ENVOI
I walked with poets in my youth,
Because the world they drew
Was beautiful and glorious
Beyond the world I knew.
The poets are my comrades still,
But dearer than in youth,
For now I know that they alone
Picture the world of truth.
WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER
THERE WHERE THE SEA
There where the sea enwrapt
A strip of land and wind-swept dune,
Where nature was quiescent in the glimmering
Noonday sun of early June,—
The Placid sea lay shimmering
In a mist of blue,
From which the sky now drew
Its wealth of hue and colour;
One heard but the deep breathing of the ocean,
As it breathed along the shore in even motion.
Among the pines and listless of the scene,
Atthis and Alcæus lay,
Within the heart of each a hunger
For the unknown gift of life.
Here from day to day
They met and dreamed away
The soft unfloding days of spring,—
Now turning to the summer.
Alcæus:
I am faint with all the fire
In my blood,
And I would plunge into the quiet blue
And lose all sense of time and you.
Atthis:
I, too, would plunge
And swim with you!
Doffing her robe, the maid stood in her beauty,
Calm and sure and unafraid,
The sinuous splendour of her limbs,
A silent symphony of curving line,
Which reached its final note
In breast and rounded throat.
He had not known that flesh could be so fair;
Each movement which she made
Wove o’er his sense a deeper spell,
Her beauty swept him like a flame
And caught him unaware.
She looked into his eyes, then dropping hers
Before that burning gaze,
Softly turned and crept with sunlit shoulders
Down among the boulders,
To the sea.
Secure within its covering depth
She called to him to follow.
She led him out along the tide,
With swift unerring stroke,
Nor paused till he was at her side.
With conquering arm
He seized her and from her brow
Tossed back the dripping locks, and sought her lips—
Her eyes closed,—
As all her body yielded to his kiss.
Then home he bore her to the shore,
Within his heart a song of triumph;
In hers, a new-born joy of womanhood.
So spring for them passed on to summer.
MARIE TUDOR
MARRIAGE
You, who have given me your name,
And with your laws have made me wife,
To share your failures and your fame,
Whose word has made me yours for life.
What proof have you that you hold me?
That in reality I’m one
With you, through all eternity?
What proof when all is said and done?
In spite of all the laws you’ve made,
I’m free. I am no part of you.
But wait-the last word is not said;
You’re mine, for I’m myself and you.
All through my veins there flows your blood,
In you there is no part of me.
By virtue of my motherhood
Through me you live eternally.
MARIE TUDOR