Volume Ii Part 87 (1/2)

FOUR WINDS

”Four winds blowing through the sky, You have seen poor maidens die, Tell me then what I shall do That my lover may be true.”

Said the wind from out the south, ”Lay no kiss upon his mouth,”

And the wind from out the west, ”Wound the heart within his breast,”

And the wind from out the east, ”Send him empty from the feast,”

And the wind from out the north, ”In the tempest thrust him forth; When thou art more cruel than he, Then will Love be kind to thee.”

Sara Teasdale [1884-1933]

TO MANON As To His Choice Of Her

If I had chosen thee, thou shouldst have been A virgin proud, untamed, immaculate, Chaste as the morning star, a saint, a queen, Scarred by no wars, no violence of hate.

Thou shouldst have been of soul commensurate With thy fair body, brave and virtuous And kind and just; and if of poor estate, At least an honest woman for my house.

I would have had thee come of honored blood And honorable nurture. Thou shouldst bear Sons to my pride and daughters to my heart, And men should hold thee happy, wise, and good.

Lo, thou art none of this, but only fair, Yet must I love thee, dear, and as thou art.

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt [1840-1922]

CROWNED

You came to me bearing bright roses, Red like the wine of your heart; You twisted them into a garland To set me aside from the mart.

Red roses to crown me your lover, And I walked aureoled and apart.

Enslaved and encircled, I bore it, Proud token of my gift to you.

The petals waned paler, and shriveled, And dropped; and the thorns started through.

Bitter thorns to proclaim me your lover, A diadem woven with rue.

Amy Lowell [1874-1925]

HEBE

I saw the twinkle of white feet, I saw the flash of robes descending; Before her ran an influence fleet, That bowed my heart like barley bending.

As, in bare fields, the searching bees Pilot to blooms beyond our finding, It led me on, by sweet degrees Joy's simple honey-cells unbinding.

Those Graces were that seemed grim Fates; With nearer love the sky leaned o'er me; The long-sought Secret's golden gates On musical hinges swung before me.

I saw the brimmed bowl in her grasp Thrilling with G.o.dhood; like a lover I sprang the proffered life to clasp;-- The beaker fell; the luck was over.