Poems of West & East

by V. Sackville-West

I WROTE the burning words to you
That meant so much to me.
I sent them speeding straight to you,
To you across the sea;
I waited with sure reckoning
For your reply to me.

I waited, and the counted day
Fruitlessly came and went;
I made excuse for the delay,
Pitiable confident.
I knew to-morrow's light must bring
The words you must have sent.

And still I stand on that dim verge
And look across the sea;
The waves have changed into a dirge
Their volubility.
And in my disillusioned heart
Is a little grave for me.

But still with shaded eyes I gaze
As mournfully I sing,
And one by one the trailing days,
As they no message bring,
Fall with their slow monotony
As beads fall from a string.

THE BANQUET

WINE ran; rich yellow wine upon the marble floor
Recklessly spilled; the Nubians ran to pour
A fresh libation; and to scatter showers
Of red rose petals; candles overturned
Smouldered among the ruins of the flowers,
And overhead swung heavy shadowy bowers
Of blue and purple grapes,
And strange fantastic shapes
Of varied birds, where lanterns hung and dimly burned.

The melon and the orange, turned to use
As golden balls with laughter lightly tossed,
Lay burst and drained of their sweet juice,
Uselessly ripened and for ever lost;
All glowing as they lay upon the ground,
As envious of their fellows,
Who, piled in luscious reds and yellows,
Enriched the tables all around,
The tables low,
Sheltering the reclining grace;
Here, through the curling smoke, a swarthy face,
And jewelled turban bound about the head,
And here the glow
Of red carnation pressed to lips as warmly red.

And as they lay in their luxurious ease,
Playing with grapes and rose-leaves, slim
And willowy slave-girls, in the hope to please,
Twisted and danced before them, to the dim
Uncertain music in the shadows played;
Some came with supple limb,
With Mystery's aid
And snake-like creep,
Others with riotous leap
And made festivity to Bacchus wed;
Others with stiff Egyptian tread,
And straight black hair hanging in glossy braid,
They danced, unnoted, and exhausted fled.
* * * * *
Still floated from beneath the acacia-tree
The droning Eastern music's minor key.

MCMXIII

SO prodigal was I of youth,
Forgetting I was young;
I worshipped dead men for their strength,
Forgetting I was strong.