“My words are barren of my bliss;
The strange part is that I must lie
And never tell you what we say—
These things and I.
“So will it be when I am not.
A little more perhaps to tell;
Yet then as now I may not say
What I know well.”
She died when all the east was red.
And we are they who know her fate
Because we love the way of life
That she had found too late.
TERZA RIMA
I: Old Talk
Old Eyelot sees what never is.
She says: “Pale lights move on the hill,
Deep in the air are treasuries.”
She says: “I never go to mill
Wood-way but something walks with me,
So go wood-way I always will.
Wood-walking, I go mad to see
What will die out just as I turn
To catch it by the crooked tree.
I pass the bush that I saw burning
With wild black flame at full of moon.
That was a sight to set one learning
What things one merely doubts at noon.
A-well, I know not what I learned.
God send that you may learn it soon.