Part 17 (1/2)

It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning Should I not pause in the light to remember G.o.d?

Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable, He is immense and lonely as a cloud.

I will dedicate this moment before my mirror To him alone, for him I will comb my hair.

Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence!

I will think of you as I descend the stair.

Vine leaves tap my window, The snail-track s.h.i.+nes on the stones, Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree Repeating two clear tones.

It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence, s.h.i.+ning I rise from the starless waters of sleep.

The walls are about me still as in the evening, I am the same, and the same name still I keep.

The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion, The stars pale silently in a coral sky.

In a whistling void I stand before my mirror, Unconcerned, and tie my tie.

There are horses neighing on far-off hills Tossing their long white manes, And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk, Their shoulders black with rains . . .

It is morning. I stand by the mirror And surprise my soul once more; The blue air rushes above my ceiling, There are suns beneath my floor . . .

. . . It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness And depart on the winds of s.p.a.ce for I know not where, My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket, And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair.

There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven, And a G.o.d among the stars; and I will go Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak And humming a tune I know . . .

Vine-leaves tap at the window, Dew-drops sing to the garden stones, The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree Repeating three clear tones.

Good Company. [Karle Wilson Baker]

To-day I have grown taller from walking with the trees, The seven sister-poplars who go softly in a line; And I think my heart is whiter for its parley with a star That trembled out at nightfall and hung above the pine.

The call-note of a redbird from the cedars in the dusk Woke his happy mate within me to an answer free and fine; And a sudden angel beckoned from a column of blue smoke -- ~Lord, who am I that they should stoop -- these holy folk of thine?~

”Feuerzauber”. [Louis Untermeyer]

I never knew the earth had so much gold -- The fields run over with it, and this hill, h.o.a.ry and old, Is young with buoyant blooms that flame and thrill.

Such golden fires, such yellow -- lo, how good This spendthrift world, and what a lavish G.o.d -- This fringe of wood, Blazing with b.u.t.tercup and goldenrod.

You too, beloved, are changed. Again I see Your face grow mystical, as on that night You turned to me, And all the trembling world -- and you -- were white.

Aye, you are touched; your singing lips grow dumb; The fields absorb you, color you entire . . .

And you become A G.o.ddess standing in a world of fire!

Birches. [Robert Frost]

When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them.

But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.