Hymen

NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1921
FOR BRYHER AND PERDITA
They said: she is high and far and blind in her high pride, but now that my head is bowed in sorrow, I find she is most kind.
We have taken life, they said, blithely, not groped in a mist for things that are not— are if you will, but bloodless— why ask happiness of the dead? and my heart bled.
Ah, could they know how violets throw strange fire, red and purple and gold, how they glow gold and purple and red where her feet tread.
Acknowledgements are due to the editors of the following periodicals in which certain of these poems have appeared: Poetry (Chicago), The Dial , Contact and The Bookman (New York), The Nation , The Sphere , The Anglo-French Review and The Egoist (London).

As from a temple service, tall and dignified, with slow pace, each a queen, the sixteen matrons from the temple of Hera pass before the curtain—a dark purple hung between Ionic columns—of the porch or open hall of a palace. Their hair is bound as the marble hair of the temple Hera. Each wears a crown or diadem of gold.
They sing—the music is temple music, deep, simple, chanting notes:
From the closed garden Where our feet pace Back and forth each day, This gladiolus white, This red, this purple spray— Gladiolus tall with dignity As yours, lady—we lay Before your feet and pray:
Of all the blessings— Youth, joy, ecstasy— May one gift last (As the tall gladiolus may Outlast the wind-flower, Winter-rose or rose), One gift above, Encompassing all those;
For her, for him, For all within these palace walls, Beyond the feast, Beyond the cry of Hymen and the torch, Beyond the night and music Echoing through the porch till day.