Songs of the Mexican Seas Part 12

Why, he is free to leave the land, The silver moon is white as dawn; Why, he has gold in either hand, Has silver ways to walk upon.

And who should chide, or bid him stay?

Or taunt, or threat, or bid him fly?

The world's for sale, I hear men say, And yet this man has gold to buy.

Buy what? Buy rest? He could not rest!

Buy gentle sleep? He could not sleep, Though all these graves were wide and deep As their wide mouths with the request.

Buy Love, buy faith, buy snow-white truth?

Buy moonlight, sunlight, present, past?

Buy but one brimful cup of youth That calm souls drink of to the last?

O G.o.d! 'tis pitiful to see This miser so forlorn and old!

O G.o.d! how poor a man may be With nothing in this world but gold!

VIII.

The broad magnolia's blooms are white; Her blooms are large, as if the moon Had lost her way some lazy night, And lodged here till the afternoon.

Oh, vast white blossoms breathing love!

White bosom of my lady dead, In your white heaven overhead I look, and learn to look above.

IX.

All night the tall magnolia kept Kind watch above the nameless tomb: Two shapes kept waiting in the gloom And gray of morn, where roses wept.

The dew-wet roses wept; their eyes All dew, their breath as sweet as prayer.

And as they wept, the dead down there Did feel their tears and hear their sighs.

The gra.s.s uprose as if afraid Some stranger foot might press too near; Its every blade was like a spear, Its every spear a living blade.

The gra.s.s above that nameless tomb Stood all arrayed, as if afraid Some weary pilgrim seeking room And rest, might lay where she was laid.

X.

'Twas morn, and yet it was not morn; 'Twas morn in heaven, not on earth,-- A star was singing of a birth, Just saying that a day was born.

The marsh hard by that bound the lake,-- The great low sea-lake, Ponchartrain, Shut off from sultry Cuban main,-- Drew up its legs, as half awake:

Drew long stork legs, long legs that steep In slime where alligators creep,-- Drew long green legs that stir the gra.s.s, As when the late lorn night-winds pa.s.s.

Then from the marsh came croakings low, Then louder croaked some sea-marsh beast; Then, far away against the east, G.o.d's rose of morn began to grow.

From out the marsh, against that east, A ghostly moss-swept cypress stood; With ragged arms above the wood It rose, a G.o.d-forsaken beast.

It seemed so frightened where it rose!

The moss-hung thing it seemed to wave The worn-out garments of the grave,-- To wave and wave its old grave-clothes.

Close by, a cow rose up and lowed From out a palm-thatched milking-shed.

A black boy on the river road Fled sudden, as the night had fled:

A nude black boy, a bit of night That had been broken off and lost From flying night, the time it crossed The surging river in its flight:

A bit of darkness, following The sable night on sable wing,-- A bit of darkness stilled with fear, Because that nameless tomb was near.

Then holy bells came pealing out; Then steamboats blew, then horses neighed; Then smoke from hamlets round about Crept out, as if no more afraid.

Then shrill c.o.c.ks here, and shrill c.o.c.ks there, Stretched glossy necks and filled the air.

How many c.o.c.ks it takes to make A country morning well awake!

Then many boughs, with many birds,-- Young boughs in green, old boughs in gray,-- These birds had very much to say In their soft, sweet, familiar words.

And all seemed sudden glad; the gloom Forgot the church, forgot the tomb; And yet like monks with cross and bead The myrtles leaned to read and read.

And oh the fragrance of the sod!

And oh the perfume of the air!

The sweetness, sweetness everywhere, That rose like incense up to G.o.d!

I like a cow's breath in sweet spring, I like the breath of babes new-born; A maid's breath is a pleasant thing,-- But oh the breath of sudden morn!

Of sudden morn, when every pore Of mother earth is pulsing fast With life, and life seems spilling o'er With love, with love too sweet to last:

Of sudden morn beneath the sun, By G.o.d's great river wrapped in gray, That for a s.p.a.ce forgets to run, And hides his face as if to pray.

XI.

The black-eyed Creole kept his eyes Turned to the door, as eyes might turn To see the holy embers burn Some sin away at sacrifice.

Full dawn! but yet he knew no dawn, Nor song of bird, nor bird on wing, Nor breath of rose, nor anything Her fair face lifted not upon.

And yet he taller stood with morn; His bright eyes, brighter than before, Burned fast against that fastened door, His proud lips lifting up with scorn,--

With lofty, silent scorn for one Who all night long had plead and plead, With none to witness but the dead How he for gold must be undone.

Oh, ye who feed a greed for gold, And barter truth, and trade sweet youth For cold hard gold, behold, behold!

Behold this man! behold this truth!

Why, what is there in all G.o.d's plan Of vast creation, high or low, By sea or land, by sun or snow, So mean, so miserly as man?

Lo, earth and heaven all let go Their garnered riches, year by year!

The treasures of the trackless snow, Ah, hast thou seen how very dear?

The wide earth gives, gives golden grain, Gives fruits of gold, gives all, gives all!

Hold forth your hand, and these shall fall In your full palm as free as rain.