I should be glad of loneliness
And hours that go on broken wings,
A thirsty body, a tired heart
And the unchanging ache of things,
If I could make a single song
As lovely and as full of light,
As hushed and brief as a falling star
On a winter night.
You have taken a drink from a wild fountain
Early in the year;
There is nowhere to go from the top of a mountain
But down, my dear;
And the springs that flow on the floor of the valley
Will never seem fresh or clear
For thinking of the glitter of the mountain water
In the feathery green of the year.
Not by the sea, but somewhere in the hills,
Not by the sea, but in the uplands surely
There must be rest where a dim pool demurely
Watches all night the stern slow-moving skies;
Not by the sea, that never was appeased,
Not by the sea, whose immemorial longing
Shames the tired earth where even longing dies,
Not by the sea that bore Iseult and Helen,
But in a dark green hollow of the hills
There must be sleep, even for sleepless eyes.
Without you, love, I must contend
With longing that has never end ;
With loneliness, against whose bars
The sun is shattered and the stars;
With silence deeper than the sea.
That drowns the very thoughts of me.
With you, my sweet, I must endure
The cross of all who hold unsure
The precious boon ; must ever hear
The insistent monotone of Fear;
Must ever toward the zenith ache.
Abasing self, for your dear sake.
In those serene and potent eyes
Is there no kindly compromise?
Will they not grant me this release:
To see their light and still have peace.
The honey of the Hybla bees
Is not so sweet as kissing you;
Nor autumn wind in dying trees
So wistful is as missing you.
And when you are not mine to kiss,
My every thought is haunting you ;
And when your mouth is mine, I miss
The wistfulness of wanting you.
I want to take a ship and go
Abroad, but where I do not know:
It isn't Paris, London, Rome,
Nagasaki, Naples, Nome,
Honolulu, Teheran,
Servia or Afghanistan;
And yet I want to take a ship
And give the place I'm in the slip —
Lord, tell me where I want to go;
Give a man a decent show!
You draw my heart about you, as a cloak,
And your words steal over it like a reluctant color:
A color of pain that fears to die.
My heart ripples with your slight turning
But sometimes moves when you are still,
Beckoning to longings that have not reached your mouth.
We met upon nearby hill-tops of our lives
And shook the dust from us, revealing flame-laced clothes
And eyeing each other in the same moment.
You curved a longing to the wave of your arm:
A longing for dark rest crossed by unbidden gifts.
And my eyes deepened in answer....
Then we floated down to the valley between us:
The valley ringed with smooth honey-combs of sleep.
Dawn glimmers white beyond the burning hill
Where sunbeams light a fire in every tree.
The morning bird is singing clear and shrill;
And oh, my love! when will you come to me?
The daisies whitely sleep beneath the dew;
On the wet road the stones are fair to see;
Cloudy, the blackthorn floats upon the blue;
And oh, my love! when will you come to me?
The wind came walking in the shaken wood;
He shouted from the mountains and the sea.
By the pale thorn he paused, in lover’s mood -
And oh, my love! when will you come to me?
My heart has blossomed meekly as the thorn;
It has its dews, and daisies two or three.
The heavens quicken, green as April corn —
And oh, my love! when will you come to me?
When I was a little lad
With folly on my lips,
Fain was I for journeying
All the seas in ships.
But now across the southern swell,
Every dawn I hear
The little streams of Duna
Running clear.
When I was a young man,
Before my beard was gray,
All to ships and sailormen
I gave my heart away.
But I'm weary of the sea-wind,
I'm weary of the foam,
And the little stars of Duna
Call me home.
Far out from the whirlpool cities
They call and they call to me
Where the journey ends —
My infinite Friends
The Wind and the Sea.
Tonight the Wind in the inland woods,
Where my sheltered house is set,
Carries the rush of the sea waves past
Till my cheeks feel cold and wet.
And I smile and shudder. . . .
"What wouldst thou of me
O Wind and Sea?"
Far out from the whirlpool cities
They call and they call to me
Where the Journey ends —
My infinite Friends
Once I stood at the edge o' the world —
Were you ever there?
The sky came down to an opal sea,
Out there in space hung a dream-made ship
And the earth was only a narrow strip
Of sea-shells, ground by the wheels of Time.
No living things but my Love and I,
And one white bird that was sailing by —
But ah how foolish ! Why do I try
To tell it now . . . like a stifled cry!
My edge o' the world !
Back to day in the valley !
Small, green world, so sheltered and warm,
Fruit trees white where the brown bees swarm,
Gay little crowded gardens blow,
Gay little feet run to and fro—