Part 2 (1/2)
DOWN-HILL ON A BICYCLE
The rolling earth stops As I climb to the summit, Then like a plummet It suddenly drops...
Down, down I go-- Past rippling acres; Hillsides like breakers Over me flow.
Wildly alive I hail the green s.h.i.+mmer, Fresh as a swimmer After the dive.
Like banners unfurled The skies dip and flourish-- The keen breezes nourish, While the bright world
Is a ribbon unrolled With a border of gra.s.ses; And tansies are ma.s.ses And splotches of gold.
Still I whirl on-- Startled, a sparrow Darts from the yarrow, Flash--and is gone...
Faster the gleams Die as they dazzle-- And roadsides of basil Turn to pink streams.
Sharp as a knife Is each perfume and color.
To feel nothing duller-- G.o.d, that were Life!
MIDNIGHT--BY THE OPEN WINDOW
How rapt the sleeping stillness of the night-- Incomparably close and vast... One might Hear the tense silence in the little street Reaching to heaven, where it swells and breaks Into moon-music and star-song that makes My senses bend and sway, as waving wheat Trembles before the wind's majestic feet; Trembles with happy fear and numb delight.
How sharp the silence... like a sword to smite Brittle security and iron aches; A soundless and imperative blast that wakes Undreamed of powers, terrible and sweet...
While G.o.d comes down, roused to the jubilant fight; Roused from the sleepy comfort of His seat.
THE WINE OF NIGHT
Come, drink the mystic wine of Night, Br.i.m.m.i.n.g with silence and the stars, While earth, bathed in this holy light, Is seen without its scars.
Drink in the daring and the dews, The calm winds and the restless gleam-- This is the draught that Beauty brews; Drink--it is the Dream.
Drink, oh my soul, and do not yield-- These solitudes, this wild-rose air, Shall strengthen thee, shall be thy s.h.i.+eld, Against a world's despair.
Oh, quaff this stirrup-cup of stars, Trembling with hope and high desire-- Then back into the hopeless wars With faith and fire!
INTERLUDES
_To My Wife_
_INVOCATION_
_Listen, my lute, I would turn from your militant measures.
Well have you answered the touch of intransigent fingers; Wildly your strings have vibrated--but have you forgotten How to make love-songs?_