American Poetry, 1922 Part 14

Across the hot square, where the barbaric sun Pours coa.r.s.e laughter on the crowds, Trumpets throw their loud nooses From corner to corner.

Elephants, whose indifferent backs Heave with red lambrequins, Tigers with golden muzzles, Negresses, greased and turbaned in green and yellow, Weave and interweave in the merciless glare of noon.

The sun flicks here and there like a throned tyrant, Snapping his whip.

From amber platters, the smells ascend Of overripe peaches mingled with dust and heated oils.

Pages in purple run madly about, Rolling their eyes and grinning with huge, frightened mouths.

And from a high window--a square of black velvet-- A haughty figure stands back in the shadow, Aloof and silent.

THEY SAY--

They say I have a constant heart, who know Not anything of how it turns and yields First here, first there; nor how in separate fields It runs to reap and then remains to sow; How, with quick worship, it will bend and glow Before a line of song, an antique vase, Evening at sea; or in a well-loved face Seek and find all that Beauty can bestow.

Yet they do well who name it with a name, For all its rash surrenders call it true.

Though many lamps be lit, yet flame is flame; The sun can show the way, a candle too.

The tribute to each fragment is the same Service to all of Beauty--and her due.

RESCUE

Wind and wave and the swinging rope Were calling me last night; None to save and little hope, No inner light.

Each snarling lash of the stormy sea Curled like a hungry tongue.

One desperate splash--and no use to me The noose that swung!

Death reached out three crooked claws To still my clamoring pain.

I wheeled about, and Life's gray jaws Grinned once again.

To sea I gazed, and then I turned Stricken toward the sh.o.r.e, Praying half-crazed to a moon that burned Above your door.

And at your door, you discovered me; And at your heart, I sobbed ...

And if there be more of eternity Let me be robbed.

Let me be clipped of that heritage And burned for ages through; Freed and stripped of my fear and rage-- But not of you.

MATER IN EXTREMIS

I stand between them and the outer winds, But I am a crumbling wall.

They told me they could bear the blast alone, They told me: that was all.

But I must wedge myself between Them and the first snowfall.

Riddled am I by onslaughts and attacks I thought I could forestall; I reared and braced myself to shelter them Before I heard them call.

I cry them, G.o.d, a better shield!

I am about to fall.

SELF-REJECTED

Plow not nor plant this arid mound.

Here is no sap for seed, No ferment for your need-- Ungrateful ground!

No sun can warm this spot G.o.d has forgot; No rain can penetrate Its barren slate.

Demonic winds blow last year's stubble From its hard slope.

Go, leave the hopeless without hope; Spare your trouble.

H. D.

HOLY SATYR

Most holy Satyr, like a goat, with horns and hooves to match thy coat of russet brown, I make leaf-circlets and a crown of honey-flowers for thy throat; where the amber petals drip to ivory, I cut and slip each stiffened petal in the rift of carven petal: honey horn has wed the bright virgin petal of the white flower cl.u.s.ter: lip to lip let them whisper, let them lilt, quivering:

Most holy Satyr, like a goat, hear this our song, accept our leaves, love-offering, return our hymn; like echo fling a sweet song, answering note for note.

LAIS

Let her who walks in Paphos take the gla.s.s, let Paphos take the mirror and the work of frosted fruit, gold apples set with silver apple-leaf, white leaf of silver wrought with vein of gilt.

Let Paphos lift the mirror; let her look into the polished center of the disk.

Let Paphos take the mirror: did she press flowerlet of flame-flower to the l.u.s.trous white of the white forehead?

did the dark veins beat a deeper purple than the wine-deep tint of the dark flower?

Did she deck black hair, one evening, with the winter-white flower of the winter-berry?