Eight Harvard Poets Part 8

SEA-BURIAL

Over the sands the swollen tide came creeping, Over the sands beneath the gleaming moon; At first it seemed a child's uncertain croon, And then a sound of many mourners weeping.

Then all at once a crested wave was sweeping Around the still form in the moonlight there, Twining its silver fingers in her hair....

And yet it could not rouse her from her sleeping.

With dawn the tide went seaward, bearing her In its strong arms that clung so tenderly, And laid her in a strange place far away Where the tall seaweeds rise and never stir....

And there she sleeps, while pa.s.s alternately The brooding night and the green luminous day.

DUDLEY POORE

A RENAISSANCE PICTURE

Calm little figure, ivy-crowned, How long beneath the barren tree Where this pale, martyred G.o.d has found Surcease from his long agony, You watch with an untroubled gaze Life move on its accustomed ways!

Within your childish heart there dwells No sorrow that uprising dims Your eye, whence not a teardrop wells For pity of those writhen limbs, Or for the travail of a race Consummate in one lifeless face.

Though tinkling caravans go by Forever over twilight sands, With myrrh and ca.s.sia laden high For other shrines in other lands, No weight of grief thereat you know, But softly on your pan-pipes blow.

From what dim mountain have you strayed, Where, ringed by the h.e.l.lenic seas, You dwelt in an untrodden glade Sacred to woodland deities, Along whose faint paths went at dawn Endymion or a dancing faun?

From groves where sacrificing throngs Called you by some fair Grecian name, With ritual meet and choric songs, Strange, that to this dark hill you came To seek, unmindful of their loss, A refuge underneath the cross.

There is some deeper secret lies Hidden out of human sight In keeping of those tranquil eyes That shine with such immortal light, And in their shadows gleam and glow While still upon your pipes you blow.

All but inscrutable, your gaze Declares your place is even here, Sharing this martyr's cup of praise, And year by sadly westering year, Till the last altar lights grow dim, Dividing sovereignty with him.

THE PHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN

Some strange and exquisite desire Has thrilled this flowering almond tree Whose branches shake so wistfully, Else wherefore does it bloom in fire?

Why scatter pollen on the air, Marry its pale buds each to each, The year's unkindly tempests bear, Or to the calm clear sunlight reach?

Yet I can give that hope no name, Nor that divine emotion share, For, though I see it flowering there, Because our speech is not the same The pa.s.sionate secret must lie hid Burdened with unexpressed delight, Where none of all man's race can bid It forth, or voice its beauty right.

There's nought in earth or heaven knows That hope for which our being longs, The stars are busied with their songs, The universal springtime flows From sun to sun in scorn of man, Careless if he be quick or dead, Or if this earth, as it began, Be voiceless and untenanted.

THE TREE OF STARS

There stands a tree where no man knows, And like an earthly tree it grows, Save that upon its branches wide The earth and all the stars beside, The chilly moon and the great sun, The little planets, one by one, Are hung like fruit to redden there And ripen in the heavenly air.

And when the seeds are round and full The watchful G.o.ds will come and pull The ripened fruit from off the tree; And then that heavenly company Will bear the shining planets in And garner them in a deep bin And sort them out, and save the seed To plant new trees in time of need.

AFTER RAIN

All day the heavy skies have lowered, Long beaten by autumnal rain; The lilac's withered leaves lie showered Where little rain-pools star the plain; All things that for a season flowered Sink back to earth again.

Strange, then, that with the year's decrease And out of gathering dusk you rise Seeking love's ultimate surcease, Phantom, whose memory-haunted eyes Know that there never can be peace Hoped-for, till memory dies.

In vain where these dead leaves lie strown Where all things, bending earthward, fail, Like a young spirit newly flown, Flower-fragile, blossom-like and pale, You search; and must fly back, a blown Rose leaf on the cold gale.

You might have rested but for this: That love's intense flame burning through The shuddering body with a kiss Woke in the prisoned spirit, too, So keen an ecstasy of bliss As could, for all they made amiss, Nor life nor death undo.

_COR CORDIUM_

Deep in a heart, beneath o'er-hanging boughs, Love built himself a house, And whoso entered in, Love bade him stay, Nor ever from that feast to come away Dissatisfied or weary of the fare Love set him there.

Forever through the groves and glades Kind thoughts went softly to and fro, And memories like white-footed maids With gentle tread would come and go Among the ever-garrulous trees.

And through the branches overhead I know not what sweet spirits strayed, Or what commandant spirit led Their mazy dances, but one played So deftly on a psaltery That they for joy must needs keep singing; All the chambers of Love's house With that sweet minstrelsy were ringing.

Faces to the windows came, Tears to happy eyelids started, Feeling, as by sudden flame, Their cares and their sad hearts disparted, Each old clinging sorrow dead.

All who ever guested there To each other, murmuring, said: "In this heart breathes purer air, The thoughts that move across this sky Have had a more mysterious birth, Are lovelier, float more statelily Than clouds across the sky of earth."

All guests within that heart's deep wood, All friends together in that house, High converse held with an aerial brood, With spirit-folk kept delicate carouse; None ever turned ungreeted from that door.

(Sorrow himself was guest a weary while,) But yesterday when I pa.s.sed by once more, Met me no welcoming smile, Nor any breath the unwavering branch to stir, Silent each glad aerial chorister; Three drowsy poppies brooded by the wall, Lonely and tall.

Then, as I leaned above their crimson bloom, The flower of day grew old and withered, Night with a sigh sat down beside her loom Winding her shuttle with a silver thread.

Suddenly from the starlit plains of air Ethereal tumult, airy tempest blew, Immortal music showering everywhere, Flashed to the earth in an harmonious dew, Leaped jubilant from cloud to craggy cloud, Binding the moon in a melodious chain, Storming the troubled stars, a luminous crowd, Dropping in fiery streaks to earth again.

From out the windows of G.o.d's house Faint as a far-echoing wave, The angels, bending their calm brows, Song for song in answer gave; And faster than a falcon flies, Thronging spirits in a cl.u.s.ter Pa.s.sed before my dazzled eyes, Shedding an aerial l.u.s.tre, Burning with translucent fire, Shaking from their dewy wings Wild, ineffable desire Of starry and immortal things, Torturing with delicious pain Past telling sweet, the bewildered heart, Piercing the poor mortal brain With beauty, a keen fiery dart.

Ah! Even as an oracle Whose soul a G.o.d has breathed upon, The beauteousness unbearable Possessed me so all strength was gone.

Smitten by a barbed joy, My sense with rapturous pain grew dim, Joy pierced me as it would destroy.

Still higher rose the celestial hymn.

And then of all that starry throng That streamed toward the upper sky, One spirit darted down again, And stood upon a bough near by.

"Even I unsealed thy sight," he said.

Alas, that shape I did not know, For he was so transfigured, So circled by the unearthly glow Of his pulsating aureole; I who so well the flesh had known I did not know the soul.

With troubled eyes he bended down, And all about me where I stood Every blossom, every tree, All the branches of that wood Were trembling in their ecstasy.