Part 20 (1/2)

What guerdon is in store For gallant France, for glorious France, And all her valiant corps?

”Behold I live, and France, like me, Shall live for evermore.”

DEAD FIRES

If this is peace, this dead and leaden thing, Then better far the hateful fret, the sting.

Better the wound forever seeking balm Than this gray calm!

Is this pain's surcease? Better far the ache, The long-drawn dreary day, the night's white wake, Better the choking sigh, the sobbing breath Than pa.s.sion's death!

ORIFLAMME

”I can remember when I was a little, young girl, how my old mammy would sit out of doors in the evenings and look up at the stars and groan, and I would say, 'Mammy, what makes you groan so?' And she would say, 'I am groaning to think of my poor children; they do not know where I be and I don't know where they be. I look up at the stars and they look up at the stars!'”--_Sojourner Truth_.

I think I see her sitting bowed and black, Stricken and seared with slavery's mortal scars, Reft of her children, lonely, anguished, yet Still looking at the stars.

Symbolic mother, we thy myriad sons, Pounding our stubborn hearts on Freedom's bars, Clutching our birthright, fight with faces set, Still visioning the stars!

OBLIVION

_From the French of Ma.s.sillon Coicou (Haiti)_

I hope when I am dead that I shall lie In some deserted grave--I cannot tell you why, But I should like to sleep in some neglected spot Unknown to every one, by every one forgot.

There lying I should taste with my dead breath The utter lack of life, the fullest sense of death; And I should never hear the note of jealousy or hate, The tribute paid by pa.s.sersby to tombs of state.

To me would never penetrate the prayers and tears That futilely bring torture to dead and dying ears; There I should lie annihilate and my dead heart would bless Oblivion--the shroud and envelope of happiness.

Anne Spencer

BEFORE THE FEAST OF SHUSHAN

Garden of Shushan!

After Eden, all terrace, pool, and flower recollect thee: Ye weavers in saffron and haze and Tyrian purple, Tell yet what range in color wakes the eye; Sorcerer, release the dreams born here when Drowsy, s.h.i.+fting palm-shade enspells the brain; And sound! ye with harp and flute ne'er essay Before these star-noted birds escaped from paradise awhile to Stir all dark, and dear, and pa.s.sionate desire, till mine Arms go out to be mocked by the softly kissing body of the wind-- Slave, send Vashti to her King!

The fiery wattles of the sun startle into flame The marbled towers of Shushan: So at each day's wane, two peers--the one in Heaven, the other on earth--welcome with their Splendor the peerless beauty of the Queen.

Cus.h.i.+oned at the Queen's feet and upon her knee Finding glory for mine head,--still, nearly shamed Am I, the King, to bend and kiss with sharp Breath the olive-pink of sandaled toes between; Or lift me high to the magnet of a gaze, dusky, Like the pool when but the moon-ray strikes to its depth; Or closer press to crush a grape 'gainst lips redder Than the grape, a rose in the night of her hair; Then--Sharon's Rose in my arms.

And I am hard to force the petals wide; And you are fast to suffer and be sad.

Is any prophet come to teach a new thing Now in a more apt time?

Have him 'maze how you say love is sacrament; How says Vashti, love is both bread and wine; How to the altar may not come to break and drink, Hulky flesh nor fleshly spirit!

I, thy lord, like not manna for meat as a Judahn; I, thy master, drink, and red wine, plenty, and when I thirst. Eat meat, and full, when I hunger.

I, thy King, teach you and leave you, when I list.

No woman in all Persia sets out strange action To confuse Persia's lord-- Love is but desire and thy purpose fulfillment; I, thy King, so say!

AT THE CARNIVAL

Gay little Girl-of-the-Diving-Tank, I desire a name for you, Nice, as a right glove fits; For you--who amid the malodorous Mechanics of this unlovely thing, Are darling of spirit and form.

I know you--a glance, and what you are Sits-by-the-fire in my heart.