Part 33 (2/2)

We ask that Love shall rise to the divine, And yet we crave him very human, too; Our hearts would drain the crimson of his wine, Our souls despise him if he prove untrue!

Poor Love! I hardly see what you can do!

We know all human things are weak and frail, And yet we claim that very part of you, Then, inconsistent, blame you if you fail.

When you would soar, 't is we who clip your wings, Although we weep because you faint and fall.

Alas! it seems we want so many things, That no dear love could ever grant them all!

Which shall we choose, the human or divine, The crystal stream, or yet the crimson wine?

Apology. [Amy Lowell]

Be not angry with me that I bear Your colours everywhere, All through each crowded street, And meet The wonder-light in every eye, As I go by.

Each plodding wayfarer looks up to gaze, Blinded by rainbow haze, The stuff of happiness, No less, Which wraps me in its glad-hued folds Of peac.o.c.k golds.

Before my feet the dusty, rough-paved way Flushes beneath its gray.

My steps fall ringed with light, So bright, It seems a myriad suns are strown About the town.

Around me is the sound of steepled bells, And rich perfumed smells Hang like a wind-forgotten cloud, And shroud Me from close contact with the world.

I dwell impearled.

You blazon me with jewelled insignia.

A flaming nebula Rims in my life. And yet You set The word upon me, unconfessed To go unguessed.

The Great Hunt. [Carl Sandburg]

I cannot tell you now; When the wind's drive and whirl Blow me along no longer, And the wind's a whisper at last -- Maybe I'll tell you then -- some other time.

When the rose's flash to the sunset Reels to the wrack and the twist, And the rose is a red bygone, When the face I love is going And the gate to the end shall clang, And it's no use to beckon or say, ”So long” -- Maybe I'll tell you then -- some other time.

I never knew any more beautiful than you: I have hunted you under my thoughts, I have broken down under the wind And into the roses looking for you.

I shall never find any greater than you.

Dialogue. [Walter Conrad Arensberg]

Be patient, Life, when Love is at the gate, And when he enters let him be at home.

Think of the roads that he has had to roam.

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