Poems

I have no thoughts, no more desires— It is green and gray like a garden Stirred by apple-scented wind, Quick with the sense of cool and silver joys That come in a rainy dance When soft hands of clouds have pushed away The round red stupid face of the sun. In one day, I think, the wind Will not have had his will of the gleaming rain— They run about with tossed hair, The garden is silvered with their pleasure, Cool and sweet, shining As with arch laughter a beloved face. The musing pool Shattered in glancing flight by a sudden wing— This, which no words can name, This is my heart’s delight, Winging I know not whither; It has no measure.

To sink deeper yet In the green flood of twilight— I grope for the rich chord of the full darkness That drowns the piping cries of light, For silence fretted by cadent rain And the monotonous cries of insects That lull the tortured sense in drowsy veils. I am weary of lights dancing In limpid streets, Lemon and gold and amethyst, The jewelled laughter and the scent, Weaving of uneasy colors. I would rest now in green and gray Of an abandoned garden Where no more flowers are, Only grass and crabbed trees, Night— And the bitter aroma of herbs Trod out by myriad, whispering feet of the rain— Night and no stars.