Oh such a windy windy day
So glad and wild and sweet!
A day all made for strong white wings,
And song and dancing feet.
Everything's white and blue and gold —
The sea and sand and sky —
And oh the wind, the gay, salt wind,
That frolics blithely by.
Oh windy, lovely day so bright,
Oh, frolic wind so glad !
Stay in my soul, a memory
For still days grey and sad.
Your blue and white and gold, your song,
Your white wings soaring free —
Oh ardent Lover Wind that brought
My soul's own wings to me!
Blue moth!...
Tiny, pulsating thing ...
You and I met upon a rocky hill.
I paused ...
You paused, and poised
Blue,
Blue on a dark stone:
And all the vibrant sunshine in the world
Was caught for the sparkle
On your tiny wings ...
Blue moth!
They--the good people--heard her song
From out of the wood that grows thick in the valley.
She had climbed to the hill-top that rises, blue,
Out of the wood as one comes through.
Grass on the hill-top waving long,
And a smooth gray stone where she kept her tally
Of the years and the days in the wild singing wood.
She lived her life as a virgin should
Till the people heard her song.
They climbed the hill and they frowned and said
“We liked your songs that we heard in the valley.
We don’t like that one you are singing to-day!
It’s mad and it’s bad and it’s much too gay!
But we’ve brought you some meat and bread.”
Then they saw on the stone her tally,
And they shook their heads ... “Look here! Look here!
Snow-shoes: like strong wings
Bound on the feet of victors
Conquering snow-fields.
Love, you have broken my wings — I cried-
And oh, the sky!
Never, never to lift me high!
Only the broken-winged can fly.
Look! — Love replied.
Love, you have shattered the songs of me
And oh, the pain!
Never, never to sing again!
Singing lives on when song is dead.
Listen! — Love said.
There is a sky for a broken wing,
That I have found;
And in the stillness after song,
There is a Sound!
Love! Love! Your tenderness,
Your beautiful, watchful ways
Grasp me, fold me, cover me;
I lie in a kind of daze,
Neither asleep nor yet awake,
Neither a bud nor flower.
Brings to-morrow
Joy or sorrow,
The black or the golden hour?
Love! Love! You pity me so!
Chide me, scold me--cry,
“Submit--submit! You must not fight!”
What may I do, then? Die?
But, oh, my horror of quiet beds!
How can I longer stay!
“One to be ready,
Torture me not with this or that or this,
Love is my master,
you his lesser self;
while you are Love,
I love you generously,
be Eros,
not a tyrannous, bitter mate:
Love has no charm
when Love is swept to earth:
you’d make a lop-winged god,
frozen and contrite,
of god up-darting,
winged for passionate flight.
When I rise above the earth,
And look down on the things that fetter me,
I beat my wings upon the air.
Or tranquil lie,
Surge after surge of potent strength
Like incense comes to me
When I rise up above the earth
And look down upon the things that fetter me.
God grant you wider vision, clearer skies, my son,
With morning's rosy kisses on your brow;
May your wild yearnings know repose,
And storm-clouds break to smiles
As you sweep on with spreading wings
Unto a waiting sunset !
Hush of night. Perfumed breath of night.
A moth with flaming wings.
Come beloved.
Lovely wings of gold and green
Flit about the sounds I hear,
On my window when I lean
To the shadows cool and clear.
Roaming, I am listening still,
Bending, listening overlong,
In my soul a steadier will,
In my heart a newer song.
A little light is going by,
Is going up to see the sky,
A little light with wings.
I never could have thought of it,
To have a little bug all lit
And made to go on wings.