Part 5 (1/2)

POPPY SONG

I

Footsteps soft as fall the rose's Petals on a dewy lawn, Shaken when the wind uncloses Golden gateways for the dawn;

Laughter light as is the swallows'

Chatter in the evening sky, Wafted upward from the hollows Where the limpid waters lie;

Weeping faint as is the willow's By the margin of the lake, Trembling into tiny billows That the silent teardrops make;

Phantoms fitful and uncertain As the pearly autumn rain, Sweeping on in cloudy curtain Down the wide way of the plain.

II

Oh, unhappy now to waken When the dream had scarce begun!

Out of gentle twilight taken Into realms of burning sun:

Oh, unhappy now to find me Lost 'neath heavens hot with noon; All that fairy land behind me; Poppy fields and rising moon!

Drawbridge and portcullis screeching, Bugles braying soon and late; Who are they that come beseeching, Calling at my castle gate?

Drive them hence, for they enc.u.mber Days and nights with waking pain; Tell them that I lie and slumber Under poppies, wet with rain.

Who art thou that bendest praying Over me with clasped palms; Dim through surging darkness, saying Words of prayer and murmured psalms?

Who art thou that kneelest weeping By the border of my bed?

Cease thou, for I was but sleeping-- Dreaming, only, and not dead!

III

Phantoms flitting and uncertain Sweeping round the endless plain; Autumn twilight's dusky curtain, Drowsy poppies, drenched with rain.

LOVE DREAM

Strange that on warp and woof of dreams Fancy should weave the web of truth, And yet this fairy figment seems Part of a half-forgotten youth Stolen from days I thought were sped Out of the world beyond the dead.

Smiled she not when at the edge Of evening we walked alone Plucking spring's blossoms from the hedge That she might wear them as her own, Or do I hold a hopeless tryst Here with a shadow, made of mist?

Now as will crumpled rose leaves, pent By fingers we can never know, Rouse with the richness of their scent, Thoughts of a summer long ago, All the expanse of land and sea Speaks with a thousand tongues to me.

'Twas from coast we watched slow form, Out of the frosty ocean's breath, The blue-gray ramparts of the storm Flas.h.i.+ng with signal fires of death, Whilst with a murmur, far and wide, Swept in the low wind with the tide.