Music, the making of a poem
That gave me heaven for an hour;
First stars above a snowy hill,
Voices of people kindly and wise,
And the great look of love, long hidden,
Found at last in meeting eyes.
I have loved much and been loved deeply —
Oh when my spirit’s fire burns low,
Leave me the darkness and the stillness,
I shall be tired and glad to go.
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There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,
And frogs in the pools singing at night,And wild plum trees in tremulous white;Robins will wear their feathery fire,Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;And not one will know of the war, not oneWill care at last when it is done.Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,If mankind perished utterly;And Spring herself, when she…
The roofs are shining from the rain.
And with a windy April graceThe little clouds go by.Yet the back-yards are bare and brownWith only one unchanging tree–I could not be so sure of SpringSave that it sings in me.
She is too kind, I think, for mortal things,
God gave to her a shy and silver mirth,And made her soul as clearAnd softly singing as an orchard spring’sIn sheltered hollows all the sunny year–A spring that thru the leaning grass looks upAnd holds all heaven in its clarid cup,Mirror to holy meadows high and blueWith stars like drops of dew.I love to think…
When we come home at night and close the door,
Safe in our own love and the gentle gloom,Glad of familiar wall and chair and floor,Glad to leave far below the clanging city;Looking far downward to the glaring streetGaudy with light, yet tired with many feet,In both of us wells up a wordless pity;Men have tried hard to put away the dark;A million lighted windows…
I am afraid, oh I am so afraid!
As long ago when they would take the lightAnd leave the little child who would have prayed,Frozen and sleepless at the thought of death.My heart that beats too fast will rest too soon;I shall not know if it be night or noon, —Yet shall I struggle in the dark for breath?Will no one fight the…
I said, ‘I have shut my heart
That Love may starve thereinAnd trouble me no more.’But over the roofs there cameThe wet new wind of May,And a tune blew up from the curbWhere the street-pianos play.My room was white with the sunAnd Love cried out in me,‘I am strong, I will break your heartUnless you set me free.’