She to Him
The day you died, my Share of All
My soul was tossed
Hither and thither, like a leaf,
And lost, lost, lost,
From sounds and sight,
Beneath the night
Of gloom and grief.
But —
(Hush, for the wind may hear)
Soon, soon you came in solitude:
And we renewed
All happiness.
Now, who shall guess
How close we are, my dear?
(Hush, for the wind may hear.)
Yet —
Other women wait
Their doors ajar;
And listen, listen, listen,
For the gate,
And murmur, "Soon, the war
Will seem a far,
Dim agony of sleep."
May I be joyful, too,
That day,
For love of you
May I not turn away
Nor — weep.
[John Drinkwater]
Malediction
Thrush, across the twilight
Here in the abbey close,
Pouring from your lilac-bough
Note on pebbled note,
Why do you sing so,
Making your song so bright.
Swelling to a throbbing curve
That brave little throat?
Soon, but a season brief,
The lice among your feathers,
Stiff-winged and aimless-eyed,
With song dead you shall fall;
Refuse of some clotted ditch,
Seeking no more berries;
Why with lyric numbers now
Do you the twilight call?
Proud in your tawny plumes
Mottled in devising,
Singing as though never sang
Bird in close till now —
Sharp are the javelins
Of death that are seeking,
Seeking even simple birds
On a lilac-bough.
Crushed, forlorn, a frozen thing,
For no more nesting,
For no more speckled eggs
In pattered cup of clay, —
Soon your song shall come to this
You who make the twilight yours,
And echoes of the abbey,
At the end of day.
In the song I hear it,
The thud of a poor feathered death,
In the swelling throat I see
The splintering of song —
What demon then has worked in me
To tease my brain to bitterness —
In me who have loved bird and tree
So long, so long?
Until I come to charity,
Until I find peace again,
My curse upon the fiend or god
That will not let me hear
A bird in song upon the bough
But, hovering about the notes,
There chimes the maniac beating
Of black-winged fear.