The starry space, a castle hall:
And Earth, the children’s room,
Where all night long the old trees stand
To watch the streams asleep:
Grandmothers guarding trundle-beds:
Good shepherds guarding sheep.
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Sweetheart Spring
Her gliding hands were fire,Her lilac breath upon our cheeksConsumed us with desire.By her our God began to build,Began to sow and till.He laid foundations in our lovesFor every good and ill.We asked Him not for blessing,We asked Him not for pain —Still, to the just and unjustHe sent His fire and rain.Sweetheart SummerWe prayed…
Friends, I Will Not Cease
Friends, I will not cease hoping though you weep.Such things I see, and some of them shall come,Though now or streets are harsh and ashen-gray,Though our strong youths are strident now, or dumb.Friends, that sweet town, that wonder-town, shall rise.Naught can delay it. Though it may not beJust as I dream, it comes at last…
The dim-winged spirits of the night
They creep from out the hedges ofThe garden where I dwell.I wave my arms across the walk.The troops obey the sign,And bring me shimmering shadow-robesAnd cups of cowslip-wine.Then dig a treasure called the moon,A very precious thing,And keep it in the air for meBecause I am a King.
MOVING-PICTURE ACTRESS
Beauty has a throne-roomIn our humorous town,Spoiling its hob-goblins,Laughing shadows down.Rank musicians tortureRagtime ballads vile,But we walk serenelyDown the odorous aisle.We forgive the squalorAnd the boom and squealFor the Great Queen flashesFrom the moving reel.Just a prim blonde strangerIn her early day,Hiding brilliant weapons,Too averse to play,Then she burst upon usDancing through the night.Oh, her…
I. THEIR BASIC SAVAGERY
Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable,Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table,A deep rolling bass.Pounded on the table,Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom,Hard as they were able,Boom, boom, BOOM,With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom,Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.THEN I had religion, THEN I had a vision.I could not…
Why do I see these empty boats, sailing on airy seas?
Returning always near the eaves, or by the skylight glass:There it will wait me many weeks, and then, at last, will pass.Each soul is haunted by a ship in which that soul might rideAnd climb the glorious mysteries of Heaven’s silent tideIn voyages that change the very metes and bounds of Fate —O empty boats,…