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anthology of massachusetts poets-第7部分
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With the leaves' sound。
Then; we shall walk through dusty lanes
And pause beneath low…hanging boughs;
And there; while soft…hued beauty reigns
We'll make our vows。
Let others seek in spring for sighs
When love flames forth from every seed;
But love that blooms when nature dies
Is love indeed!
OLIVER JENKINS
ECHOS
TRAVELING at dusk the noisy city street;
I listened to the newsboys' strident cries
Of 〃Extra;〃 as with flying feet;
They strove to gain this man or that…their prize。
But one there was with neither shout nor stride;
And; having bought from him; I stood nearby;
Pondering the cruel crutches at his side;
Blaming the crowd's neglect; and wondering why…
When suddenly I heard a gruff voice greet
The cripple with 〃On time to…night?〃
Then; as he handed out the sheet;
The Youngster's answer…〃You're all right。
My other reg'lars are a little late。
They'll find I'm short one paper when they come;
You see; a strange guy bought one in the wait;
I tho't 'twould cheer him up…he looked so glum!〃
So; sheepishly I laughed; and went my way
For I had found a city's heart that day。
RUTH LAMBERT JONES
WAR PICTURES
〃GERMAN Retreat From Arras〃
〃Official Films〃…they came
After 〃Corinne and Her Minstrels〃
Had ministered to fame。
After 〃Corinne and Her Minstrels〃
Had pigeon…toed away;
We saw where bits of churches
And bits of horses lay。
We saw bleak desolation;
We saw no unscathed tree。
We shivered in our comfort
And murmured: 〃Can it be!〃
But later; walking homeward;
Repeating: 〃Is it true?〃
We brushed a khaki shoulder
And asked no more。 We knew!
RUTH LAMBERT JONES
AN OLD SONG
WHEN I was but a young lad;
And that is long ago;
I thought that luck loved every man;
And time his only foe;
And love was like a hawthorn bush
That blossomed every May;
And had but to choose his flower;
For that's the young lad's way。
Oh; youth's a thriftless squanderer;
It's easy come and spent;
And heavy is the going now
Where once the light foot went。
The hawthorn bush puts on its white;
The throstle whistles clear;
But Spring comes once for every man
Just once in all the year。
ARTHUR KETCHUM
ROADSIDE REST
SUCH quiet sleep has come to them!
The Springs and Autumns pass;
Nor do they know if it be snow
Or daisies in the grass。
All day the birches bend to hear
The river's undertone;
Across the hush a fluting thrush
Sings even…song alone。
But down their dream there drifts no sound;
The winds may sob and stir:
On the still breast of Peace they rest
And they are glad of her。
They ask not any giftthey mind
Nor any foot that fares;
Unheededly life passes by…
Such quiet sleep is theirs。
ARTHUR KETCHUM
OLD LIZETTE ON SLEEP
BED is the boon for me!
It's well to bake and sweep;
But hear the word of old Lizette:
It's better than all to sleep。
Summer and flowers are gay;
And morning light and dew;
But aged eyelids love the dark
Where never a light peeps through。
What!open…eyed; my dears?
Thinking your hearts will break。
There's nothing; nothing; nothing; I say;
That's worth the lying awake!
I learned it in my youth…
Love I was dreaming of!
I learned it from the needle…work
That took the place of love。
I learned it from the years
And what they brought about;
》From song; and from the hills of joy
Where sorrow sought me out。
It's good to dream and turn;
And turn and dream; or fall
To comfort with my pack of bones;
And know of nothing at all!
Yes; never know at all!
If prowlers mew or bark;
Nor wonder if it's three o'clock
Or four o'clock of the dark。
When the longer shades have fallen
And the last weariness
Has brought the sweetest gift of life;
The last forgetfulness。
If a sound as of old leaves
Stir the last bed I keep;
Then say; my dears: 〃It's old Lizette…
She's turning in her sleep!〃
AGNES LEE
MOTHERHOOD
MARY; the Christ long slain; passed silently。
Following the children joyously astir
Under the cedrus and the olive tree;
Pausing to let their laughter float to her。
Each voice an echo of a voice more dear;
She saw a little Christ in every face;
When lo; another woman; gliding near;
Yearned o'er the tender life that filled the place。
And Mary sought the woman's hand; and spoke:
〃I know thee not; yet know thy memory tossed
With all a thousand dreams their eyes evoke
Who bring to thee a child beloved and lost。
〃I; too; have rocked my little one;
O; He was fair!
Yea; fairer than the fairest sun;
And like its rays through amber spun
His sun…bright hair。
Still I can see it shine and shine。〃
〃Even so;〃 the woman said;〃was mine。〃
〃His ways were ever darling ways;〃…
And Mary smiled;
〃So soft; so clinging! Glad relays
Of love were all His precious days。
My little child!
My infinite star! My music fled!〃
〃Even so was mine;〃 the woman said。
Then whispered Mary: 〃Tell me; thou;
Of thine。〃 And she:
〃O; mine was rosy as a boug
Blooming with roses; sent; somehow;
To bloom for me!
His balmy fingers left a thrill
Within my breast that warms me still。〃
Then gazed she down some wilder; darker
hour;
And said; when Mary questioned; knowing not;
〃Who art thou; mother of so sweet a flower?〃
〃I am the mother of Iscariot。〃
AGNES LEE
ESSEX
I
THY hills are kneeling in the tardy spring;
And wait; in supplication's gentleness;
The certain resurrection that shall bring
A robe of verdure for their nakedness。
Thy perfumed valleys where the twilights dwell;
Thy fields within the sunlight's living coil
Now promise; while the veins of nature swell;
Eternal recompense to human toil。
And when the sunset's final shades depart
The aspiration to completed birth
Is sweet and silent; as the soft tears start;
We know how wanton and how little worth
Are all the passions of our bleeding heart
That vex the awful patience of the earth。
II
Thine are the large winds and the splendid sun
Glutting the spread of heaven to the floor
Of waters rhythmic from far shore to shore;
And thine the stars; revealing one by one;
Thine the grave; lucent night's oblivion;
The tawny moon that waits below the skies;
Strange as the dawn that smote their blistered eyes
Who watched from Calvary when the Deed was done。
And thine the good brown earth that bares its
breast
To thy benign October; thine the trees
Lusty with fruitage in the late year's rest;
And thine the men whos@ blood has glorified
Thy name with Liberty Is divine decrees…
The men who loved thy soil and fought and died。
III
Toward thine Eastern window when the morn
Steals through the silver mesh of silent stars;
I come unlaurelled from the strenuous wars
Where men have fought and wept and died
Forlorn。
But here; across the early fields of corn;
The living silence dwelleth; and the gray
Sweet earth…mist; while afar the lisp of spray
Breathes from the ocean like a Triton's horn。
Open thy lattice; for the gage is won
For which this earth has journeyed though the
dust
Of shattered systems; cold about the sun;
And proved by sin; by mighty lives impearled;
A voice cries through the sunrise: 〃Time is
Just!〃
And falls like dew God's pity on the world
GEORGE CABOT LODGE
THE SONG OF THE WAVE
This is the song of the wave! The mighty one!
Child of the soul of silence; beating the air to
sound:
White as a live terror; as a drawn sword;
This is the wave。
II
This is the song of the wave; the white…maned steed
of the Tempest
Whose veins are swollen with life;
In whose flanks abide the four winds。
This is the wave。
III
This is the song of the wave! The dawn leaped out
of the sea
And the waters lay smooth as a silver shield;
And the sun…rays smote on the waters like a golden
sword。
Then a wind blew out of the morning
And the waters rustled
And the wave was born!
IV
This is the song of the wave! The wind blew out of the noon
And the white sea…birds like driven foam
Winged in from the ocean that lay beyond the sky
And the face of the waters was barred with white;
For the wave had many brothers;
And the wave was strong!
V
This is the song of the wave! The wind blew out
of the sunset
And the west was lurid as Hell。
The black clouds closed like a tomb; for the sun was
dead。
Then the wind smote full as the breath of God;
And the wave called to its brothers;
〃This is the crest of life!〃
VI
This is the song of the wave; that rises to fall;
Rises a sheer green wall like a barrier of glass
That has caught the soul of the moonlight。
Caught and prisoned the moon…beams;
Its edge is frittered to foam。
This is the wave!
VII
This is the song of the wave; of the wave that falls…
Wild as a burst of day…gold blown through the
colours of morning
It shivers to infinite atoms up the rumbling steep
of sand。
This is the wave。
VIII
This is the song of the wave that died in the fullness
of life。
The prodigal this; that lavished its largess of
strength
In the lust of attainment。
Aiming at things for Heaven too high;
Sure in the pride of life; in the richness of strength。
So tried it the impossible height; till the end was
found:
Where ends the soul that yearns for the fillet of
morning stars;
The soul in the toils of the journeying worlds;
Whose eye is filled with the Image of God;
And the end is Death!
GEORGE CABOT LODGE
FRIMAIRE
DEAREST; we are like two flowers
Blooming in the garden;
A purple aster flower and a red one
Standing alone in a withered desolation。
The garden plants are sh
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