Amber and opal—but I remember
Love that was better than opal or amber.
Call it an age, call it a day,
What’s in the world with love away?
AFTER BATTLE.
AFTER the fighting
Comes not sudden peace, but weariness;
A gloom no lighting
Of little lamps of jest or speech unravels,
But for the brain and body endless travels,
Twisting and turning like the lovers hurled
For punishment athwart the underworld,
Twisting and turning and no respite sighting.
After the living
Comes not relief, but a grey level gloom,
When the heart beats as in a padded room
With wild shapes moving—
Silence imploring and from silence flying,
Praying to life and all athirst for dying.
Tearing lost dreams and for the torn dreams weeping,
Fearing to wake, tumultuously sleeping.
. . . . . .
Death’s a poor leech with worn-out simples striving
To heal in vain the malady of living.
MADEMOISELLE DE MAUPIN.
WHEN the stir and the movement are over,
When you that had the lightness of a wind
Or the poise of some swift bird
Burn no longer in any man’s mind,
And your voice in no man’s heart is heard,
Who in the world will dare to be a lover?
Would any being hurt in the night be crying
“O God! her little mouth that with a kiss
Drank all a man; and—God! her weaving fingers!”
Would any of another dare say this?
Will there be other women, other singers?
I wish with you and me love might be dying.
DU BIST WIE EINE BLUME.
(Version.)
YOU have the way of a blossom,
Cold petal with April green,
And you melt the heart in the bosom
As your beauty enters in.
I will fold my hands together,
Asking of God for you
Always in April weather
Cold petal and colder dew.