A Woman of Thirty Part 6

The boy takes his girl to her lodgings in awkward silence.

They look askance--"Good-night!"--the front door closes, Indeed their eyes have not met, since by the river Those wondrous moments Linked them to earth and night, not to each other.

IV. INTERLUDE

Mountain Trails (GLACIER PARK, SEPT. '17)

I

Night stands in the valley Her head Is bound with stars, While Dawn, a grey-eyed nun Steals through the silent trees.

Behind the mountains Morning shouts and sings And dances upward.

II

The peaks even today show finger prints Where G.o.d last touched the earth Before he set it joyously in s.p.a.ce Finding it good.

III

You, slender s.h.i.+ning-- You, downward leaping-- Born from silent snow To drown at last in the blue silent Mountain lake-- You are not snow or water, You are only a silver spirit Singing!

IV

Sharp crags of granite, Pointing, threatening, Thrust fiercely up at me; And near the edge, their menace Would whirl me down.

V

Climbing desperately toward the heights I glance in terror behind me To be deafened--to be shattered-- By a thunderbolt of beauty.

VI

The mountains hold communion; They are priests, silent and austere, They have come together In a secret place With unbowed heads.

VII

This hidden lake Is a sapphire cup-- An offering clearer than wine, Colder than tears.

The mountains hold it toward the sky In silence.

October Morning

October is brown In field and row--

Yet goldenrod And goldenglow, Purple asters And ruddy oaks, Sumach spreading Crimson cloaks, Apples red And pumpkins gold--?

Perhaps it's gayer To be old!

October Afternoon

The air is warm and winey-sweet, Over my head the oak-leaves s.h.i.+ne Like rich Madeira, glossy brown, Or garnet red, like old Port wine.

Wild grapes are ripening on the hill, Dead leaves curl thickly at my feet, Yet not one falls, it is so still.

Crickets are singing in the sun, And aimlessly gra.s.shoppers leap From discontent to discontent, Their days of leaping nearly done.

There's a rich quietness of earth That holds no promise any more, And like a cup, Today is filled With the last wine the year shall pour.

Maternity

St.u.r.dy is earth, Dull and mighty, Unresentful-- Of her own fertility Covering scars With healing green.

You cannot anger earth, You cannot cause her pain Nor make her remember Your hungry, querulous love.

At last your unwilling body She tranquilly receives And turns it to her uses.

The Father Speaks

My little son, when you were born There died a being, sweet and wild, A lovely, careless, radiant child, A pa.s.sionate woman--her I mourn.

And in her place has come another, With troubled smile and brooding eyes, Insatiate of sacrifice And wholly, utterly your mother.

To Allen

Beauty, the dream that I have dreamed so much Comes true in your quick smile, And on your cheek I see her touch And sometimes in your eyes a while Immortal beauty's fleeting image lies.

Dear child, in whose veins beat The marching centuries of lovers' feet, All those brave, ardent ghosts in you arise-- The souls who, loving beauty, gave you birth, With a chain of pa.s.sion binding beauty to earth, A captured dream--these souls breathe with your breath Living again in beauty that knows no death.

To Helen

Lie still in my arms, little four-years-old, Little bud that glows With more beauty and pa.s.sion than it can hold, Little flaming rose,

The spring's red blossoms, when winter lies deep On a wind-swept world Of tossing branches, lie safely asleep In brown buds curled.

They wake--and the wind strips their petals away And spills them afar-- Can I keep you from blooming, whatever I say, Wild bud that you are!

The Immortal

Child of a love denied, a dream unborn, Spirit more brave Than pa.s.sion's unfulfilment, wiser than fate-- Nor breast nor grave As cradle you have known,-- I mourn That my soul knows its own Too late!

A soul's half-breath, Pa.s.sion's unremembered dream, Perfume without a vase, Intangible you seem To life or death.

And when the coloured mantle of the days Slips from my shoulders, and I lie Forgetful, dumb, Mingled with earth in pa.s.sionless embrace, Will you, forgotten as a bird, Singing unheard In s.p.a.ce, Will you not come When every other dream is gone, Bringing to that silent place The shadow of a gesture flung By motionless hands, a floating echo hung From an unspoken word, And to the empty sky The sunset of a day which did not dawn And cannot die!

To an Absent Child

I

At first in dreams I pressed you so close That you melted away on my breast, But now I wait, breathless and motionless, Till I feel your slender arms caress me Like swallows blown against me And quickly flown.

II

Small flower, My body is the earth from which you sprang, But we are more to each other than earth and flower, Closer, even, than earth and flower, For the sky in me is one with the sky in you...

My love for you Is like sunlight s.h.i.+ning in a quiet place, You shall feel my love like soft light Pouring about you.