 | The Complete Poems and Collected Letters of Adelaide Crapsey |  |
99
ADDITIONAL POEMS I
101
To The Dead In The Grave-Yard Under My Window:—Written in A Moment of Exasperation
How can you lie so still? All day I watch
And never a blade of all the green sod moves
To show where restlessly you toss and turn,
And fling a desperate arm or draw up knees
Stiffened and aching from their long disuse;
I watch all night and not one ghost comes forth
To take its freedom of the midnight hour.
Oh, have you no rebellion in your bones?
The very worms must scorn you where you lie,
A pallid mouldering acquiescent folk,
Meek habitants of unresented graves.
Why are you there in your straight row on row
Where I must ever see you from my bed
That in your mere dumb presence iterate
The text so weary in my ears: “Lie still
And rest; be patient and lie still and rest.”
I'll not be patient! I will not lie still!
There is a brown road runs between the pines,
And further on the purple woodlands lie,
And still beyond blue mountains lift and loom;
And I would walk the road and I would be
Deep in the wooded shade and I would reach
The windy mountain tops that touch the clouds.
My eyes may follow but my feet are held.
Recumbent as you others must I too
Submit? Be mimic of your movelessness
With pillow and counterpane for stone and sod?
And if the many sayings of the wise
Teach of submission I will not submit
But with a spirit all unreconciled
Flash an unquenched defiance to the stars.
Better it is to walk, to run, to dance,
Better it is to laugh and leap and sing,
To know the open skies of dawn and night,
To move untrammel'd down the flaming noon,
And I will clamour it through weary days
Keeping the edge of deprivation sharp,
Nor with the pliant speaking on my lips
Of resignation, sister to defeat.
I'll not be patient. I will not lie still.
And never a blade of all the green sod moves
To show where restlessly you toss and turn,
And fling a desperate arm or draw up knees
Stiffened and aching from their long disuse;
I watch all night and not one ghost comes forth
To take its freedom of the midnight hour.
Oh, have you no rebellion in your bones?
The very worms must scorn you where you lie,
A pallid mouldering acquiescent folk,
Meek habitants of unresented graves.
Why are you there in your straight row on row
Where I must ever see you from my bed
That in your mere dumb presence iterate
The text so weary in my ears: “Lie still
And rest; be patient and lie still and rest.”
I'll not be patient! I will not lie still!
There is a brown road runs between the pines,
And further on the purple woodlands lie,
And still beyond blue mountains lift and loom;
And I would walk the road and I would be
Deep in the wooded shade and I would reach
The windy mountain tops that touch the clouds.
My eyes may follow but my feet are held.
Recumbent as you others must I too
Submit? Be mimic of your movelessness
With pillow and counterpane for stone and sod?
And if the many sayings of the wise
Teach of submission I will not submit
But with a spirit all unreconciled
Flash an unquenched defiance to the stars.
Better it is to walk, to run, to dance,
Better it is to laugh and leap and sing,
To know the open skies of dawn and night,
To move untrammel'd down the flaming noon,
102
Keeping the edge of deprivation sharp,
Nor with the pliant speaking on my lips
Of resignation, sister to defeat.
I'll not be patient. I will not lie still.
And in ironic quietude who is
The despot of our days and lord of dust
Needs but, scarce heeding, wait to drop
Grim casual comment on rebellion's end:
“Yes; yes ... Wilful and petulant but now
As dead and quiet as the others are.”
And this each body and ghost of you hath heard
That in your graves do therefore lie so still.
The despot of our days and lord of dust
Needs but, scarce heeding, wait to drop
Grim casual comment on rebellion's end:
“Yes; yes ... Wilful and petulant but now
As dead and quiet as the others are.”
And this each body and ghost of you hath heard
That in your graves do therefore lie so still.
Saranac Lake—November—1913
To an Unfaithful Lover
What wordsAre left thee then
Who hast squandered on thy
Forgetfulness eternity's
I love?
103
To A Hermit Thrush
Art thouNot kin to him
Who loved Mark's wife and both
Died for it? O, thou harper in
Green woods?
The Source
Thou hastDrawn laughter from
A well of secret tears
And thence so elvish it rings,—mocking
And sweet.
For Lucas Cranach's Eve
Oh me,Was there a time
When Paradise knew Eve
In this sweet guise, so placid and
So young?
104
Blue Hyacinths.
In yourCurled petals what ghosts
Of blue headlands and seas,
What perfumed immortal breath sighing
Of Greece.
[Fresher]
FresherThan spring's new scents
The winter's earliest wind
Blows from the hills the first faint breath
Of Snow.
[Why have]
Why haveI thought the dew
Ephemeral when I
Shall rest so short a time, myself,
On earth?
Lunatick.
Dost thouNot feel them slip,
How cold! how cold! the moon's
Thin wavering finger-tips, along
Thy throat?
105
[Thou art not friendly sleep that hath delayed]
Thou art not friendly sleep that hath delayedThe long night through and still at dawn doth keep
Estranged from eyes that very weariness
Makes blind to dawn.
[Nor moon]
Nor moon,Nor stars .. the dark .. and in
The dark the grey
Ghost glimmer of the olive trees
The black straight rows
Of Cypresses.
Old Love
More dim than waning moonThy face, more faint
Than is the falling wind
Thy voice, yet do
Thine eyes most strangely glow,
Thou ghost.. thou ghost.
My Birds That Fly No Longer
Have ye forgot, sweet birds,
How near the heavens lie?
Drooping, sick-pinion'd, oh
Have ye forgot the sky?
How near the heavens lie?
Drooping, sick-pinion'd, oh
Have ye forgot the sky?
106
The air that once I knew
Whispered celestial things;
I weep who hear no more
Upward and rushing wings.
Whispered celestial things;
I weep who hear no more
Upward and rushing wings.
The Elgin Marbles
The clustered Gods, the marching lads,The mighty-limbed, deep-bosomed Three,
The shimmering grey-gold London fog...
I wish that Phidias could see!
Safe.
Force and bluster? Mighty threatenings?Scorn I lightly,—Not for these.
Tell me when shall great Orion
Catch the flying Pleiades?
Sad of Heart.
Thou beautiful and ivory gatesThat shut my tears away from me—
Even, at last, such refuge yield
The great, safe doors of Ebony.
107
The Event.
Lo, how they weave—the imperturbable three—
Those threads that are my destiny:
Steadily at the eternal task they're bent
Industrious... indifferent...
Those threads that are my destiny:
Steadily at the eternal task they're bent
Industrious... indifferent...
Weave, Fates! And what your spinstry weaves I'll forthwith wear
And if it clothe me for the day or death's no air.
And if it clothe me for the day or death's no air.
The Companions
Three grey women walk with me
Fate and Grief and Memory.
Fate and Grief and Memory.
My fate brought grief; my grief must be
With me through Eternity,
Such thy power, memory.
With me through Eternity,
Such thy power, memory.
Three grey women walk with me.
Epigram
If illness' end be health regained then IWill pay you, Asculapeus, when I die.
108
You Nor I Nor Nobody Knows
You nor I nor nobody knowsWhere our daily-taken breath
Vanisheth and vanisheth:
Where our lost breath's flying goes
You nor I nor nobody knows.
The Proud Poet
Great Kings were dust and all their deeds forgotDid my harp's taut and burnished strings stand mute;
The fragrance of dead ladies' lovely names
Blew never down the wind but for my lute.
The Plaint
Musicians O Musicians: Heartsease
Heartsease; an you will have me live play heartsease.
Heartsease; an you will have me live play heartsease.
Light wind in the small green leaves
Play, oh play, my sad heart ease;
Play, oh play, my sad heart ease;
Birds, shake from your wilding throats
Tunèd charm of happy notes;
Tunèd charm of happy notes;
Shepherd, shepherd, pipe a shrill
A jocound pipe o'er vale and hill;
A jocound pipe o'er vale and hill;
For from too much weeping I,
Maid forlorn, am like to die.
Maid forlorn, am like to die.
109
Endymion.
“Let me be young,” the Latmian shepherd prayed,“And let me have on night-time hills long sleep;”
Whom she of Cynthus saw, Heaven's crownéd maid,
And gave his youth and dreams her love to keep.
[What news comrade upon the mountain top]
What news comrade upon the mountain topFrom the courts of the sun? What news from the skies
When great Orion strides the open night,
Heaven's Hunter: hath he told you of Heaven's
Forests and the quarry of the Gods? They do
Not spare their prey I warrant you. Skillful
And merciless.. Saw you young Cynthia threading her
Silver way among the stars and when she yearned o'er him,
The sleeping shepherd on the hills, caught you
Her breath of love? The winds have passed
You in the night, what have they told you of the
Illimitable?—Hath your soul followed thence and gone
beyond the [two undeciphered words] of their journey
envisaged the Ultimate—
[Now doth blue kirtled night relume the stars]
Now doth blue kirtled night relume the starsBidding them light my dear love on his way,
And for his coming takes all tender cares
That he shall find the night more sweet than day.
110
Tears.
The immemorial grief of all yearsBurdens my heart sorely, and the tears
Of slow eternal crying stain my cheeks.
Forever and forever my soul speaks
Saying: I am thy self: Look on me—
And weep. Never and never shalt thou be
As I. Weep; for weeping and hard pain
Of loss measure joy of last visioned gain.
John-a-dreams—
A laggard in the rear of time's swift feet,
And one who loiters on an aimless way
Through lands he knows not; lured by birds to stray
In secret paths where silence holds the beat
And rustle of ascending wings. Roads meet;
He turns by hazard of some far-glimpsed spray
Of blossoming tree. Shall condemnation say,
Unprofitable! Empty thy days as fleet?
And one who loiters on an aimless way
Through lands he knows not; lured by birds to stray
In secret paths where silence holds the beat
And rustle of ascending wings. Roads meet;
He turns by hazard of some far-glimpsed spray
Of blossoming tree. Shall condemnation say,
Unprofitable! Empty thy days as fleet?
Nay, if perchance he wanders Paradise,
And in unhurried immortality,
Treads child-like wise and ignorant the thrice
Blessed, ultimate regions of the throne of God?
Then needs he not to fear who walks the sod
Of Heaven in angels' radiant company.
And in unhurried immortality,
Treads child-like wise and ignorant the thrice
Blessed, ultimate regions of the throne of God?
Then needs he not to fear who walks the sod
Of Heaven in angels' radiant company.
111
Incantation.
O mia Luna! Porta mi fortuna!
In rose-pale, fading blue of twilight sky,
See, the new moon's thin crescent shining clear;
Nine times I'll curtsey murmuring mystic words,—
And wish good fortune to our love, my dear.
Milking Time
Heard ye the maidens
Went through the meadows,
Early, O, early,
While yet the dew was
Wet on the grass?
Heard ye the milk-maids
Singing and singing?
Went through the meadows,
Early, O, early,
While yet the dew was
Wet on the grass?
Heard ye the milk-maids
Singing and singing?
“Cushy cow bonny let down your milk,
And I will give you a gown of silk,
A gown of silk and a silver tee,
If you will let down your milk to me.”
And I will give you a gown of silk,
A gown of silk and a silver tee,
If you will let down your milk to me.”
Hear ye the maidens,
Over the meadows,
Where the dew gathers,
Where shadows lengthen,
Hear ye the milk-maids'
Aery, hushed voices
Singing, ah, singing?
Over the meadows,
Where the dew gathers,
Where shadows lengthen,
Hear ye the milk-maids'
Aery, hushed voices
Singing, ah, singing?
“Cushy cow bonny let down your milk,
And I will give you a gown of silk,
A gown of silk and a silver tee,
If you will let down your milk to me.”
And I will give you a gown of silk,
A gown of silk and a silver tee,
If you will let down your milk to me.”
112
Morning and evening,
In the green meadows
Hear ye the milk-maids
And their sweet singing?
In the green meadows
Hear ye the milk-maids
And their sweet singing?
The Fiddler
“There'll be no roof to shelter you;
You'll have no where to lay your head.
And who will get your food for you?
Star-dust pays for no man's bread.
So, Jacky, come give me your fiddle
If ever you mean to thrive.”
You'll have no where to lay your head.
And who will get your food for you?
Star-dust pays for no man's bread.
So, Jacky, come give me your fiddle
If ever you mean to thrive.”
“I'll have the skies to shelter me,
The green grass it shall be my bed,
And happen I'll find some where for me
A sup of drink, a bite of bread;
And I'll not give my fiddle
To any man alive.”
The green grass it shall be my bed,
And happen I'll find some where for me
A sup of drink, a bite of bread;
And I'll not give my fiddle
To any man alive.”
And it's out he went across the wold,
His fiddle tucked beneath his chin,
And (golden bow on silver strings)
Smiling he fiddled the twilight in;
His fiddle tucked beneath his chin,
And (golden bow on silver strings)
Smiling he fiddled the twilight in;
And fiddled in the frosty moon,
And all the stars of the Milky Way,
And fiddled low through the dark o' dawn,
And laughed and fiddled in the day.
And all the stars of the Milky Way,
And fiddled low through the dark o' dawn,
And laughed and fiddled in the day.
But oh, he had nor bite nor sup,
And oh, the winds blew stark and cold,
And when he dropped on his grass-green bed
It's long he slept on the open wold.
And oh, the winds blew stark and cold,
And when he dropped on his grass-green bed
It's long he slept on the open wold.
113
They digged his grave and “There,” they said,
“He's got more land than ever he had,
And well it will keep him held and housed,
The feckless bit of a fiddling lad.”
“He's got more land than ever he had,
And well it will keep him held and housed,
The feckless bit of a fiddling lad.”
And it's out he's stepped across the wold
His fiddle tucked beneath his chin—
A wavering shape in the wavering light,
Smiling he fiddles the twilight in,
His fiddle tucked beneath his chin—
A wavering shape in the wavering light,
Smiling he fiddles the twilight in,
And fiddles in the frosty moon,
And all the stars of the Milky Way,
And fiddles low through the dark o' dawn,
And laughs and fiddles in the day.
And all the stars of the Milky Way,
And fiddles low through the dark o' dawn,
And laughs and fiddles in the day.
He needeth not or bite or sup,
The winds of night he need not fear,
And (bow of gold on silver strings)
It's all the people turn to hear.
The winds of night he need not fear,
And (bow of gold on silver strings)
It's all the people turn to hear.
“Oh, never,” it's all the people cry,
“Came such sweet sounds from mortal hand;”
And “Listen,” they say, “It's some ghostly boy
That goes a-fiddling through the land.
“Came such sweet sounds from mortal hand;”
And “Listen,” they say, “It's some ghostly boy
That goes a-fiddling through the land.
Heark you! It's night comes slipping in,—
The moon and the stars that tread the sky;
And there's the breath o' the world that stops;
And now with a shout the sun comes by!”
The moon and the stars that tread the sky;
And there's the breath o' the world that stops;
And now with a shout the sun comes by!”
Who heareth him he heedeth not
But smiles content, the fiddling-lad;
“It's many and many a happy day,”
He says, “My fiddle and I have had;
And I'll not give my fiddle
To any man alive.”
But smiles content, the fiddling-lad;
“It's many and many a happy day,”
He says, “My fiddle and I have had;
And I'll not give my fiddle
To any man alive.”
114
Aubade.
The morning is new and the skies are fresh washed with light,
The day cometh in with the sun and I awake laughing.
The day cometh in with the sun and I awake laughing.
Hasten, belovèd!
For see, while you were yet sleeping
The cool and virgin feet of dawn went soundless over grey meadows,
And the earth is requickened under her touch.
The vision that came with gradual steps departeth in an instant;
Hasten, lest it be unbeheld of your eyes.
For see, while you were yet sleeping
The cool and virgin feet of dawn went soundless over grey meadows,
And the earth is requickened under her touch.
The vision that came with gradual steps departeth in an instant;
Hasten, lest it be unbeheld of your eyes.
The Parting.
Was it love breathed on us as on the skies
Dawn breathes for a short space and then is fled;
Or loved we never at all who but misread
With too dim vision the guarded mysteries?
Dawn breathes for a short space and then is fled;
Or loved we never at all who but misread
With too dim vision the guarded mysteries?
Were we unfaithful or were we unwise,
Knew we not love, or if our love is dead,
If such were true, for grace of what is sped,
Could we not part with unaverted eyes?
Knew we not love, or if our love is dead,
If such were true, for grace of what is sped,
Could we not part with unaverted eyes?
But whence these looks askance as at strange fears?
And whence the far and muffled cryings that beat
Across the moment of our dire farewell?
And whence the far and muffled cryings that beat
Across the moment of our dire farewell?
Is here of sentience the dread burial?
Is it a still quick love that hear, oh hears,
The last earth fall, the sound of vanishing feet?
Is it a still quick love that hear, oh hears,
The last earth fall, the sound of vanishing feet?
115
As I Went
As I went, as I went,
Over the mountains,
I heard, I heard,
Through cloud-wreath and mist,
A hound that was baying—
Death .. it was death.
Over the mountains,
I heard, I heard,
Through cloud-wreath and mist,
A hound that was baying—
Death .. it was death.
As I went, as I went
Over the meadows,
I heard, I heard,
From thicket, from shadow,
A hidden bird fluting—
Death .. it was death.
Over the meadows,
I heard, I heard,
From thicket, from shadow,
A hidden bird fluting—
Death .. it was death.
As I went, as I went
By rocks and by sand-dunes,
I heard, I heard,
At the sea's bottom
A silver fish swimming—
Death .. it was death.
By rocks and by sand-dunes,
I heard, I heard,
At the sea's bottom
A silver fish swimming—
Death .. it was death.
As I went, as I went
In my house, in my house,
I heard, I heard,
A footfall, a footfall
Closely behind me—
Death .. it is death ..
In my house, in my house,
I heard, I heard,
A footfall, a footfall
Closely behind me—
Death .. it is death ..
| The Complete Poems and Collected Letters of Adelaide Crapsey | |