever knows That honeyed comments such as these are dear To one whose technic is not good enough

To save as base for artistry, and all An artist needs. She plays the parlor stuff And dreams that she is in Carnegie Hall. She

likes to write a

When

poem

firelight flickers in

in

an hour

an embered grate.

She takes her pen when life tastes flat and sour And writes herself a golden-glowing fate. The words she writes are little words indeed, Too trivial for notice from afar; But still they help to satisfy the need

Of one who reaches vainly for a star To warm her hands. And what if little men Will never read her lines or know her name ? She lives in dream, and every now and then She sees her picture in the Hall of Fame.

50

Futility what difference it makes Whether I mar this page with words or tears. People grow weary of a heart that breaks; People grow tired of reading through the years That love is pain; and beauty, cruelty; And these are what we live for. Strange that I Should go on telling of the inner me, Knowing my words can only flare and die. I

ask myself

Perhaps an angry witch pronounced a curse

Above my bed

Why do Why do

the day that

my

I

was born.

faded verse?

I

not destroy

I

cling to something old

I

do not know. But

I

scorn desire and tears

and worn?

far into the night,

—and write and

51

write.

Lunacy Always, for

my own

salvation,

I have found some compensation In the secondary things; For a soul who dreams and sings

Knows So

I

she cannot

ask this

little

own

the

moon.

boon:

my husband proves a bore, Give me moonbeams on my door. If

52

Petition There is a loss of pride in gratitude That seeks expression worthy of its meaning. This endless stream of gratefulness, imbued

With impotence,

this everlasting

leaning

my mind. If there is any way To rid me of humility, forget My insignificance; and let me pay At least a portion of my monstrous debt.

Tortures

Put out your hand and

raise

me from the dust and let me be

Wherein I mumble thanks, Your equal, worthy of your deepest trust. Look at the paradox you make of me: Born with a heart and mind equipped for I

am

an alien to

this grateful living.

53

giving,

— Loveliness Live in the sweetness of the now, and take Its

essence to your lips to comfort you.

Then, though the end may cause your heart to break, Some healing bahn will come along with rue.

He who Some

has

known

true loveliness

is

wise

beauty always lingers in his eyes.

54

April Song Before the grip of

Or

ice

is lost,

earth forgets the cold,

Forsythia,

who

fears

no

frost,

Puts forth her sprays of gold.

Oh

yellow light above the snow, Brave herald of the spring. Your courage sets the world aglow

And

bids us sing!

55

Idealist Mile after sandy mile he walks alone, Forgetful of the food upon his back. Perhaps he thinks he doesn't really own

The knapsack, for although his lips may crack With thirst, he does not touch the bright canteen. Around him is the desert, but he sees

—

Only mirage Of lakes and

a vision cool

hillsides

and green

and eternal

trees.

Leave him his vision: Though his heart may burst, His dream alone has power to slake his thirst.

56

(^

J^ittle

"Who

are a

Wise

little

wise the best fools be."

John Donne, The Triple Fool

Ne^w Year Now is the New Year come! Not on

that day

Cold weeks gone by, when Hf e was wrapped in snowBut now, in Spring. I know it by the way The pasture brook runs wild; the way that row Of winter-blackened maples shows the sweat Of life on greening limbs. Stand still and feel

The The

air's crisp

edges folding back to

softness through. This

is

Beginning. Winter's calendar

The moment when

the only real is

torn

to Earth a year

59

let

is

born!

— But Not

Now

Strengthen your vows. They are really too light. Swear by the sun, for the moon's on the wane.

Test your sweet whispers by day, for the night Fashions a charm that will addle the brain.

When you can sing me your love songs at noon. When you are sure of a daylight devotion, Brew me a drink made of magic and tune Gladly

I'll

swallow the wonderful potion.

60

Religion "What I

is

religion?" asked the six-year-old.

tried to answer: "It's the

When lovely things

way you

are near

Or happy music from

you

feel

— sunshine's gold;

the bells that peal

In church; or soft cloud-shadows slowly creeping;

Or

stars

—

"

He

stopped

me

Like looking at the baby Is that

the

there: "I

when

way you mean.^" And

61

know,

I

guess.

he's sleeping. I

said,

"Yes."

Class Distinctions The Daisy nods her chumminess to man; The Orchid sniffs, "Afford me if you can!" The The

Alley Cat

who wants

Persian will not

let

your cream you touch its

The Mongrel wags his tail to anyone, While Dogs of Pedigree are not much

And I Much

will purr; fur.

fun.

find little urchins in the street friendlier than children

62

who

are neat.

Cosmetic Index When my I

met

heart has

exercise a

powder

rebuff,

puff.

(Cream and rouge, applied with art, Can mask the cracks in any heart.) But when you see my nose is shiny, Then you know my cares are tiny!

63

— Doubt How

do I know that I am I what last year could make

When

Calls forth

You who

my mirth

today?

And

me

you,

think everything you do

Has consequences

that will last,

Linking the future to the past

How

can

That you

I

know

that you'll be true.

will be forever

64

you?

cry

— Winter Complaint They send such lovely cards to me Those people who can go

To

tropic lands in luxury

When But as I

When Is

I

take

northern blizzards blow.

plow through snow and it

aJl I

very hard find to

warm my

pictured on a card.

65

feet

sleet,

— Christmas Night After I'd coaxed him from his toys at night

And I

tucked him in and

dimmed

heard his sleepy prayer against

his

bedroom

my

light,

cheek:

"Dear God, make Christmas come again next week. I

wondered

Some

And

yet

Deep

if I

ought to

how

him then some rules of men

tell

laws of nature and

often older people pray

in their hearts for

Christmas every day!

66

Who Things

My

Steals I

ought

Purse-

to tear to tatters,

Little piles of junk,

Notes on many paltry matters,

Make my

purse a trunk.

67

A Word If

to the Bride

you would walk the

You

and

Groom

thrifty ways,

will save for rainy days;

But what

if

plans should meet the treason

Of a lengthy rainy season ? Then spend

And you

of love's eternal store,

will find there's always more.

68

Consolation Prize You And

travel

around

to forget an affair;

when you

just feel that you really don't care, You're into another as bad as the first. You make up your mind that your love-life is cursed. You pack your belongings and hop on a train; You smile a goodby that makes light of your pain; You wonder while splashing through oceans of tears If life will be that way the rest of your years.

Although it's too bad that your heart has It's one way of seeing America first!

69

to burst,

Tragic Circumstance She'd like to write poems of fragile despair;

She'd like to go round with dead weeds in her hair

To show

that she's nursing a freshly-cracked heart-

But she

can't look the part.

(Her nose is a button, her face is a moon, And no one believes she'll be sixteen in June!)

70

Checkered If

white

Tlien

all

is

good, and black

my

is

bad,

friends are gray or plaid.

71

;

Jxicn with

J^lttle

;

Oto^e

'Some have too much, yet still do crave, I little have, and seek no more They are but poor, though much they have, And I am rich with little store;

They poor, I rich they They lack, I have; they ;

beg, pine,

I

give I live."

Edward Dyer

— Christmas Gift Gifts in the shops are beautiful and dear

hundred things to suit your taste: books and bright old lamps to give you cheer, Gems that have never heard of man-made paste. If there were any way to buy these things, You'd have them all from me this Christmas Day. You'd read the books and wear the jewelled rings That were my gifts if there were any way. I

see a

New

—

Instead,

I

send you wishes from

my

heart:

Friendship and love and camaraderie. I

am

consoled, for nothing wealth or art

Invents can If I

I

can

tell

you what you mean

make your day seem

to

me.

bright and sunny,

need not look for something bought with money.

75

June Inventory

I

now and

take an inventory

I

To

see

what things

find that

I

am

I

own.

then

Now

once again

wealthy. There's the sky,

Bright blue with snowy lambkins racing by,

Bumping

their

heads in foolish, childlike ways.

There's sunshine, and the drowsy

summer haze

That gives excuse for laziness. There's rain That breaks the heat as suddenly as pain Is

dulled by gentle hands.

Of From

Then

quivering softness, pierced

there are nights

by

little lights

fireflies and stars. And there are trees That seem to laugh with every little breeze That ruffles them. And there are fields of wheat. And grass grows even by a city street. No matter what my fortunes, these will be Possessions I may keep eternally.

76

City Child I

am

a city child.

I

know no name

For these small snowy blossoms that I touch In reverence and love. Expect no shame

From me because my knowledge is not such I can call the birds or name the stars, Or speak familiarly about the crops, Or choose the fruit you want from unmarked

That

I

cannot

But

I

tell

jars.

your barley from your hops!

can love your flowers and your grain.

And watch the wings of birds that swoop and And I can let your piercing points of rain Run gentle daggers deep into my heart. Oh, I can love the beautiful and wild Although I am an alien, city child.

77

dart,

Toast Here's to October, that rollicking

elf,

Capering madly, in love with himself! Shaking the bells on his harlequin suit, Gathering nuts for the squirrels to loot; Veiling the

hills

with a violet haze.

Stealing an hour

Staring above

till

from the glorious days; the crystalline sky

Mirrors and catches the blue of his eye;

Touching the leaves with the gold and the red Left where the rainbow dissolved overhead.

Hey

for October, the mischievous

elf,

Loving the world and his lovable self!

78

Window

to

Heaven

No mountain capped with snow, no sweep No sudden beauty in a lonely place, Can make God seem so real and close As looking at a baby's sleeping face.

79

to

of sea,

me

The The Is

little

Little

House

house against the

hill

there all winter long,

But no one sees it, gray and Asleep and lost to song.

When The

still,

Spring lights up the daffodils. little

house, attired

In glowing gold, awakes and thrills

To

find itself admired!

80

—— For Mary Anne You will

be hurt,

my

dear.

I

know

too well

That I can never hope to stand between The world and you. I cannot even tell That eager mind of yours so young and keen To be aware of danger and of pain. You will be hurt: You go so openly To meet experience, with bright disdain For maxims minted in security.

—

I

shall not

That you That you

hold you back.

I

only pray

You

keep this brightness in your eyes, meet a deeper pain the way did when you were only half this size

The

tears blinked back, the trembling smile in place,

And

courage always shining from your face.

will will

81

—— Man-Child My I

son,

my

son, so

touch you with

grown

restraint.

— almost

I

a man! must not show

The love that since your birth has made each plan Depend on you. I must not let you know

My I

gorgeous hopes,

my

vital fears for you.

my tongue you what you "ought" to do have lived a while and you are young.

must be on the watch to curb

When I would Though Today

I

tell

do not stroke your curly head, For you are feeling masterful and old. I

You would I

resent protection. So, instead,

make my accents bold. "Come in and dress, you little

hide affection,

And

call,

sinner

We're having steak and apple pie for dinner!"

82

Exhortation Tears are out of place in bed. There you press your lonely head Into the unresponsive pillow.

Don't you know.? Outside, the willow Longs to share your grief with you. Earth

is

waiting there to do

Her humble Cool and

part.

The

grass will be

and you will see Its tears of dew that match your own. Do not lie in bed alone. soft,

Come and

No Is

feel the night air's kiss:

greater sympathy than this

ever found.

Their quiet

The

stars will give

and let you live. They have no fumbling human hands. light,

The smallest planet understands Your need of silence. And the moon Will never make you say too soon Those words you wished Unprotected, you

Knowing you

may

that

you might keep.

sleep,

are not alone:

Earth will keep you as her own.

83

Bride They told me washing would be drudgery, That I would hate to cook so many meals, That brooms would be anathema to me When I had learned how marriage really feels. come home at night home so shiny-bright? Or don't they know how sweet it is to do A thousand little common things for you ? Did they forget

And

that you'd

smile to see our

84

Thrift

Why should I save for rainy days when me the power to enjoy the sun ? He who has known release from bitter

rain

Gives

Blesses his suffering

Therefore,

when

his

peace

is

pain

won.

save myself in rainy weather

I

To spend my

sunshine and

85

my

strength together.

—

—

Little Brother "When I was

your age," so Howie

"I always

was told

Just once.

And

Or even if I was The family went

go

to

then

to

said,

bed

didn't go,

if I

a little slow,

into a rage.

And I was spanked when Alvan went on, I

was your age."

"When I was

your age,

couldn't read a single page

After I

I

had

And

my

bedtime. Right away,

come

to

in

my

from

play.

hurry off upstairs to bed

When

I

was your age," so

Alvan

said.

But Mother whispered, "It's not a bit The other boys were as slow as you. Now hurry, dear, and hop into bed. Good night. Sweet dreams!" so

And

Mother

true.

said.

there in the darkness. Little Brother

Thanked

his stars that

he had Mother.

86

Philanderer Mist of the Morning drapes the world With phantom banners, slow unfurled. House-top, hill-top, spire, and tower. Equally loved, they have their hour.

Mist of the Morning, Morning Mist, How many cities have you kissed ?

87

— Pretend am almost thirty; You are almost three.) If my hands aren't dirty, May I pour the tea? (I

Would you

like

stronger?

it

Yes, there's quite a

lot.

Surely you'll stay longer.

Wait, (I

I'll

make

it

hot.

am somewhat bolder; You are sweet and shy.

Who knows which is older You

or I?)

88

spring in the City Where do

they

come from ? Out

of their holes

?

Children on roller skates, children on scooters,

Riding on bicycles, sliding down poles; Angel-faced darlings and little freebooters. All through the winter this street was so quiet,

Dusk came

We had

so early,

and nights were so dark.

forgotten the boisterous riot

Children can

make when

they're out for a lark.

Brighter than blossoms and gayer than flowers, Eager to scatter the laughter they bring! Cities grow young when the days have more hours.

Spring wakes the children, and children make Spring

89

J.ne

^

effect

"On

Jxound

the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven the perfect round."

Browning, Abl Vogler

— ——

.

The Children All in a row, the children stood, Tall ones, short ones, naughty, good.

Some were smiling, some in tears; Some looked older than their years; Some were dirty, some were clean; Some were loving, some were mean; Some vvere born without a name

And one was

lame.

Out of

the room they marched to play (School was over for the day) Out in the yard they stopped to talk.

Broke the stiff march into a walk. Here they confided little joys; Here one or two exchanged their toys; Here three or four proposed a game But one was lame.

Many a mother prayed that night That God would show her child the And God, the Father of them all, Listened to every mother's

ripht;

call,

Listened especially to one

Who

said, "I

pray Thee, for

my

son,

Not fortune, power, wealth, nor fame, Not joys that fade nor joys that maim; Show him that beauty is still the same For he

is

lame."

93

— Would There Be It is

not for myself that

For Socrates said

all

I

Tears?

fear death,

there

to say

is

that: how giving up this mortal breath Can mean but entrance to immortal day

Of Or

night eternal with eternal sleep.

Hear then my infinite conceit: I fear That those I love who love me, too, may heap Small portions of their lives upon my bier.

Would

there be tears and

I

not here to bring

A

cause for living laughter ? Would there be Darkness and pain and I not here to sing Return of day Oh, take this fear from me '^

Promise that when I'm one with

You

still

will greet each

all

the After,

newborn day with

94

laughter.

— To

a Cigarette

You And

hesitate to crush

And

then again,

watch your spark, you with my heel. Perhaps you, too, resent the sudden dark That follows flame. Perhaps you, too, can feel The hurt that comes when one must be subdued. Would you prefer to burn to ashes, too } Then burn. And I shall watch you as I brood I shall not bring the end of things to you.

If I

are all that's

I

left. I

might be kinder

still

should stamp you out before you

But you may

Your

case

is

rest assured

too

I

die.

never will:

much mine. I know that down to ashy dust,

Prefer to dwindle

Rather than quench

my

fire

95

before

I

must.

I

— Chimneys Soot clings to them, because they never know The flame's white heat. Only the smoke is theirs. They take the grime and do without the glow Like patient janitors on Life's back

96

stairs.

Kinship When I

Love and Hate stood naked by my side, wonder wrought:

stared and stared to see the

Grief at the sins of loved ones, bitter pride

That follows wounds from those who love us, brought A likeness to the two. I stared and stared, Hoping my eyes had played a trick on me.

Wondering why

To make

My

laugh was

And

I

so intensely cared

this truth a thing that

bitter,

and

my

could not be.

patience, feigned;

my

mind: Life could not go on lightly with this pained New knowledge it had been my lot to find. only one thing certain in

Surely no balm can ever

The

ache of finding

much

Love akin

97

abate to Hate.

Questions Only the questions matter. These are real, While answers clothe their thought in theory. Questions are proof that one can think and feel Beyond the spoon-fed maxims that may be Death to the mind and even worse than death To what we call the heart. If life is spent In seeking, can there be a use for breath Better than asking always

Assurance

is

my

what

is

meant?

everlasting foe.

Only the askers understand my quest. Those who have answers ready do not know That questions are the prelude to a test: Will there be blinding light or blinding dark When I have reached the final question mark ?

98

— Judgment

—

He died a hero in the fight And so they crowned his name

with

light.

She lived for many a tortured year.

They only

said, "She's getting queer."

99

On

Hearing of

a Suicide

I

Too

poorly have

I

trained for

And

leave

me

know:

life, I

and music, laughter in the Beauty in any form must always go Starlight

rain,

quite inadequate to pain.

have no armor. Led by comfort's treason, If I persist, then I must always be I

A child And

too thinly clad to suit the season,

always unequipped for tragedy.

Then

let

me bare my breast

to every knife,

Court danger, take all beatings as my own, Go out to meet the enemies of life,

And Till

face I

my

deepest night-time fear alone,

can hear of death and suicide

And say with

truth at

dawn,

100

"I

have not

cried.

—

—

II

But when

a

raw-hide thong could tear

And I not feel

my skin

wound, what would I gain ? There would be for me no Good, no Sin, And pleasure, too, must take its flight with pain. What callous madness do I plan ? Is this Insensitivity the boon I crave? If

I

the

adopt a course that robs a kiss I dig myself a grave.

Of ecstasy, Oh,

let

me

rather pray for sympathy,

Infinite understanding, pity, too

A superhuman, loving pity, free Of judging where no judgment can be due That I may firmly clasp the ruling hand Of God, and calmly say, "I understand."

101

Seeking Always

I

seek the one remaining arc

To make the

circle perfect. In the dark,

grope through blackness toward a gleam of light To find that I have teased my straining sight With shadows. Trying to make an angle curve, I fail; and then I lose my smiling nerve, And spend a night in contemplating pain; But morning whispers questions to my brain, I

And I am

off again to

probe and peer

Into old corners filled with ghosts of fear. Perhaps the circle isn't mine at all.

Perhaps

my taste has grown so

used to gall

That sweet would not be known. But still I say. Each time a stranger comes across my way, "I have almost a circle. Make it true! It needs an arc. Are you the answer You ?" .?

102

— Request All you

who

Look on my It lived.

love

me well, when I am

dead,

quiet face that laughed the while

Restrain your tears and give instead

A gentle look, an understanding smile. Oh,

To

if

you

really love

see

me

lying there,

my

know

can never die

Surely you I

for

that

me, do not cry I

laughter

stilled.

whom every day is strangely filled

With some sweet happiness. Gather me flowers And pile them high for me to come and see. They will remind my spirit of the hours Of joy it spent on earth. Think of me free Of body's pain, and you will find your grief Changed

to an

overwhelming, sweet

103

relief.

i

':1

I

>.?