 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
Scene III.
Ina, in black, alone. Midnight.Ina.
I weep? I weep? I laugh to think of it!
I lift my dark brow to the breath of the ocean,
Soft kissing me now like the lips of my mother,
And laugh low and long as I crush the brown grasses,
To think I should weep! Why, I never wept—never,
Not even in punishments dealt me in childhood!
Yea, all of my wrongs and my bitterness buried
In my brave baby heart, all alone and unfriended.
And I pitied, with proud and disdainfulest pity,
The weak who would weep, and I laugh'd at the folly
Of those who could laugh and make merry with playthings.
I lift my dark brow to the breath of the ocean,
Soft kissing me now like the lips of my mother,
And laugh low and long as I crush the brown grasses,
To think I should weep! Why, I never wept—never,
Not even in punishments dealt me in childhood!
Yea, all of my wrongs and my bitterness buried
In my brave baby heart, all alone and unfriended.
And I pitied, with proud and disdainfulest pity,
The weak who would weep, and I laugh'd at the folly
Of those who could laugh and make merry with playthings.
145
Nay, I will not weep now over that I desired.
Desired? Yes: I to myself dare confess it,
Ah, too, to the world should it question too closely,
And bathe me and sport in a deep sea of candor.
Desired? Yes: I to myself dare confess it,
Ah, too, to the world should it question too closely,
And bathe me and sport in a deep sea of candor.
Let the world be deceived; it insists upon it:
Let it bundle me round in its black woe-garments;
But I, self with self—my free soul fearless—
Am frank as the sun, nor the toss of a copper
Care I if the world call it good or evil.
I am glad tonight, and in new-born freedom
Forget all earth with my old companions,—
The moon and the stars and the moon-clad ocean.
I am face to face with the stars that know me,
And gaze as I gazed in the eyes of my mother,
Forgetting the city and the coarse things in it;
For there's naught but God in the shape of mortal,
Save one—my wandering, wild boy-lover—
That I esteem worth a stale banana.
Let it bundle me round in its black woe-garments;
But I, self with self—my free soul fearless—
Am frank as the sun, nor the toss of a copper
Care I if the world call it good or evil.
I am glad tonight, and in new-born freedom
Forget all earth with my old companions,—
The moon and the stars and the moon-clad ocean.
I am face to face with the stars that know me,
And gaze as I gazed in the eyes of my mother,
Forgetting the city and the coarse things in it;
For there's naught but God in the shape of mortal,
Save one—my wandering, wild boy-lover—
That I esteem worth a stale banana.
The hair hangs heavy and is warm on my shoulder,
And is thick with the odors of balm and of blossom,
The great bay sleeps with the ships on her bosom;
Through the Golden Gate, to the left hand yonder,
The white sea lies in a deep sleep, breathing,
The father of melody, mother of measure.
And is thick with the odors of balm and of blossom,
The great bay sleeps with the ships on her bosom;
Through the Golden Gate, to the left hand yonder,
The white sea lies in a deep sleep, breathing,
The father of melody, mother of measure.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |