The prancing dancing horses
Are passing by for us.
The sunlight on the steeple,
The toys we stop to see,
The smiling passing people
Are all for you and me.
‘I love you and I love you!’–
‘And oh, I love you, too!’–
‘All of the flower girl’s lilies
Were only grown for you!’
Fifth Avenue and April
And love and lack of care–
The world is mad with music
Too beautiful to bear.
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REDBIRDS, redbirds,
What a honey-call you hadIn hills I used to know;Redbud, buckberry,Wild plum-treeAnd proud river sweepingSouthward to the sea,Brown and gold in the sunSparkling far below,Trailing stately round her bluffsWhere the poplars grow—Redbirds, redbirds,Are you singing stillAs you sang one May dayOn Saxton’s Hill?
I WATCH the great clear twilight
Their branches tinkle faintlyWith crystal melodies.The larches bend their silverOver the hush of snow;One star is lighted in the west,Two in the zenith glow.For a moment I have forgottenWars and women who mourn—I think of the mother who bore meAnd thank her that I was born.
As dew leaves the cobweb lightly
Scattering jewels on the fenceAnd the pasture bars;As dawn leaves the dry grass brightAnd the tangled weedsBearing a rainbow gemOn each of their seeds;So has your love, my lover,Fresh as the dawn,Made me a shining roadTo travel on,Set every common sightOf tree or stoneDelicately alightFor me alone.
ATOMS as old as stars,
Millions and millions of cellsDividing yet still the same,From air and changing earth,From ancient Eastern rivers,From turquoise tropic seas,Unto myself I came.My spirit like my fleshSprang from a thousand sources,From cave-man, hunter and shepherd,From Karnak, Cyprus, Rome;The living thoughts in meSpring from dead men and women,Forgotten time out of mindAnd many as bubbles of foam.Here…
I made a hundred little songs
And sang them blithely, tho’ I knewNo whit thereof.I was a weaver deaf and blind;A miracle was wrought for me,But I have lost my skill to weaveSince I can see.For while I sang — ah swift and strange!Love passed and touched me on the brow,And I who made so many songsAm silent now.
The wide, bright temple of the world I found,
That I might kneel and worship thee in it;Leaving the singing stars their ceaseless roundOf silver music sound on orbed sound,For measured spaces where the shrines are lit,And men with wisdom or with little witImplore the gods that mercy may abound.Ah, Aphrodite, was it not from theeMy summons came across the endless spaces?Mother of Love,…