Read Ebook: Sonnets and Songs by Whitney Helen Hay

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Ebook has 185 lines and 13853 words, and 4 pages

But the disastrous heart cries out for men, Strife where the fight is reddest. Verily Peace comes with fighting with the strength of ten, Here where the world is young, with naught to see. But day blow out across the long, low sky-- Peace means an emptiness, which rests to die.

All my dead roses! Now I lay them here, Shrined in a beryl cup. The mysteries Of their sweet hauntings and their witcheries Are not more subtle than this jewel clear, Are not more cold and dead. The winter's spear Has fallen on their heart, a heart so wise With lore of love. Dead roses. Beauty lies Hid in a perfume still supremely dear.

Roses of love, time killed you one by one, Laughed at my pains as sad I gathered up All the fair petals banished from the sun. Witness my triumph--how the dead loves bless Life--from my heart, which is their beryl cup, Crowning the winter of my loneliness.

Nay, I can take no action, play no play; All my wit falters when I hear you speak, All my wise guile with which your wooing strove Vanishes as the sun of yesterday. I can but lay my cheek against your cheek-- Love me or leave me, I can only love.

Take all of me, pour out my life as wine, To dye your soul's sweet shallows. Violent sin Blazed me a path, and I have walked therein, Strong, unashamed. Your timorous hands need mine, As the white stars their sky, your lips' pale line Shall blush to roses where my lips have been. I ask no more. I do not hope to win-- Only to add myself to your design.

Take all of me. I know your little lies, Your light dishonor, gentle treacheries. I know, I lie in torment at your feet, Shadow to all your sun. Take me and go, Use my adoring to your honor, sweet, Strength for your weakness--it is better so.

The pale and misty particles of Time Hover about us; scarce our eyes can see Youth's far-off dream of what we were to be. Life's truth, which once we would redeem with rhyme, Has proved instead a world-worn pantomime. The running river of expediency Has drowned the hopes that Fortune held in fee-- Why fall upon the track so many climb?

Why strive to speak what all the earth has heard? Why labor at a work the ages plan?-- Life has been lived so oft--an outworn thing! Then hark! the time-sweet carol of a bird, New as a flower; and see--ah, shame to man! The endless aspiration of the Spring.

The full throat of the world is charged with song, Morning and twilight melt with ecstasy In the high heat of noon. Simply to be, Palpitant where the green spring forces throng, Eager for life, life unashamed and strong-- This is desire fulfilled. Exalted, free, The spirit gains her ether, scornfully Denies existence that is dark or wrong.

This is enough, to see the song begun Which shall be finished in some field afar. Laugh that the night may still contain a star, Nor idly moan your impotence of grace. Life is a song, lift up your care-free face Gladly and gratefully toward the sun.

He gives me happiness, as flowers depend On loyal sun and shower. I look to love To give me life. Why is it not enough? Divine contentment, stretching without end O'er happy meadows. He's my love, my friend, And peace is in the word. You--heart's despair-- Sweep like a tempest through my sunsweet air, Wail like a lost soul through my blossomed grove.

Tempest and calm, with him my heart might rest, Lulled by eternal spring. The dream is blest, Yet the wild grapes you crush make life divine. Out in the pathless dark, all yours, I go, Brave with the purple promise of the wine. You, you I love, because you bring me woe.

And if I came, ah, if I came again, And laid my hand on your forgetful heart, Where once it lay so warm, could the pulse start, Remembering Spring? Now, at the sound of rain, I do but turn a little in disdain To see the flowers renew their lovely part, Blooming afresh. For memory holds no smart, Love aches no more to know how it was slain.

Yet if I came to you who heed no more My name upon the wind? Love's ghost, lean near, I have a word that only you may hear. If you should come to me with dear desire, My soul's dry staff should tremble to its core And flame against your touch in buds of fire.

What shall I give to her who will not care If I give soul or roses, will not know How that, for sweets she'll spend, light smiles she'll sow, I will reap bitter tears? If she could wear Those tears as stars to sparkle in her hair! What shall I give? I have not fall'n so low I may not lay one gift before I go Upon the altar of my heart's despair.

She will not know; yet, in my love a king, I must be worthy of my crown and throne, And so can sacrifice no little thing. My life, my soul are worthless since her scorn. Slay we then love on love's red altar-stone-- Beggared of all, I face the world forlorn.

Not you, nor all the gauds that Fate bestows, Can make me swerve so little from my dream. Across my veil of mystery you seem Perhaps a little dearer than the rose, Perhaps more fair than the long light that flows Between the lids of twilight. But the gleam Of iris on the breast of wisdom's stream Is of a radiance that no rival knows.

My heart is not my heart, or it might chance To sorrow for the sorrow in your tears; My soul is locked against all circumstance Of life or love or death or heaven or hell; I have no place for laughter in my years, No room where little, little love might dwell.

The pattern of the earth, so wonderful, Is, more than myrtle, very dear to me. Across the avenue of limes I see A little mist by ghosts made magical, Tossing across the hills, more beautiful Than the deep eyes of amber women, free Of shame and of disdain, on some far sea Swept by trade-winds the sun makes lyrical.

There is no air the mind may not recall, Blown from the violet-beds of Greece; and all The moons who drop their shattered petals here Live from the days which hid Semiramis. Breezes upon my lips are subtly dear, Because they bear the burden of her kiss.

XXX

The beggar thoughts pass down the lanes of day, And on the thorns that are the hours I find Their tatters and their rags. Infirm and blind, They faded in the void, and all the way Mouthed senseless jeers at me. I dared not pray For wisdom from these fools who throng the mind And leave no gifts but bitterness behind. Chin upon hand, I watched, nor bade them stay.

Then wearily and indolently glanced Where the thorns fluttered with their flags, and, lo, Fragments of cloth of silver gleamed and danced In the late sun, and linen white as snow Among the beggar thoughts, with lowered eyes, Princes and kings had wandered in disguise.

SONGS

There's a white, white road lies under the swinging moon, Stretched from the black of the deep to the black of the deep, And midway the graveyard lies, with its leaves a-croon, The only sound of the world, like a dream in sleep.

There's a white, white grave lies under the graveyard trees, Hung on the road as a single pearl on a thread, And silence waits, beast crouched, on the rim of the breeze, That moans where the only man in the world lies dead.

Have I finished my life, am I done? Is my heart-blood thin and cold, That I gnaw the bones of the town? Am I empty and old?

My flags are the chimneys' grime, Tossed on a languid breeze. Have I dreamed of the roaring rhyme, A storm through the trees?

The snow in the streets is black, Profaned with the city's sin; I know of a star-lit track Where God's hand has been.

Have I finished with snow and sun, With the wind on the open plain, That I starve in the barren town-- Is my life in vain?

The black sky stretches to the pallid sea, As a false love and a dismantled heart. Empty of faith and eager to depart. He takes her yet once more, submissively, Against his lips, then, laughing, drifts away Swiftly within the dawning of the day.

Blindly she tosses up her foam-white hands, Crying for mercy, and the wind--her hair-- Lashes the wide-sailed ships and leaves them bare. Blindly she hurls her rage against the sands. There, in the cold sky where her love had lain Scornful, aloof, the sun reviews her pain.

How long the trail! How far the goal! Last year the moons might come and go Like dancing shadows on the snow. My heart was light, my heart was strong; I cared not though the way be long; But now--the end is you--my soul!--

I fear the dark, I fear the dread White frost that hovers round my heart, The cold, high sun, and, wide apart, The frozen, pitiless stars above. So far, so far from my true love, And, oh! I fear, I fear the dead!

I fear their fingers, grasping and pale. I did not fear the dead last year-- But now, the kisses of my dear! The breast of her, so kind and warm, Ah, heart! I must not come to harm-- How far the goal! How long the trail!

The apple-tree is white with snow, My heart is empty as the day; The white hours indolently go Graveward, because my love's away.

Months lag, then spring and love's return-- Yet once again I seem to see, Flushed with delight, as kisses burn, White snow upon the apple-tree.

Pale as a petulant star, She held up her face to his love; Her spirit from his dwelt afar As the sky from the sea is above.

Yet he gazed till her whiteness was rose, Dawn bright with the morning above-- As the sea from the sky wakes and glows, So his image was mirrored in love.

To-morrow and to-morrow--shall there be Perchance a morrow when I may not see Your face beside me any more? Ah, no! My love, my love, I cannot let you go. Like sun in Egypt, ever kind and fair, My heart must wake at dawn and know you there-- No dread of day which holds a weeping rain, No dread of chilly love and bitter pain, But ever present, ever wise and true, To-morrow and to-morrow holding you.

Not that young Joy who looked with laughing eyes, That jocund sprite with open, idle fingers Stretched to the dawn, the dawn whose gold light lingers Across the far blue hills of Paradise.

Not that young Joy, but one courageous, calm, Who--passed beyond the quiet morning meadows Beyond the dawn of life's delicious shadows-- Holds the great sun and moon in either palm.

In her wise heart she takes that little Joy, Kisses to sleep tired eyes with laughter over, Pointing to greater joys in heights above her-- This shall be ours whom fate would fain destroy.

Stained by the ardent silver of the stars, Glitter the leaves, a challenge to the day-- The bright, fierce flame of naked scimitars Holds still the argent night, folded away.

Challenging day, yet, lovelier than light, Blushing with dawn the flick'ring leaves between, Burn the rose blossoms, traitors to the night-- Color of joy upon the tranquil green.

Brave to the amorous sun, who, fearing, grieves, At last the tree's whole heart with love is crowned-- The rose-red flowers warm against the leaves, The rose-red petals sweet against the ground.

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