Part 2 (1/2)

I Watch Swift Pictures

I WATCH swift pictures flash and fade On the closed curtains of my eyes,-- A bit of river green as jade Under green skies;

A single bird that soars and dips Remote; a young and secret moon Stealing to kiss some flower's lips Too shy for noon;

A pointing tree; a lifted hill, Sun-misted with a golden ring,-- Were these once mine? And am I still Remembering?

A path that wanders wistfully With no beginning there nor here, Nor special grace that it should be So sharply dear,

Unless,--what if when every day Is yesterday, with naught to borrow, I may slip down this wistful way Into to-morrow?

Fear

I HEARD a sound of crying in the lane, A pa.s.sionless, low crying, And I said, ”It is the tears of the brown rain On the leaves within the lane!”

I heard a sudden sighing at the door, A soft, persuasive sighing, And I said, ”The summer breeze has sighed before, Gustily, outside the door!”

Yet from the place I fled, nor came again, With my heart beating, beating!

For I knew 'twas not the breeze nor the brown rain At the door and in the lane!

Resurrection

I BURIED Joy; and early to the tomb I came to weep--so sorrowful was I Who had not dreamed that Joy, my Joy, could die.

I turned away, and by my side stood Joy All glorified--ah, so ashamed was I Who dared to dream that Joy, my Joy, could die!

The Lost Name

THE voice of my true love is low And exquisitely kind, Warm as a flower, cold as snow-- I think it is the Wind.

My true love's face is white as mist That moons have lingered on, Yet rosy as a cloud, sun-kissed-- I think it is the Dawn.

The breath of my true love is sweet As gardens at day's close When dew and dark together meet-- I think it is a Rose.

My true love's heart is wild and shy And folded from my sight, A world, a star, a whispering sigh-- I think it is the Night.

My true love's name is lost to me, The prey of dusty years, But in the falling Rain I see And know her by her tears!

The Happy Traveller