A Woman of Thirty Part 8

Withered reeds, and thin brown water Above the reeds Are dumb.

IV

For what are you waiting, winter valley, Withered valley, brown with reeds?

You are hushed with waiting.

You are old with secrets, You are tranquil with forgetting.

You are harsh with thorns Of fruits long vanished.

V. Love Poems in Autumn

Ballad

Follow, follow me into the South, And if you are brave and wise I'll buy you laughter for your mouth, Sorrow for your eyes.

I'll buy you laughter, wild and sweet, And sorrow, grey and still, But you must follow with willing feet Over the farthest hill.

Follow, follow me into the South, You may return tomorrow Wearing my kisses on your mouth, In your eyes my sorrow.

The Pathway of Black Leaves

I. THE TURNING

The pathway opened before her eyes Between black leaves-- She laughed, and s.h.i.+vered, and turned aside From the dusty road.

Her feet moved on like heart-beats, She could not stop them; Relentlessly each step fulfilled itself And the steps behind it-- A hidden chain, drawing her onward Captive.

And yet she said: "Now I walk free At last!"

II. TOLL-GATE

The sign read:

"Paupers may pa.s.s untaxed, The Rich shall pay a penny, The Poor Must give all they possess."

She emptied her pockets bravely and pa.s.sed through...

They gave her a golden coin in return for her silver, Bearing on one side the head of a king, And on the other a worn inscription Curved like a wreath And written in a tongue she did not know.

III. THE INN

There was the inn, beside the path, Standing like the words of an ancient prophet Forgotten long, now suddenly come true.

"They who break bread here Shall not eat for hunger; They who lie here Shall not sleep."

All night long the black leaves, one by one, Laughed, and s.h.i.+vered, and fell into darkness.

IV. RETURN

She has come home To the house she knew: But she has forgotten The square oaken smile of the door.

The room is a stranger, The fire is sullen; On her hair a black leaf s.h.i.+nes And clings where it fell.

Against her heart She has hidden away The bitter golden profile of a king.

Elegy

I would be autumn earth, and hold Your beautiful body, slain, Where, lying still and cold, Only the winter rain Shall touch your limbs and face; Where the white frost shall wed.

Your body to black mould In the close, pa.s.sionless embrace Of that dark marriage bed: I would be autumn earth, and hold Your beautiful body, dead.

Sequence

I. ARRIVAL

s.h.i.+ning highways Sing to your step, Windows beckon, Doorways open a square embrace.

Doors laugh gently Swinging together Behind you.

II. THE TOWER

There's a flag on my tower, And my windows Are orange to the night.

They are set in grey stone that frowns At the black wind.

Inside, there's a guest at my hearth, And a fire Painting the grey stone gold.

My windows are black With the hungry night peering through them.

Blackness lurks in corners, Wind s.n.a.t.c.hes the sparks, Tongs and poker jangle together Like the iron bones Of a man that was hanged.

III. THEY WHO DANCE

The feet of dancers s.h.i.+ne with mirth, Their hearts are vibrant as bells:

The air flows by them Divided like water Cut by a gleaming s.h.i.+p.

Triumphantly their bodies sing, Their eyes are blind With music.

They move through threatening ghosts Feeling them cool as mist On their brows.

They who dance Find infinite golden floors Beneath their feet.

IV. PIANISSIMO

I took Night Into my arms, Night lay upon my breast.

If night had wings She would have brought me Stars for my hair.

The stars laughed Lightly From far away.

About my shoulders White mist curled.