 | Poems with Fables in Prose |  |
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The Questioners
I
A man made a journey once over half the worldTo come at the journey's end to no more than this:
The cottage where he and another had long been happy;
But lilac-bushes had closed right over the path,
And the stones of the place, it seemed, had become alive.
II
Threshold, familiar Threshold, may I not pass?Not till thou tell me my name!
Stone of wonder, on thee were the wedding flowers
When I bore in to my hearth a silken-haired stranger—
Strange unto me was her heart, strange to her mine,
And soft and doubtful she trembled, like the blue eve. . . .
Pass on, pass on!
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III
Naked and sounding Stair, may I not pass?Tell me my name!
Stair of meeting, where nightly I called the call
Of the exultant, the earth-engirdling, the nightingale,
And she from the stairhead, infinite-eyed and slow,
Came down in her gliding brightness into my soul. . . .
Pass on, pass on!
IV
Window, O far-seen Window, may I not pass?Tell me my name!
Window of parting,—here would my proud one stand
Arrayed in dreams and roses, —here, if by chance
Any that she loved much, in going looked not back,
Stooped she to mingle sighs and tears with the rose. . . .
Pass on, pass on!
V
Chest, O thou oaken Chest, may I not pass?Tell me my name!
Coffer of vision, with bloom upon far mountains,
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With these did she weave her dresses, simple and secret,
Fragrant and here compacted, sealed even from me. . . .
Pass on, pass on!
VI
Table, ah! merry Table, may I not pass?Tell me my name!
Table of honour, here in the vast evening
On the head of that pale companion, that more than friend,
A man I remember inflicted his lordly anger
In words that return, return, return to him now.
Pass on, pass on!
VII
Cradle, O Cradle, wilt thou not let me pass!Tell me my name!
Other children she bare, but this, the beloved one,
This was taken from her, this that most needed care,
And the eyes of her turned from earth, and she rose and followed it
At dawn, when the birds and the young children sing. . . .
Pass on, pass on!
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VIII
Bed, thou snow-silent Bed, may I not pass?Tell me my name!
Ask him not, terrible image, ask not, for she
The woman by whom he lay down to whisper “Forgive!”
Sings here no more, but only in thoughts of friends—
Sleeps here no more, but heaven'd in the souls of children. . . .
Pass on, pass on!
| Poems with Fables in Prose | |