Part 3 (1/2)

AT KENNEBUNKPORT

We sat together at the ocean's edge, The night was mystical and warm.

From every rambling roadside hedge Wild roses followed us with a swarm Of scents; the pines and every odorous tree Triumphed and rose above the languid sea.

The stars were dim-- The world was hushed, as though before a shrine...

We sat together at the ocean's rim, Your hand in mine.

Then came the moon-- A calm, benignant moon, Like some indulgent mother that has smiled On every wayward child.

The breathing stillness, like a wordless croon, Made the soft heart of heaven doubly mild; And the salt air mingled with the air of June...

The vast and intimate Silence--and your lips...

Faintly we saw the lanterns of three s.h.i.+ps, Three swaying sparks of sudden red and green...

We spoke no word; we heard unseen A night-bird wearily flapping.

And nothing murmured in that world of wonder-- Only the hus.h.i.+ng waters' gentle lapping.

A distant trembling, as of ghostly thunder; Then, poignantly and plain, The lonely whistle of a weary train...

And once again the Silence--and your lips.

Oh let me never cease to thank you for that night; That night that eased and fortified my heart.

When radiant peace, dearer than all delight, Bathed every old and feverish smart, Wiped out all memories of the uncleanly fight...

Cradled in that great beauty, and your arms, The cries and mad alarms Were lulled and all the bitter banners furled.

The tumult vanished, and the thought thereof...

In you I knew the sweet contentment of the world, The balm of silence and the strength of love.

IN A STRANGE CITY

Dusk--and a hunger for your face That grows, with brooding twilight, deeper, While in this hushed and cheerless place, The world lies, like a careless sleeper.

Oh for a brave, red wave of sound To send Life flowing somehow through me; Oh for the blatant, human round To end these hours lone and gloomy.

At last--the friendly summer night, And children's voices calling after.

Long avenues sing out with light; Murmurs arise and bursts of laughter.

I hear the lisp of happy feet-- Life goes by like a rus.h.i.+ng river-- A boy comes whistling up the street...

And I am lonelier than ever.

FOLK-SONG

Back she came through the trembling dusk; And her mother spoke and said: ”What is it makes you late to-day, And why do you smile and sing as gay As though you just were wed?”

”_Oh mother, my hen that never had chicks Has hatched out six!_”

Back she came through the flaming dusk; And her mother spoke and said: ”What gives your eyes that dancing light, What makes your lips so strangely bright, And why are your cheeks so red?”