A Woman of Thirty Part 9

V. PORTRAIT BY ZULOAGA

Death lies in wait For those who do not know What they desire, And h.e.l.l for those Who fear what they have taken.

These hands are wrinkled From stretching forth, Brown From the winds blowing upon them.

They are strong with seizing, They do not tremble.

VI. GESTURES

Let there be dancing figures On our wine-flask, Swastikas on our rug, Inscriptions in our rings And on our dwelling.

Let us build ritual For our wors.h.i.+p, Pledge our love With vows and holy promises.

If oaths are broken, Let it be darkly With threatening gestures.

Thus we ignore That we love and die Like insects.

VII. VEILS

I shall punish your blindness With a veil.

I shall choose words that join Gaily word to word, I shall weave them flauntingly Into veil upon veil,

I shall wind them defiantly Over my lips, over my eyes.

You shall not see your name On my lips, You shall not see your image In my eyes!

And through my veils I shall not see That you are blind.

VIII. FREEDOM

I would be free From two old superst.i.tions, Thanks and Forgiveness.

So I would think of you As Flame, As Wind, As Night,

To whom I have been Wind, And Flame And Night,

Together burned and swept, Now smothered In separate darkness.

IX. MUD

I am dazed and weary From the shapelessness Of what I am--

I am poured Among haphazard stones In meaningless patterns.

Yesterday's sun dried me Between rounded cobbles, Today's deluge sweeps me Toward alien pavements, Tomorrow's sun shall dry me In a new design.

Better the turbid gutter Toward the open sea!

X. FOOLS SAY--

November's breath Is black in the branches of trees And under the bushes,

Harsh rain Whips down the rustling dance Of leaves.

There is smoke In the throat of the wind, Its teeth Bite away beauty.

Let fools say: "Spring Will come again!"

Disillusion

I touch joy and it crumbles under my fingers-- The dust from it rises and fills the world, It blinds my eyes--I cannot see the sun.

A choking fog of dust shuts me apart.

I remember the sparkling wind on a bright autumn morning, I let down my hair and danced in the golden gale, Then chased the wind as the wind chased fallen leaves-- Wind cannot be caught and tamed like a bird.

I touch joy and it crumbles to dust in my fingers.

November Afternoon

Upon our heads The oak leaves fall Like silent benedictions Closing Autumn's gorgeous ritual, And we, upborne by wors.h.i.+p, Lift our eyes to the altar of distant hills.

Beloved How can I know What G.o.ds are yours, How can I guess the visions of your spirit, Or hear The silent prayers your heart has said?

Only by this I feel Your G.o.ds akin to mine, That when our lips have met On this last golden Autumn afternoon They have confessed in silence Our kisses were less precious than our dreams.

Today, our pa.s.sion drowned in beauty, We turn away our faces toward the hills Where purple haze, old incense, Spreads its veil.

Yareth at Solomon's Tomb

At last Your search is at an end, King Solomon,

You, restless dreamer, For whom each face held promise Unfulfilled, Whose hungry arms held many women, (Though none could fill your need) Who seized, but never loved, This is your sepulchre...

I who till today Questioned my heart Now find it buried with you In this tomb;

So now I can forgive you That you never believed My love!

Argolis

Like sun on gra.s.ses Warming to life Quaint beetles, curious weeds, Till earth awakens, pregnant beneath its rays-- So came the shepherds down to Argolis.

As nameless trees Cast cloud-grey shadows there On moon-pale, tarnished snow, Till snow and shadow are lost, Alike confused and forgotten Among the withered reeds-- So lies their memory across its heart.

St. Faith's Eve

We stood together on a balcony An hour when the night Died into blankness, And light mist Curling beneath us, hid the earth, And the cold, unburied stars Drew further into s.p.a.ce...