The bird flies home to its young;
The flower folds its leaves about an opening bud;
And in my neighbour’s house there is the cry of a child.
I close my window that I need not hear.
She is mine, and she is very beautiful:
And in her heart there is no evil thought.
There is even love in her heart—
Love of life, love of joy, love of this fair world,
And love of me (or love of my love for her);
Yet she will never consent to bear me a child.
And when I speak of it she weeps,
Always she weeps, saying:
‘Do I not bring joy enough into your life?
Are you not satisfied with me and my love,
As I am satisfied with you?
Never would I urge you to some great peril
To please my whim; yet ever so you urge me,
Urge me to risk my happiness—yea, life itself—
So lightly do you hold me.’ And then she weeps,
Always she weeps, until I kiss away her tears
And soothe her with sweet lies, saying I am content.
Then she goes singing through the house like some bright bird
Preening her wings, making herself all beautiful,
Perching upon my knee, and pecking at my lips
With little kisses. So again love’s ship
Goes sailing forth upon a portless sea,
From nowhere unto nowhere; and it takes
Or brings no cargoes to enrich the world.
The years
Are passing by us. We will yet be old
Who now are young. And all the man in me
Cries for the reproduction of myself
Through her I love. Why, love and youth like ours
Could populate with gods and goddesses
This great, green earth, and give the race new types
Were it made fruitful! Often I can see,
As in a vision, desolate old age
And loneliness descending on us two,
And nowhere in the world, nowhere beyond the earth,
Fruit of my loins and of her womb to feed
Our hungry hearts. To me it seems
More sorrowful than sitting by small graves
And wetting sad-eyed pansies with our tears.
The bird flies home to its young;
The flower folds its leaves about an opening bud;
And in my neighbour’s house there is the cry of a child.
I close my window that I need not hear.
SEPARATION
HE
One decade and a half since first we came
With hearts aflame
Into Love’s Paradise, as man and mate;
And now we separate.
Soon, all too soon,
Waned the white splendour of our honeymoon.
We saw it fading; but we did not know
How bleak the path would be when once its glow
Was wholly gone.
And yet we two were forced to follow on—
Leagues, leagues apart while ever side by side.
Darker and darker grew the loveless weather,
Darker the way,
Until we could not stay
Longer together.
Now that all anger from our hearts has died,
And love has flown far from its ruined nest,
To find sweet shelter in another breast,
Let us talk calmly of our past mistakes,
And of our faults; if only for the sakes
Of those with whom our futures will be cast.
You shall speak first.
SHE
A woman would speak last—
Tell me my first grave error as a wife.