III
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS
SONG
Would I could commandeer the bees
To hum you droning symphonies.
I love the climbing thoughts that rise
To the sheer heaven of your eyes,
Wide laughter-dromes of wondering blue,
Yes, yes, I do!
But when I sing of bubbling seas,
The zephyr-clapping hands of trees
Applauding in tumultuous skies,
Or window-winged dragonflies,
Or anything that’s good and true
I sing of you—
Yes, yes, I do!
THE SHADOW
I stood one night where rivers pause to meet
And mingle in the traffic-rumbling sea:
The surge and clamour of a London street,
In tides alternate, rolled, impassively.
Before my feet
Ran shouting boys, and through the pallid glare
Loomed gaunt leviathans that swayed and roared
Past glittering shops, and stations which outpoured
Load after weary load; and everywhere
Strange sounds, a snatch of laughter, shout or word,
Sleek-coated motor-cars that softly purred
Round corners sounding with the rustling beat
Of hurried swarms of feet.
And yet I seemed alone, and dumb-amazed
Before a towering building, wherein blazed
One staring patch of light, one amber square
That shone enshrouded by the dome of night
High in the naked air. And still I gazed
Until a shadow passed across the blind:
A shadow-woman pacing time away
Beside a bed, wherein a poet lay
Dying, dying. One whose mind
(A womb of beauty whereof love was lord)
Had fashioned symphonies of thought and word
Impassionately sweet. And suddenly
She paused—I saw the shadow of her hand
Stretch out and shudder back. I saw her stand
All sorrow-bound in graven dignity.
She bowed her head, her shoulders taut with pain,
Her figure burdened with the weight of tears.
Then all grew dark. And in my waking ears
The traffic surged again.