Sonnets to Duse and other poems / Sara Teasdale [electronic text]

POEMS AND SONNETS

To Japanese Incense

The wind that rings the temple bell Is far away, And far the brazen incense urns Of ashes grey.

And far the carven temple gates Of red and gold — The dreamy temples where the gods Have long been old.

The dragonflies and irises Beside the stream, Are far away in lands of dawn And lands of dream.

And here beneath an alien sky Your breath ascends, A column delicate and grey That waves and bends,

And lifts a scent of sandal-wood, Devoid of prayer, To seek an ancient Eastern god Thro' Western air.

To Sappho
I

Impassioned singer of the happy time. When all the world was waking into morn, And dew still glistened on the tangled thorn, And lingered on the branches of the lime — Oh peerless singer of the golden rhyme, Happy wert thou to live ere doubt was born — Before the joy of life was half out-worn, And nymphs and satyrs vanished from your clime. Then maidens bearing parsley in their hands Wound thro' the groves to where the goddess stands, And mariners might sail for unknown lands Past sea-clasped islands veiled in mystery — And Venus still was shining from the sea, And Ceres had not lost Persephone.

To Sappho
II

Your lines that linger for us down the years, Like sparks that tell the glory of a flame, Still keep alight the splendor of your name, And living still, they sting us into tears. Sole perfect singer that the world has heard, Let fall from that far heaven of thine One golden word.

Oh tell us we shall find beside the Nile, Held fast in some Egyptian's dusty hand, Deep covered by the centuries of sand, The songs long written that were lost awhile Sole perfect singer that the world has heard,Let fall from that far heaven of thine This golden word.

To L. R. E.

When first I saw you — felt you take my hand, I could not speak for happiness to find How more than all they said your heart was kind, How strong you were, and quick to understand —I dared not say: "I who am least of those Who call you friend — I love you, and I crave A little love that I may be more brave Because one watches me who cares and knows." So, silent, long ago I used to look High up along the shelves at one great book, And longed to see its contents, childishwise, And now I know it for my Poet's own, —So sometime shall I know you and be known, And looking upward, I shall find your eyes.

The Meeting

I'm happy, I'm happy, I saw my love to-day. He came along the crowded street, By all the ladies gay, And oh, he smiled and spoke to me Before he went his way.

My throat was tight with happiness, I couldn't say a word, My heart was beating fast, so fast I'm sure he must have heard; And when he passed, I trembled like A little frightened bird.

I wish I were the flower-girl Who waits beside the way — I'd give my flowers all to him And see him every day; I wish I were the flower-girl Who waits beside the way.

The Gift

What can I give you, my lord, my lover, You who have given the world to me, Showed me the light and the joy that cover The wild sweet earth and the restless sea?

All that I have are gifts of your giving — If I gave them again, you would find them old, And your soul would weary of always living Before the mirror my life would hold.

What shall I give you, my lord, my lover? The gift that breaks the heart in me: I bid you awake at dawn and discover I have gone my way and left you free.

Dead Love

God let me listen to your voice, And look upon you for a space — And then he took your voice away, And dropped a veil before your face.

God let me look within your eyes, And touch for once your clinging hand, And then he left me all alone, And took you to the Silent Land.

I cannot weep, I cannot pray, My heart has very silent grown, I only watch how God gives love, And then leaves lovers all alone.

The Love that Goes A-begging

Oh Loves there are that enter in, And Loves there are that wait, And Loves that sit a-weeping Whose joy will come too late.

For some there be that ope their doors, And some there be that close, And Love must go a-begging, But whither, no one knows.

His feet are on the thorny ways, And on the dew-cold grass, No ears have ever heard him sing, No eyes have seen him pass.

And yet he wanders thro' the world And makes the meadows sweet, For all his tears and weariness Have flowered beneath his feet.

The little purple violet Has marked his wanderings, And in the wind among the trees, You hear the song he sings.

Song

Like some rare queen of old romance Who loved the gleam of helm and lance Is she. A harper of King Arthur's days Should praise her in a hundred lays: The queen of Love and Chivalry — O Dieu te garde, mon coeur, ma vie.

And crown-wise plaited is her hair, No crown of woven gold more fair Could be. And very queen-like, too, the smile That lightens every little while A face too fair for men to see, O Dieu te garde, mon coeur, ma vie.

She is not over kind, I know; The queens were gracious long ago, Ah me! Queen Guenevere would give a kiss Ofttimes to Launcelot, I wis — I would that I were loved as he! O Dieu te garde, mon coeur, ma vie,

Wishes

I wish for such a lot of things That never will come true — And yet I want them all so much I think they might, don't you?

I want a little kitty-cat That's soft and tame and sweet, And every day I watch and hope I'll find one in the street.

But nursie says, "Come, walk along, "Don't stand and stare like that" — I'm only looking hard and hard To try to find my cat.

And then I want a blue balloon That tries to fly away, I thought if I wished hard enough That it would come some day.

One time when I was in the park I knew that it would be Beside the big old clock at home A-waiting there for me —

And soon as we got home again, I hurried thro' the hall, And looked beside the big old clock —It wasn't there at all.

I think I'll never wish again — But then, what shall I do? The wishes are a lot of fun Altho' they don't come true.

Dusk in Autumn

The moon is like a scimitar, A little silver scimitar, A-drifting down the sky. And near beside it is a star, A timid twinkling golden star, That watches like an eye.

And thro' the nursery window-pane The witches have a fire again, Just like the ones we make, — And now I know they're having tea, I wish they'd give a cup to me, With witches' currant cake.

In David's "Child's Garden of Verses"

The dearest child in all the world, Should have the dearest songs, And that is why this little book To David-Boy belongs.

Triolets

Before a lonely shrine Of foam-born Aphrodite, Ungarlanded of vine, Undyed by dripping wine, I brought green bay to twine, And prayed to her, almighty, — And lo, the prayer of mine Was heard of Aphrodite.

I sang of answered prayer, And now before the goddess, The maids lay flowers rare, And she has ceased to care For bay that I might bear. To heal my heart's distress, My feet must wander where There waits some lonelier goddess.

Sonnet

I saw a ship sail forth at evening time; Her prow was gilded by the western fire, And all her rigging one vast golden lyre, For winds to play on to the ocean's rhyme Of wave on wave forever singing low. She floated on a web of burnished gold, And in such light as praying men behold Cling round a vision, were her sails aglow. I saw her come again when dawn was grey, Her wonder faded and her splendor dead — " She whom I loved once had upon her way A light most like the sunset. Now 'tis sped. And this is saddest — what seemed wondrous fair Are now but straight pale lips, and dull gold hair.

Dream Song

I plucked a snow-drop in the spring, And in my hand too closely pressed; The warmth had hurt the tender thing, I grieved to see it withering.

I gave my love a poppy red, And laid it on her snow-cold breast; But poppies need a warmer bed, We wept to find the flower was dead.

To Joy

Lo, I am happy, for my eyes have seen Joy glowing here before me, face to face; His wings were arched above me for a space, I kissed his lips, no bitter came between. The air is vibrant where his feet have been, And full of song and color is his place. His wondrous presence sheds about a grace That lifts and hallows all that once was mean. I may not sorrow for I saw the light, Tho' I shall walk in valley ways for long, I still shall hear the echo of the song,—My life is measured by its one great height. Joy holds more grace than pain can ever give,And by my glimpse of joy my soul shall live.

Roses and Rue

Bring me the roses white and red, And take the laurel leaves away; Yea, wreathe the roses round my head That wearies 'neath the crown of bay.

"We searched the wintry forests thro' And found no roses anywhere—But we have brought a little rue To twine a circlet for your hair."

I would not pluck the rose in May, I wove a laurel crown instead; And when the crown is cast away, They bring me rue — the rose is dead.

The Heart's House

My heart is but a little house With room for only three or four, And it was filled before you knocked Upon the door.

I longed to bid you come within, I knew that I should love you well, But if you came the rest must go Elsewhere to dwell.

For you would never be content With just a corner in my room, Yea, if you came the rest must go Into the gloom.

And so, farewell, O friend, my friend! Nay, I could weep a little too, But I shall only smile and say Farewell to you.

The House of Dreams

I built a little House of Dreams, And fenced it all about, But still I heard the Wind of Truth That roared without.

I laid a fire of Memories And sat before the glow, But through the chinks and round the door The wind would blow.

I left the House, for all the night I heard the Wind of Truth; — I followed where it seemed to lead Through all my youth.

But when I sought the House of Dreams, To creep within and die, The Wind of Truth had levelled it, And passed it by.

Faults

They came to tell your faults to me, They named them over one by one, I laughed aloud when they were done; I knew them all so well before, — Oh they were blind, too blind to see Your faults had made me love you more.