The Second Book of Modern Verse Part 21

Convention. [Agnes Lee]

The snow is lying very deep.

My house is sheltered from the blast.

I hear each m.u.f.fled step outside, I hear each voice go past.

But I'll not venture in the drift Out of this bright security, Till enough footsteps come and go To make a path for me.

Mad Blake. [William Rose Benet]

Blake saw a treeful of angels at Peckham Rye, And his hands could lay hold on the tiger's terrible heart.

Blake knew how deep is h.e.l.l, and Heaven how high, And could build the universe from one tiny part.

Blake heard the asides of G.o.d, as with furrowed brow He sifts the star-streams between the Then and the Now, In vast infant sagacity brooding, an infant's grace Shining serene on his simple, benignant face.

Blake was mad, they say, -- and s.p.a.ce's Pandora-box Loosed its wonders upon him -- devils, but angels indeed.

I, they say, am sane, but no key of mine unlocks One lock of one gate wherethrough Heaven's glory is freed.

And I stand and I hold my breath, daylong, yearlong, Out of comfort and easy dreaming evermore starting awake, -- Yearning beyond all sanity for some echo of that Song Of Songs that was sung to the soul of the madman, Blake!

The Name. [Anna Hempstead Branch]

When I come back from secret dreams In gardens deep and fair, How very curious it seems -- This mortal name I bear.

For by this name I make their bread And trim the household light And sun the linen for the bed And close the door at night.

I wonder who myself may be, And whence it was I came -- Before the Church had laid on me This frail and earthly name.

My sponsors spake unto the Lord And three things promised they, Upon my soul with one accord Their easy vows did lay.

My ancient spirit heard them not.

I think it was not there.

But in a place they had forgot It drank a starrier air.

Yes, in a silent place and deep -- There did it dance and run, And sometimes it lay down to sleep Or sprang into the sun.

The Priest saw not my aureole shine!

My sweet wings saw not he!

He graved me with a solemn sign And laid a name on me.

Now by this name I st.i.tch and mend, The daughter of my home, By this name do I save and spend And when they call, I come.

But oh, that Name, that other Name, More secret and more mine!

It burns as does the angelic flame Before the midmost shrine.

Before my soul to earth was brought Into G.o.d's heart it came, He wrote a meaning in my thought And gave to me a Name.

By this Name do I ride the air And dance from star to star, And I behold all things are fair, For I see them as they are.

I plunge into the deepest seas, In flames I, laughing, burn.

In roseate clouds I take my ease Nor to the earth return.

It is my beauteous Name -- my own -- That I have never heard.

G.o.d keeps it for Himself alone, That strange and lovely word.

G.o.d keeps it for Himself -- but yet You are His voice, and so In your heart He is calling me, And unto you I go.

Love, by this Name I sing, and breathe A fresh, mysterious air.

By this I innocently wreathe New garlands for my hair.

By this Name I am born anew More beautiful, more bright.

More roseate than angelic dew, Apparelled in delight.

I'll sing and st.i.tch and make the bread In the wonder of my Name, And sun the linen for the bed And tend the fireside flame.

By this Name do I answer yes -- Word beautiful and true.

By this I'll sew the bridal dress I shall put on for you.

Songs of an Empty House. [Marguerite Wilkinson]

Vista

Before I die I may be great, The chanting guest of kings, A queen in wonderlands of song Where every blossom sings.

I may put on a golden gown And walk in sunny light, Carrying in my hair the day, And in my eyes the night.

It may be men will honor me -- The wistful ones and wise, Who know the ruth of victory, The joy of sacrifice.

I may be rich, I may be gay, But all the crowns grow old -- The laurel withers and the bay And dully rusts the gold.

Before I die I may break bread With many queens and kings -- Oh, take the golden gown away, For there are other things -- And I shall miss the love of babes With flesh of rose and pearl, The dewy eyes, the budded lips -- A boy, a little girl.