.;;),, ;,S.,,;„;.,,jU Class __52l3J5L05. Book .04^S b COPXRIGHT DEPOSIT. i SHOES OF THE WIND SHOES OF THE WIND A BOOK OF POEMS BY HILDA CONKLING Author of "■ Poems by a Little Girl" NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS Copyright, ig22, by Frederick A, Stokes Company All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian. Printed in the United States of America SEP 26^22 ^CI.A681940 TO A MOTHER To a mother with hazel eyes and brownish hair, And fingers quick as stars That twinkle in night-cold air .... Hair wound like a web of lacy sea-weed . . . Blue robes floating like the spring wind . . . My mother has a heart that loves me And sings like a music. Thanks are due to the editors of Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, The Touchstone, The Nation, Contemporary Verse, The Literary Review of the New York Eve- ning Post, The Measure, and Broom, an International Magazine of the Arts Published by Americans in Italy, for their courteous permission to reprint many of the following poems. CONTENTS PAOB Locust Tree in Bloom 3 Poems 4 Lilacs 5 Through the Rainbow 6 Spring Talk 7 June Day 8 Marigold 9 Drowsy Island lo Edge of Morning ii Golden Wave 12 "I Won't Tell You the Name of ThiS One!" . 13 Dying River 14 Dreaming of Dreams 15 The Key to My Mind 16 Exiled Primroses 17 Western Horizon 18 Moss 19 Arbutus-ing 20 Cloudy Pansy 21 Orchid Lady 22 Poppy's Sleepy Shell 23 Rose Thistle 24 Autumn Blue Mist 25 Moon in October 26 Nine 28 Wishes 29 Mary Cobweb 30 To A Black Pansy 31 Bare Butternut Tree 32 [ix] CONTENTS PAGB Leaves 33 My Mind and I 34 River 35 Evening River 36 Wet Day 37 Old People Singing 38 Japanese Picture 39 This is a Dream 40 Wood Dove 41 Jasmine in Spring's Hair 43 Message for a Sick Friend 44 August Afternoon 45 Chrysanthemums 46 Bluebell Ring 47 Nature 48 Gold Fish 49 Barberry 50 Joy 51 Field Mouse 52 Moccasin Flower 53 Butterfly Adventure 55 Carrier Pigeons 56 Cherry Blossoms 57 The Cellar 58 Peony 59 The Milky Way 60 Geranium People 61 Daisies 62 The Old Brass Pot .63 Night is Forgotten 65 Elsa 66 Hill Song 67 Appleblossom Town 68 Bed-time 69 Pigeons Just Awake 70 Little Old Woman 71 [x] CONTENTS FAon This is about Mountains 72 Horse-chestnut Cottage 74 Magnolia 75 Hermit Thrush 7^ Flitting Wave 77 The Sea is Gray 78 Moth 79 Honey 80 Dryad 81 Today I Saw 82 The Song 83 Wild Tulip 84 Lustre Cup 85 Volcano 86 May Basket ... 87 Sunbeams 88 Shadows 89 Dragon Box 90 Bulbs 91 Three HIyacinths 92 Snow Morning 93 Gold-fish Bowl 94 Loveliness 95 A Memory 96 Wreck 97 What I Said 98 Orion 99 Blue Jay 100 April is Coming loi Up and Down 102 Moonbeam 103 The Lake 104 Chinese Silk IQ5 Song for Morning . 106 Weaving Laurel Dance 107 Lilac Bush 108 [xi] CONTENTS PAGE The Wave 109 Music . no Iris in Thoughts 112 When Moonlight Falls 113 Little Green Bermuda Poem 114 Thunder Mist : 115 Brook 116 The Garden 117 Hyacinth 118 Butterfly in a Wind 119 I Keep Wondering 120 About Animals 121 Golden Pear Tree 122 Vermont Hills 123 Eagle on the Mountain Crest 124 I Wondered and Wondered 125 March Sunset 126 Mermaid 127 Cosy Song 128 Dreams 129 Copper Bowl 131 Pine Cone 132 Winter Night i33 Song Nets i34 I Live in a Cottage 135 Blue and Gold 136 Royal Palms i37 Bluebird 138 Who? 139 Trees 140 Lullaby 141 Palm Trees .... 142 White-capped Lake ... ... 143 The Fougotten River 144 Waking t,hd Moths i45 [xH] CONTENTS PAGE Weeping Willow 146 Costume 147 South Wind 148 Pine Tree I49 Clarke Farm 150 Crystal Cave 151 April with Veiled Arms 152 Peace-of-our-own 153 Lonely Song 154 I Thought i55 Cliffacre 156 Jeanne D'Arc 158 Wild Canary 159 Books 160 I Was Thinking 161 Big Dipper 162 Never-known 163 This Day 165 Deserted House 166 Dragon Fly 168 I Shall Come Back 169 Time 170 [xiii] SHOES OF THE WIND A LOCUST TREE IN BLOOM BOUGH of locust blossoms for my present, Or just a spray is enough for me ! They smell like honeysuckle and poppies Twined together . . . Their buds hang like green fruit . . . They are shoes of the wind. [3] : POEMS I KNOW how poems come ; They have wings. When you are not thinking of it I suddenly say "Mother, a poem!" Somehow I hear it RustHng. Poems come like boats With sails for wings; Crossing the sky swiftly They slip under tall bridges Of cloud. [4] LILACS AFTER lilacs come out The air loves to flow about them The way water in wood-streams Flows and loves and wanders. I think the wind has a sadness Lifting other leaves, other sprays. . . . I think the wind is a little selfish About lilacs when they flower. [5] THROUGH THE RAINBOW THROUGH the rainbow I saw blue hills. Songs love that country. [6] SPRING TALK TWO cherry trees are showing white And the plum tree is in bloom. Apple blossoms are opening . . . Come to the crab-apple tree ! Come see the red buds peeping out ! When I shut my eyes I see violet plants drawn on my eye-lids From picking violets all day long; And there were just as many After I went away. For every violet I picked Two more sprang up . . . put on their purple or white . . . When I did not see them As quietly as Bumble-Bee Decorates himself with pollen Whenever I'm not looking. You'd better look at my last-year's garden ! All my golden-glow is flourishing, My trillium has a big huge bud . . . It is warbler-time, blossom-time. Past pussy-willow-time, time for willow leaves. With ferns uncurling, bloodroot petals scattered, Wild honeysuckle turning red Among the rocks. . . . [7] JUNE DAY I'VE had a good time today, Mother! I feel happy as a starling on a cherry-bough. Young plants coming . . . Apples swelling . . . (But the biggest of the feelings I know Will always be cherries ripening In the light!) The song of the catbird touched my heart. I swang In the breeze with my thoughts floating around me. . . . Thoughts of little robins Trying to eat cherries, Thoughts of baby grackles in their nests At sunset-time, These were in the shade, these were soft-colored thoughts Under the apple-tree as I swang. . . . [8] MARIGOLD MARIGOLD, marigold, Where are you going? Have you a plan? Can you not tell me? I should like to know! There are lots of places to wander. There is a brook needing a visitor, A robin needing a friend. You must not be lonely: You belong to nature as I do! You have a frank little way of staring . I am curious about you ! The blue sky hangs over you and me . . . The sun's rays fall on us both . . . Why not be happy On this wonderful earth? Marigold, answer! I tell you all my thoughts But you have not said a word! {It was then she said softly "I have many friends. But you are my best!" [9] DROWSY ISLAND I KNOW where a crested island Bows his head to a wave that is full of stars . . . Lays his cheek against the foam of that wave. It is where the sea is dark Against the edge of the world. It is farther than ships go. When I am sleepy I see trees move all shadowy . . . Strange fan-curved shapes moving slowly . . There are no trees like those In this valley ! It is so far away, Surely I do not hear them rustling, But what is the sound in my mind? Waves can make It, murmuring up a beach . . Leaves can whisper that way At night. . . . [10] EDGE OF MORNING GRAY slate roof of a house near by Turned silvery by the sun . . . Clouds keeping their grayish night- pink . . . Then suddenly Sunlight poured through the windows; Sunlight sang as it came; Clouds dashed by singing; The blue sky coming opened its eyes to the sun. This is a picture-poem But it is my thoughts, too 1 [II] GOLDEN WAVE THE golden wave of sunset Stays long . . . does not flow away . . . Red-rose color and pearl Above the amber twilight, Gleaming like dew On the leaves of the forest: As though a great pitcher Were pouring out light I see the golden wave Cover the world. [12] "I WON'T TELL YOU THE NAME OF THIS ONE/" SOFTLY, softly, Gently, gently, Over the tree-tops to the sky, Back again to the hills, Footsteps lost, footsteps unseen, Always vanishing. . . . Softly, softly. Gently, gently. Don't you make a noise now! This wonder-creature comes But once a year . . . Comes on tiptoe Looking under leaves . . . Softy, softly, Gently, gently . . . {Was it the wind?) [13] DYING RIVER THE river waits for water From a feeding stream; The little stream, winding, Runs on its way to pour itself Into the dying river. And the river lives again In the valley. [14] DREAMING OF DREAMS DREAMING of dreams long ago On a rain-cloudy day, I felt your soft hands like roses, And your eyes looking down on me. Your lips were near Curled at the corners like flower-petals. I think of your dark yellow hair Lifted by the wind ... I can see it in my mind: It makes me wonder. How did I find you in my dreams? Where is the dream now? Where? Your dream is flying over mountains Down the valleys, Over the rivers of autumn colors Into the sky And away! [■5] THE KEY TO MY MIND A LITTLE stone door in my mind Opens and shuts with a musical sound. There is a gold key Locks the door; The door is carved like lace. Spirits fly in and out, Messages Of love and things I ought to know. Through the lace-work of stone Comes a sweet melody saying Happiness . . . purity . . . strangeness . [i6] EXILED PRIMROSES TWO exiled primroses Stood by a breaking wave. Their mother was calling, They could not hear. They used to live beside a pine tree In the garden of a rich merchant Of a Chinese city That had a name like music of gongs Struck softly after dark. [17] o WESTERN HORIZON ,N the sands of the western sea Are pink shells . . . bits of coral One lonesome shell ^;^ Holds my mind upon it. Where the horizon bends Ships pass: I am that little shell Watching them turn and go. I hear waves break and fall away . . . ^ They are echoes in my heart. I They are stories I heard ''^ Yesterday . . . Often I try to remember to tell you The words of their loveliness. [i8] MOSS GREEN velvet to look upon, Shaped and woven of tiny trees, Soft velvet to make a pillow for birds Or flowers when they go to sleep. Velvet rugs for the footsteps of the wind (Though he leaves no footprints behind him,) I too have felt that softness: I have heard the wind pass and return And stoop down to whisper Among the trees of the moss-forest. [19] ARBUTUS-ING YOU hunt here and there, You know not where, And pull away the moss; You think you won't find any . . . But then ! A clump of pink and white ... all wonderful ! Now you think they are gone, Now you almost step on the flowers They are so near I Small, clustered, a sweet breath . . . Not a perfume, Only a dark deep sweetness Of arbutus. . . . [20] CLOUDY PANSY WANDERING down a dusty road I met a gypsy. She might have dropped out of the trees. She had a green kerchief And a blue velvet skirt, A lavender cape And a gold locket : Green shoes on the feet That trod the powdery road To the marble-floored Vermont river Thinking ... as it goes along . . . [21] ORCHID LADY TAN and green orchid, Are you a little lady Holding up your skirts Above wet grass? Do you wear a feather Where that white is showing? Is there any color Shut inside your heart? I could be an orchid, I could be a lady, I could wear a feather, I could step like you; There is just the difference Of your way of bowing. And your tilted bonnet And your satin shoe ! [22] POPPY'S SLEEPY SHELL POLLEN of poppies ... a powder the fairies use Out of the poppy shell of golden royal blue, When they are going to dance and dance In ring-abouts of mushrooms at night Till poppies put them to sleep at last With bedtime chimes and secret breath ! [23] KOSE THISTLE A BROOK to run past it, A cloud to float over it, An eagle with its children To talk to it, The thistle on the hillside Is pink with dew And rainbow cloud. Two bees dig out honey as hard as they can Before the shower: The humming bird eats honey too. And later he will want thistle-down for his nest When the rose-color has gone And the flower is changed. [24] AUTUMN BLUE MIST THIS is night's own trailing wind That goes by in blue mist When morning wakes. This is not smoke from chimneys, No fire breathes and puffs it out Across the sun. This is autumn on an October morning Early hills, Fields in a veil. [25] MOON IN OCTOBER THE moon is at her crystal window Spinning and weaving . . . The moon looks out of her window of crystal. She has no lights excepting stars That hang on threads unknown From her sky-ceiling, her walls. Their twinkling is like the twittering of many birds In the early morning. The moon sits by her crystal window; She sings to herself and spins . . . Spins the pale blue silken thread That holds earth danghng Over deep light. . . . (Nozv this is what the moon sings:) Spin, spinning wheel, Day and night too! I keep it going all the time To weave my robe of dew. I make it from the fields of blue [26] MOON IN OCTOBER And the robin's breast; The sun gives me rays From the yellow west. It shall be touched with evening And with mellowy dew, And send a separate shining Down the sky. to you, My woven gown of sun-rays, My silken gown of blue. [27] NINE DO you know how nine Comes? The fairies have numbers, all my ages, Sharp on a piece of card-board: They cut out and spirit out my number, Nine . . . They come to the window softly . . . Then they give it life . . . open the window. It flies in, it bumps me on the forehead. But does not wake me : Just before morning breaks it fades back into my brain And is my age. [28] WISHES I WANT three things; They are wishes Bright and happy. You cannot know my dreams, The wishes that stay in my heart I want three things Unknown to any one I Tell me — oh, tell me What are the wishes In your heart? I cannot tell you; It is a secret thing. [29] MARY COBWEB SHE was not exactly a doll . . . I always saw her taller, And she liked flowery dresses And gloves of violet petals. Yet she was cozy and heartsome, She could cook mushrooms And knew how to season a roast. Quite practical ! I called her Mary Cobweb Because I knew one day that must be her name, Though nobody told me : And the secret fairy ways she had Kept me interested in spite of my growing . . . (Though now I have lost her!) I know she liked cream . . . I know she could not leave a honeycomb Unbroken , . . Somehow she was real Through my own feelings. . . . [30] TO A BLACK PANSY LITTLE Prince, Why do you stray about Like a butterfly who has lost his lantern? Why do you sob, Small gypsy in the dark? Do you think maybe the world Will end tonight? [31] BARE BUTTER-NUT TREE A TREE stands old and worn; The North has blown away its leaves. When I see it that way I wish Spring would return . . . How can I wait so long? O butter-nut tree, Why didn't God give you speech, And you without your green leaves? Why can't you sing small songs Against the wind For comfort? [32] LEAVES IN my apple-orchard In the oldest tree Fall has hidden gold leaves. I looked into the hollow And saw no apples, Only leaves with frost on them Like marble tilings, Like jeweled tables . . . iYet there was no gold ... no marble . . . Only leaves covered with frost That sparkled the way my thought told me. [33] MY MIND AND I WB are friends, My mind and I, Yet sometimes we cannot understand each other; As though a cloud had gone over the sun, Or the pool all blind with trees Had forgotten the sky. [34] RIVER SOMETHING wanders among the mountains, Something ripples along forget-me-not fields, Something cries when birds go south. Something curves its golden sand-bar Like the handle of a purple sword. If I speak strangely Do not wonder: Something is looking for a castle Made of seaweed, shells and coral, Where the sea curls Under the sunrise. [35] EVENING RIVER THERE'S a cloud in the west Shuts the big red globe from my eyes. Two little clouds Are sundown birds sailing past in pink light: Stars on dwindling threads hang trembling: Birds come and have soft talkings together . . . Company sometimes, maybe? But now I am leaving in blank thought that river Murmuring its poem about the sun, About the sand and glittering stones , . Oh pure white sand! Now I turn away to strange moments And places . . . Now the evening curls and closes. . . . [36] WET DAYl RAIN-DROPS slanted down, Light struck through them sharply . . The sun burst through . . . It was like a thunder cloud But golden. Everybody was shut into houses On this favorite street of mine: Even I had been shut in. But when I saw the rain-drops parted, I stood free : The sun-god swept his wind over us. He flung glory into our feeling of clear relief . . . People of the town Tired of rain. [37] OLD PEOPLE SINGING I LOVE to listen to old people singing. I love the way they have of hum- ming to themselves. It makes me think of the sun of past days That Is the present . . . when it shines again . . . It makes me think of lonely trees Strayed away from their forest . . . It is like a thick soft curtain hiding the view from me Of a country I have never seen. [38] JAPANESE PICTURE TREES on a marble island, Birds with little brown backs Is this Paradise? Mountain of my heart With pink and purple coloring, Little houses on the river-bank . , . Houses made of maple-sugar, Distant tree, Boats with blue sails; Japanese people in silk Hidden in the brown-sugar houses; Yellow sky, pearl-colored ground, River-ripples like the ripples in silk Or a windy corn-field; Hills of pink opal And dewy seas. . . . Did you answer my question About Paradise? [39] THIS IS A DREAM ROSKS in my garden, Brooks that run far, Clouds that go a-hunting, Red copper fountain-bowls . . , This is ill! VI y dream I iim tcUifii/ you . . . Candlesticks, palaces, Leaves that turn to gold, Marble shapes that stand, Trees that turn to silver. Leaves of glass, {Roses in my garden, Brooks that run far . . .) Oh my dreams will be coming true Some day when I do not think of it! Love is my dream, Love is everywhere. {Brooks that run far Reflect the sky.) Love climbs like a vine In my heart; [40] THIS IS A DKKAM I. ike a vine of iimethyst And pearl. Oh, my (If earn will come true some day, Roses in my garden, brooks that run far! [41] WOOD DOVE WHI',N morn in breaking When the sun is rising over dark, blue hills, When mists go by I hear a voice say Coo . . . coo . . . It is Mistress Wood Dove Hidden and alone, Glad of morning. I call, She answers: Morning is sweeter For her voice. [42] JASMINI-: IN SPRINCrS HAIR JASMINM in Spring's hair, braided Into Spring's hair, Dangling stars wound closely. Stars fluttering from the hraidcd golden wind, Spring mist melting out through trees Over peacock-fern. . . . All the time mist lifting . . . Mist (joitifj away . . . goiny away . . . Jasmine like a Spring moon (irowing on the blue vine of night . . . Jasmine shining in the hair of Spring And the scent of jasmine coming into my thoughts. . . . /ill the time the mist lifting slowly . . . All the time the thought of Spring on tiptoe in my heart. . . . [43] MESSAGE FOR A SICK FRIEND TELL her my love IVll her to go to sleep Thinkinp; of everything in the world; Colors . . . the wind . . . C^r ;i lish in a spray of opal seaweed. . . . [44] AUGUST MTKRNOON SEA-BIXJI': of ^rcntiiin, Hluckbcrrics' ebony stain, Yellow of golilcnrod, Tree fringes waverinj^ along the road Under the hill, These make up an August afternoon 1 have known : But more than fruit or flower or tree Is my mother's love I hold In my heart. [45] CHRYSANTHEMUMS DUSKY red chrysanthemums out of Japan, With silver-backed petals like armor, Tell me what you think sometimes? You have fiery pink in you too . . . You all mean loveliness: You say a word Of joy. You come from gardens unknown Where the sun rises . . . You bow your heads to merry little breezes That run by like fairies of happiness ; You love the wind and woody vines That outline the forest . . . You love brooks and clouds . . . Your thoughts are better than my thoughts When the moon is getting high ! [46] BLUEBELL RING BLUEBELLS all in one Like a piece of sky, Nodding to the faint air With still faces, Stirring a little. Holding their breath for wonder But all the time friendly To any one who passes. . . . [47] NATURE SITTING in the half-dusk, My mother and 1 talking and gossip- ing . . . (Such gossip ! Suchtalkl) Wc tell poems, Wc wonder over nature, what she can be about? It would be strange to ask questions of nature And /'<• nature at the same time ! Nobody knows what secrets she has Hidden in her bosom white like a shell. My mother does not know, 1 don't know, Nobody knows. [48] GOLD FISH LIKE a shot of j:;olcl Or an arrow darting With thin gold wings He swinns . . . Now around . . . then straight Then a swish of tail . . . Then zigxag all along With a kind of stiff smile . . . In ponds or bowls He swims and stares Out of big popping eyes Of ebony . . . [49] • BARBERRY I'M going to have a horse Named Barberry, His coat the eoKtr of barberry leaves In autumn : Russet red he will be With tlylng- mane, Strong and wiry, His head slender and haughty! Touch him . . . feel the life and joy within him Run througii you like fire! He will be free as wind: He will take me through forests away from people, Past lakes, across rivers, into the moun- tains: He will go galloping across corn fields by twilight He will find me a coral beach. His eyes will snap with joy of always being free. People may p'l't' me their best horses . . . Barberry for me, aaainst them all! JOY JOY Is not a thin^ you can sec. It Is what you feci when you watch waves breaking, Or when you peer throu^fi a net of woven violet sterns In Spring grass. It is not sunlight, not moonlight, But a separate shining. Joy lives behind people's eyes^ [SI] FIFJJ) MOUSE LriTI.l'', hrowu I'u'KI mouse 1 lidlu^ wlu'ii (he plough goes by, Timid creature (h;it you ;ire, Wild thing, Were you once in the forest? Did you move to the fields? In your brown cloak Vou gather grain l''or your secret nienls: You will build a house of earth Tlie way )'ou remember: b'rom a baby up to your fullgrown feeling Vou ha\e run about the lieKl As other iield-mice will run about When another century has come Like a cloud. . . . [52] MOCCASIN FLOWER MOCCASIN flower," I said, "Like a ship full of thoughts ..^loafing down a river, Thoughts I don't know In the little ship's heart. . . . Moccasin flower of the woods, Wild May orchid, Looking out at the weather And the moon's rays, Who is it you play with? Daisy or buttercup? It cannot be. For you live in the forest, They, in the fields. Do the robins come to visit you, Or bluebirds, maybe? Do they bring you cherries For your gown? I wonder if you know them. They are friends of mine. Do you know Mrs. Primrose? She wears a pink gown . . . [53] MOCCASIN FLOWER You must be friends ! " A small voice answered "I know her very well, But not- Robin, Bluebird, Buttercup or Daisy! I know Fern, Red-Cap Moss, Mushroom, I know Wild Canary, Hermit Thrush, Brown Veery comes at sunset . . . I have often seen him ... I have heard his thoughts In tones like apple-blossoms. The kind a violin plays. . . ." Suddenly I noticed dusk Coming . . . I heard the veery . . . I tiptoed away. [54] BUTTERFLY ADVENTURE I SAW a butterfly Dark-brown and dusty Like a plain traveler. But when the sun shone on him He wore sapphire-blue and opal And winking half-moons of gold pow- der . . . All the brown vanished away 1 How could I know He was iridescent? Nature seems to hide When you look at her with sleepy eyes, But with eyes wide-open in the open light You see her shine to all the colors Of the sun. [55] CARRIER PIGEONS ACROSS the rippled ocean Where the wind blows wildly And never keeps still, Across the midnight sky, a glad news! Messages floating, beating, Happy words high over the sad sand And empty waters . . . Pigeons on their way Home. [56] CHERRY BLOSSOMS ARTIFICIAL, lying on the bough like snow-flakes, With pinkness touching them sometimes As though it were sunset, Cool and far-looking Yet turning all the time into red ruby cher- ries. . . . I am waiting with the robin redbreast For the hour to come ! They will be green, then daffodil yellow, Then their cheeks will redden. They will be ruby-dark that now are hidden . . The far will change into near. . . . / am watching you every Maytime hour You artificial rosebud-snowflake cherry blossoms! [57] THE CELLAR 1L0VE my queer cellar with its dusty smell, Its misty smell like smoke-fringes From clouds blowing past; iWith its shelves of jam and goodies, With its boxes . . . barrels . . . Woodpiles here and there. There is a passageway To an unknown room Where bins hold carrots and things. There are glass doors that bang And cobweb windows. I love the quietness of my cellar Thinking in the dark. My cellar has apples in Its breath, Potatoes even, That smell of earth. [58] PEONY SHELL-PINK it stands In the tall glass, Queen Elizabeth in a ruff (or one of her ladies?) Looking th^ :way she did in old English times. To see her makes me hear fiddlers playing Out-of-doors ! I can never tell which fehey will be when they come out . . . King or queen or lady of the court . . . Country woman or man or little laughing girl Dancing through the woods . . . Very soon that peony over there Is going to be Cinderella; But this is Queen Elizabeth In my mother's vase. [59] THE MILKY WAY DOWN the hiohro.id oi ihc Milky Way We ijo riding On horses made oi stars. The eloiuls Hit like white butterflies: Wc are dry . . . >ve do not know it is raining I'pon earth. Roses of opal and pearl Sway baek and forth in the nuisical wind . . . Pine trees like emeralds hang . . . A pheasai\t's wing like a fan is spread . . . White mountain-peaks gleam . . . Purple and silver is the sunrise. Quiet lakes shine along the MilkyAYay- Like mirrors you hang on cottage walls. When I am asleep This is what I sliall dream. Things can never really go, They come again and stay. When your thoughts are put on bcautitul things They come alive and stay alive In your mind. [60] GERANIUM PEOPLE CLOUDS were flying up out of the water. Hills were like blue asters against white surf. The wind blew from nowhere, from everywhere. It (lid not know wliere it was going. I saw red geraniums like falling stars, 7'heir heads still upright, though sunflowers were drooping; When frost comes, And the bleating hail, These geranium people will not be strong Any more. [6i] DAISIES SNOW-WHITE shawls . . , Golden faces . . . Countryside, hillside, wayside people . . . Little market-women Selling dew and yellow flour To make bread For some city of elves. . . . [62] THE OLD BRASS POT THE old brass pot in the corner Shines and scowls at the kitchen pans; Like a stubborn king He sits and frowns . . . Orders them about When I'm not looking. He was a gift from the fairy queen . . , What can I do? He boils rice when I want it, Makes broth when it is needed, He is magic But he growls all day. Without him it would be pleasant and comfortable In my little cottage ,With wistaria growing over the open windows . . . What can I do? [63] THE OLD BRASS POT He tells the frying pan To stay on Its hook . . . He shouts at the other pans In a gruff voice . . . They all might be so happy In my cozy kitchen ! Tell me . . . but you must whisper What ca7i I do? [64] NIGHT IS FORGOTTEN NIGHT Is forgotten. Birds sing when the happy sun Looks suddenly down. I hope the Iris is out With dew like jewels fringing the petals; I hope the oriole is up Arranging his feathers. I must hurry . . . there is so much to see ... I can hardly remember it all! Only yesterday I made a song about a yellowblrd And what did I say? It Is not real to me now Though I know how he gleamed, Shining through four thin leaves Of the pear-tree. [65] ELSA MY sister stood on a hilltop Looking toward the sea. The wind was in her bronze-colored hair. She was an image On a broken wave . . . Foam was at her feet. So for a moment she wavered And was lovely; And I remember her. [66] HILL SONG AWAY, away on a winding road, Away, away, far and wide to the mountains, Through pleasant meadow-plains that smell of strawberries Down a lane of mountain-rue We go. All this will fade away, But here we are on the road to the hills To the sky where swallows flit And shove their wings into the mountain-air. They slash their wings into the brook-water. Let it flupper over their wings. . . . {In the fields, strawberries dark red with ripeness, In the brook, trout that wear coral beads.) It is the gurgling of brook-water Makes me want to singl This hill-song is over now . . . Ends suddenly Like a sapphire. ... [67] APPLE-BLOSSOM TOWN I KNOW an orchard . . . Apple-blossom Town! Bees live in the next village. Pink and fluffy houses in the trees Are for rent. My thoughts tell me who will come . . . These are trees that blossom with bees and birds. Here Is a town with just enough air, just enough sun; Love enough, happiness enough. [68] / BED-TIME LOOK at the clock of the moon Time for children to be in bed! I have hidden the great sleepy ocean Under a leaf: I have talked to the mountain softly As I would to a thrush : The river is stretched out In the cornfield, But there is still a commotion in the lower valley Where I tethered the west wind to a sycamore tree. [69] PIGEONS JUST AWAKE AS the sun rose Everything was bathed in gold, Trees were still and solemn . . . Pigeons waded the dew. Their feet were the color of new June strawberries. I thought what it must be to fly, To whirl up into the light, To know the curved flight of pigeons Above trees and lawns ! If I could fly I should not have to leave my mother for long Nor my dark-eyed sister; Only a fluttering, a lifting Up round the elm tree and over, A cool curving and sliding down the light Into wet grass. [70] LITTLE OLD WOMAN BENDING down like arms The branches of the crab-apple tree Make a shining tent With doors of glass I can look through And green satiny doors Each with a lock of gold. I sit like a little old woman knitting In the Spring warmth . . . The spots of sunlight on the grass Are golden children singing and dancing; My arms are full of golden children, Though I do not know what they sing . . . Little old woman that I am, Knitting. . . . [71] THIS IS ABOUT MOUNTAINS IT'S maple sugar time In the mountains. The brook has climbed its bank To look over into the world. Trees are beginning to think . . . They stretch themselves. The bareness of the woods will go If the pattern of the year is what I learned Last Spring. The mountains I knew best Used to have festivals . . . There was September on Starr King . . I remember the apple-sauce tree, I remember how I would smash apples on top of a rock Crush them with a stone for the calves to eat. How the chipmunks scolded me for taking the apples ! Chipmunks own the mountains [72] THIS IS ABOUT MOUNTAINS But the mountains haven't heard about it yet. March maple-sugar and September apples And a cave of honey the bees know, And Hilda to think about them Afterward. . . . [73] horse-chestnut:* COTTAGE WITHIN a ^reen an^ everlasting covering * Like a coat of mall There lives a little old lady In an apartment of seyeral roorns. The walls are pink on one side, . Brown on the other; She must be a rich old lady to have wall-coverings Of changeable silk finer than spiders' webs ! Once she got lost. ^ ^ I saw her shiny shriveled face Look up at me From the grass. I heard her call and call me / In a faint and shivering voice To come to her quickly, * '' '^r Unlock the door for her, Help her up the steps Into the place she had always known Since she began at all. . . . [74] MAGNOLIA OH shell-pink that you wear, Oh pure white bosom ! Like a fan all spread, Like a sail ready to go over lapping seas, Sometimes birds flutter in your branches. But you have not many friends. Your friends are flowers, Your comrades are trees. But birds seem shy of you. And the little insects. I know not what your thoughts may be When the wind blows your flower-buds Single or in clusters, Oh beautiful magnolia Up against the gray stern sky! Your color lightens the grayness And purples the rain. [75] HERMIT THRUSH SOMETHING that cannot be said in words . . . Something sweet and unknown . . . The wind . . . the brook . . . Something that comes to a trembling fuller tone Like a waterfall . . . That little brown creature is singing A music of water, a music of worlds; He will fly away south, But his song stays in the heart Once it is heard. [76] FLITTING WAVE THREE words I combine Mix them like a wine For the sea to drink : Happy . . . merry . . . gleeful These are three words That sparkle! The wind sings with foam. I, with my thoughts. [77] THE SEA IS GRAY THE sea is gray with a gold rim of moonlight: Foam is the lace binding the golden rim. Only a little while ago The sea was an opal box. I have buried my thoughts in the sand: It would take a water-creature to find them. I could not find them myself with much searching Unless a shell should remember for me, Or a sand-cricket mark a pebble-mound . . . ''Here you hid something!" Once I cared for many things I have forgotten. When the sea moves slowly Nothing matters except the moon. [78] MOTH BY the river of Now-a-days When you bend close to see the million tiny flowers That crowd to make one bloom of the Queen's Lace, If you happen to disturb my secret dream, I shall come flitting like a small moth Into your mind. [79] HONEY THERE'S a busy hum in the farm meadow As the bees go from daisy to clover-top Humming, humming as the horizon clouds blow nearer, Humming, humming on this gay June morning. Even the vineyards are in bloom: The grape-flower breath comes on the breeze Something like breath of primroses that bloom in evening light And laugh at what goes on in the world. [80] DRVAD D0N"1^ scold willows, They arc ilryad trees 1 It you linJ a dryad, Dolores, my dear, She will kiss you, maybe . . Make you younp: aj^ainl [8i] TODAY I SAW TODAY I saw the world a new way: Close-drawn slanted rain, white light, the wind blowing, And the sky with a fringe of elm-buds. Let the rain now fall in torrents And the trees shake like flags: Today I saw the world a new way. Let the sand-dunes have their song. The Connecticut swept by them proudly Fluttering her silver skirts of rain So that I thought of all the queens I have ever known In all the storie^s. [82] THE SONG THE pine tree was singing a song tonight With the wind in its branches, But earth-held children were heavy with sleep No one heard the song. [83] WILD TULIP MOTTLED like the tiger-lily leaf, With black necklace clinging, (Of course it has a green cloak!) God has made a tulip. He made the glacier like a moving jewel, He made the tulip Like a red cloud lighted by the sun. I wonder how it feels to make a flower Or a glacier like a great dream! [84] LUSTRE CUP THE rainy blue teacup is my favorite. It has a mountain like a white butterfly Poised. . . . It has a lake with coral reeds. I see water-hyacinth growing, And I know flamingoes Will come flying over. A strange voice tells me to go searching . . . Tells me I could find something on that shore No one else can find. [8s] VOLCANO IN Mexico a mountain stands alone. It looms above me ... a joy strikes my heart; I see its transparent colors, its long opal hair . . . But the moon would make it shine A heap of silver. My thoughts are gone from me Because of that splendid trembling iridescent thing . . . I know it will fade, I know it must go. Songs float over its crest . . . Dusk is coming on . . . / will touch the mountain! My fingers touch air. The broad bright country sways in folds Like long slow waves . . . If all the hills were water rising and falling This would be the highest wave, This would be the white-hooded wave, This would be the great wave for sea-gulls to follow ! [86] MAY BASKET NOT violets, not lilac, But cowslips to remind you of the marshes, To tell you how the redwing is back On pale-feathered willows; Cowslips wading in water ... I found them wading Up to their little green knees. . . . [87] SUNBEAMS SUNBEAMS sing little folk-songs About fairies, about Neptune And those old gods . . . Sunbeams remember the world being made: Grasses and small things Remind them. I have heard them speaking another language As though the sun-god heard, But I can understand better their oriole- talk And their songs of delight After rain. [88] SHADOWS CIRCI.ES transparent, black as night, Circles with gold spokes of sun-rays, Transparent as sun that shines, Transparent as moon that beams, Clear shadows whirl and Hit. As I think of it Transparent is the whole spinning world. [89] DRAGON BOX CARVED and twisted and silver in its shadows Is the dragon box my mother gave me : Secret even from my sister And friends dear to me. I hide my treasure under the dragon Curling on the cover. Now it is a butterfly On the blue velvet . . . But sometimes it is my thoughts. The butterfly is made of yellow opal. With black jet like two eyes His wings are set, And a dim black circle Like a trail of strange thoughts. I have told you about the butterfly . . I have not told you what I am thinking. That is a dragon-box secret Only Mother and I know. [90] BULBS BULBS in brown capes As though they were dead . . . As though they would never come alive ! But their life is real Though you cannot see it : White ribbons reach from them far and wide Into mysterious water: When you have given up all hope . . . (How can you know their narcissus thoughts?) They soften and rouse And poke out green finger-tips. [91] THREE HYACINTHS THREE hyacinths grow gaily In the blue Chinese jar: My mother, my sister and I ! We are curly-fingered, We wear pointed caps: We play ring-around-a-rosy all day long: We look at winter through a silver window Glad we are not made of frost, For hyacinths on window-panes Fade and vanish . . . They cannot look back at the sun Laughing softly; They cannot whisper together, I suppose, As garden hyacinths do, Or as my mother, my sister and I whisper and play Living in the blue jar. [92] SNOW MORNING MORNING is a picture again With snow-puffed branches Out of the wind . . . With the sky caught like a blue feather In the butternut tree. I cannot see the world behind the snow, But when I look into my mind There with all its people and colors The world sits smiling Quite warm and cozy. [93] GOLD-FISH BOWL THROUGH the gold-fish bowl I look into tropical islands. The great bowl of water makes things bigger than they are . . . Stranger. That is why one spray behind the glass Keeps me dreaming of a palm tree; And our reflected windows Are a water-place. The fish swim into one window . . . Out of another . . . Winding their gentle way With no sound. The bowl reflects and sings with color And with my thoughts. My mind whirrs and spins round Thinking of things I'll see when I'm grown, Thinking of what is in the world beyond Waiting for me, While I stare and stare into the gleamy bowl Where gold and silver fish twinkle by Weaving their web of shining trails. . . [94] LOVELINESS OVELINESS that dies when I forget Comes alive when I remember. [95] A MEMORY I PICKED up three folded tulip petals That fell from a flower-head; Pink and white they were, rolled a little At the edges . . . When suddenly they smellcd like pea-pods Fresh and small. And I remembered the Champlain garden . . How we shelled peas out-of-doors And I ate the pods sometimes, They were so sweet I The whole tulip will not smell that way, Only a few curly petals Fallen, If they are not withered and their own breatli Is about them. ro6] WRECK SUNFISH like doves in the sea-trees . . . And down below, a wreck On the floor of sand. Thiit sJiip Ttv// a radiant ship Sailini/ the goiug li-aters To a sea far ... far .. . Those zcaves that dash against the rocks, They are the same zcaters That took the ship in their arms . . . [97] WHAT I SAID LILIES of the valley, Bell-shaped moments clustered, Doves of time, little white doves Through the dusky sunset-coloi'ed air Set free, I stroke your wings, I stroke your folded wings. [98] ORION 1SAW Orion glitter Through the dark-boughed elm-tree; And though I am little, though I could not know or imagine How he came there, I knew how beautiful he was. [99] BLUE JAY ALL the flowers are sleeping, A feather blanket of snow Over them. Blue Jay balances on a dry old sun- flower's bent head . . . He dives under . . . He strikes out seeds with angry beak. His wings are barred with frost, His snow-dusty feet Are like dull crystal. I like him . . . almost . . . But must he keep on screeching in such a voice And the flowers at their wits' end For a little quiet? [loo] APRIL IS COMING APRIL is coming with wings of mist and scent of lilac . . . April is trailing her arbutus and her ground pine over hill-slopes . . . April is making us new things to look at . . . Red-ruffled maples and pussy-willows turned powdery, You may see them through her transparent wind. [lOl] UP AND DOWN OUNTAINS reach up skyward; Boulders reach into the earth. Mountains are great and strong, are royal when you look at them: Boulders have their minds on the center of the earth They came from. [102] MOONBEAM MOONBEAM steps down the silken ladder Woven by Mrs. Spider To ask her to spin him a net To catch the stars. [103] THE LAKE THE lake is solemn; Its smiles are gone. No swan, no birds To get relief from burdens and dust. Let me go make it glitter, Make its flowers sing and blow Into a little tune like a wind blowing Or a poem Keats thought of . . . [104] CHINESE SILK OVER the sea a wandership, Over the sea a ship with sails of silk Above the marble-white decks. Silk with dragons of green, Purple mountains, Silk like a garden of colored gold and silver With dolphins playing in a square pond; Silk like a proud park With a bold-plumaged peacock in a tree . . , Rainbow and amethyst and gold. I see fish with twinkling fins . . . I see stars in water . . . I see winter frost Fringed with sunrise and sunset . . . Maybe I see more than this Tall sails full of pictures! Silk from far-away China With pictures coming alive In the wind! [105] SONG FOR MORNING FREE to the wind like a swallow, Free to the wind like a bird, Over clouds, over fields flying always, Never resting from the blue air, Over brooks curled like ringlets, Over apple-trees in flower, That is where I would be; Free to the wind, free ! [1 06] WEAVING LAUREL DANCE THERE'S a path that leads Through two squares of laurel Where I dance like a nymph In the April light. I go through . . . out on the other side ... Back again . . . winding . . . Twice again I weave my dance And wander away among the trees. I shall go back to dance again When the laurel blossoms come, When the May sun tinkles Through the deep pines. Stately the pines will wave over me While I am in my weaving laurel dance. . . . [107] LILAC BUSH LILAC princess Swaying in a lavender gown, She looks at no one But straight into the eyes Of sky and wind. She may be sad when the rain comes, She may be glad when it goes, Always she has a smile To give the world. The sun beams on her, Gives his glittering rays, Helps her to remember When she was in bud. In clusters ... a lavender torch . . She trembles ... is alive . . . Swaying in the lovely light Of evening. [io8] THE WAVE OH If I were a wave With sea-green hair and white foam-dress, Oh if I were a wave With foam-white hair and sea-blue cloak, I would go seeking oceans No man has discovered, I would go on . . . night or day the same searching . . . Always singing to myself. Somewhere golden sands, Somewhere a beach of palms. And the wind in them . . . Ships to lift and swing like children . . Deep-sea things to handle With my strong fingers of water, Never a wish to be quiet Very long . . . Oh if I were a wave With thoughts of seaweed And dreams of sand and shells I [109] Mrsic IV T tiiiiik nuisi*.". It comes .ind goes. It the touiu.iin ripples .\nd spl.ishes. It keeps oil siiiijiiii;-. I'.illiiii; broken water Sino's and .inswers When the w.ublers in the Mav trees St.iv close tor .1 little. Hut nuisu" (h.'.t I he.ir Is dirtcrcnt \n its nie.mings . . . Happv lunir ov sorrowing Into change. [no] IRIS WlUri.R than snow, sharp whiteness, \Vith tanning leaves, small atul straii;ht I. ike herself. With liead to the sky And violet eyes wide-open, Iris comes nuirnuirin!^ a soni; As trees do, And leans upon the wind. Later she droops her head, For the dark Has caught her . . . [in] THOUGHTS ALONG a cloudy river Comes the note of the evening dove Like a mellowy light That glimmers and is gone. I shall remember my twinkling thoughts That shine and are lost in the river. Sitting on a mossy bank beside an oak tree I sec and hear and think . . . All the great things of the world Go by. Even at six o'clock in the morning or earlier There is the sunrise to think about. rii2] WHEN MOONLIGHT FALLS WHEN moonlight falls on the water It Is like fingers touching the chords of a harp On a misty day. When moonlight strikes the water I cannot get It Into my poem : I only hear the tinkle of ripplings of light. When I see the water's fingers and the moon's rays Intertwined, I think of all the words I love to hear, And try to find words white enough For such shining. . . . [113] LITTLE GREEN BERMUDA POEM GREEN water of waves On the Bermuda beaches: White coral roads running away, Pinks shells waiting for me to come : / shall come some day! How would it sound to be there alone And hear the Atlantic Ocean Crash on bright rocks? This island is a great rainbow That lasts forever. People go and come And the waves forget them. I see the island turn and turn A soap-bubblc' with rainbows drifting down, A rainbow ball turning. . . . Always light . . . always glitter looking through . . . My poem that began with a green wave Has broken into colors. ["4] THUNDER MIST WHIRLING vapor changing. . . . Is it an opening flower? Is it a fading prancing horse? The steeple with its oldness, In the foreground a maple with silver- backed leaves Against a violet cloud . . . This is an August storm That blew down out of the sky. ["5] BROOK A RIPPLING sound, a magical sound, a musical sound All in one, The brook goes swirling, whirling, Singing, dancing. It likes to curl, and it curls: It likes to whirl, and it whirls. It comes to a long straight lane And goes straight as arrows go. Violets are the color of water Under one kind of sky. But water is always changing; Going by. This is a quaint song You will not remember any more After you have once heard it. You cannot remember the sound of water Nor the musical rippling of my words. [ii6] THE GARDEN LOVE is a garden Where my soul is a tree in bloom, Where my joy is a fountain that keeps rippling Forevermore. ["7l HYACINTH HYACINTH, hyacinth, Is It Spring now? For I am weary of the long long winter Green grass ought to come when Spring opens her eyes, Hyacinth, will you tell me When Spring will be here? The lilac-bushes are in bud Under their snow. I cannot see the buds And no one tells me but you Of the world coming alive In the sun! [ii8] BUTTERFLY IN A WIND ALL of a sudden Blown to my hand 'Wings of dewy color, Silvery flaky dust along my finger. I wondered where he had come from? I asked him where he was going? Butterfly words are faint But I heard his answer . . . / never knozv! I am a wanderer in the wind. [119] I KEEP WONDERING 1SAW a mountain And he was like Wotan looking at him- self in the water. I saw a cockatoo And he was like sunset clouds. Even leaves and little stones Are different to my eyes sometimes. I keep wondering through and through my heart Where all the beautiful things in the world Come from? And while I wonder They go on being beautiful. [120] ABOUT ANIMALS ANIMALS are my friends and my kin and my playfellows; iThey love me as I love them. I have a feeling for them I cannot express . . It burns in my heart. I make thoughts about them to keep in my mind. I warm the cold, help the hurt, play with the frolicsome ; I laugh to see two puppies playing And I wonder which is which ! General is a dog with blue-black eyes; They shine . . . there is a love comes from them; He is filled with joy when he guards me; His eyes try to speak. I see his mind through them iWhen he asks me to say things for him as well as I can Because he has no words. [121] GOLDEN PEAR TREE OUT beyond the hills In a meadow there stands a pear tree Like the sun. It is a singing tree . . . Its song is of the wind, of birds, of myself. In winter time it is changed to a silver shape of snow; But before that time it has borne its pears Of amber and gold. [122] VERMONT HILLS THE Vermont hills curve Like a swirl of wind; The last light shines . . . They are like plums and grapes. They have lights like coral, Like April peach-trees in the dark. I shall dream them again When years have gone, And I shall not have forgotten You. [123] EAGLE ON THE MOUNTAIN CREST HIS bronze shone like a haze: From below you would think him an image Of long ago. But he is real ... he is of now-a-days: No one made him but God. [124] I WONDERED AND WONDERED I WONDERED and wondered . . . I saw a comrade of mine; It was a wave smooth and blue That tossed . . . fell away . . . I wondered and wondered . . . I saw a mountain white with old age; I could not remember How I came there. I wondered and wondered Under a motherly sky That knew my name and kind, That rested my tired thoughts, That said "I have a rainbow for you, Hilda, And a young moon, hidden. ..." [125] MARCH SUNSET PINES cut dark on a bronze sky . . . A juniper tree laughing to the harp of the wind . . . Last year's oak leaves rustling . . . And oh, the sky like a heart of fire Burned down to those coals that have the color of fruit . . . Cherries . . . light red grapes . . , [126] MERMAID DO not grieve, Do not be unhappy, Do not look about As though you saw nothing! Soon the black, the dark green ocean Will come back . . . Will clash against the rocks On the sliding sand , . . Soon the sun will come from the eastern horizon Up from great blue hills To change the water to glittering heaps Of pearls. . . . Then you will remember! [127] COZY SONG COZY we sit A cricket and I, In a little tree-trunk corner Soft with leaves of falling snow. Friends are we. For once he is not thinking About music or moonlight. We talk of a cottage somewhere With a canary in the window And chairs leaning together Like old people talking; It looks warm-hearted To our dreams. [128] DREAMS DREAMING of lands far away I lie on a smooth white cloud Drifting along the wind Lazy and slow-pouring above the trees. They bend ... a quiet rush ... a hush . . . A murmuring ... a rustle and swerve of leaves . . . They are dreaming other dreams Because they are old. I do not know how it is Dreams come to the old. New worlds beginning when the old life ends, Changing summers and autumns With kind faces, Spring-times that run away smiling . . . Old people and old trees dreaming Make we wonder. There is not very much in my own dream today [129] DREAMS Excepting thoughts that blossom in summer. Whatever I tell you, O my mother, You know I am only a little girl Wondering. . . . [130] COPPER BOWL WHEN clouds sit In the sky The earth must look to them like a copper bowl With the sun on it. I hope they see the green elm-buds float- ing in that bowl, And color like a lavender scarf That is the April wind I [131] PINE CONE PINE CONE is a brown girl From Kentucky. By a gleaming lake she stands Like a lady in front of a mirror Admiring her dress. I often see her brown curls ruffled out .... I see her dimples . . . I hear the grass and the dew play music to her . . . But what made me think of her today I'll never know. [132] WINTER NIGHT THE snow lies fluffed . . . Untrampled. The trees gossip when the moon gets up. The music that is in the snow- dream Stays with me, Mother ! [133] SONG NETS I WEAVE them of sun and moonbeams; I run back and forth making my nets. The seagulls scream . . . Tell me where to catch the songs; I have a magic in my own mind That tells me. Song nets, I weave you with all my love You glitter like pearls and rubies . . . In you I catch songs like butterflies. You go past my reaching hand With a thin gauzy floating . . . And the songs are caught Before they fade away. Last night my hand caught a song Of pines and quiet rivers: I shall keep it forever. [134] I LIVE IN A COTTAGE THERE'S a little cottage in a ring of hedge. Hyacinths grow At the garden edge. There's poplar and lilac And an apple tree. . . . And there I am in my little red dress and sunhonnet with the watering-pot in my hand . . . Have you come to visit me? [135] BLUE AND GOLD BLUE of sapphire, Gold of sunset, In the lake they sometimes glitter, In the sky they are often found. Colors of sky and sun Intertwined. When the swans arrange their plumage The blue and gold are like arms around them Holding them close to the world. Old as it may seem, Tiresome as it gets to be to a young mind, These two wonders, gold of the sun . . . Blue of the sky and night . . . Have to be thought about. [136] ROYAL PALMS THERE are thoughts in the earth That grow to be palm trees. Don't you hear the wind singing and moaning Through their fanning leaves? [137] BLUEBIRD SO happy the song he sings On the apple-blossom bough I Remembering how the sun Melted the long winter snow. He is the first to come, He and his comrade robin, In his heart joyful Over returning Spring. So happy the song he sings On the apple-blossom bough ! [138] WHO? TALIAN anemones in rose-mellowed purple Are a window of color. Who is looking through? I [139] TREES THE clouds kiss the leafy breasts Of the trees. They tell me tales. . . they talk to me. I will listen attentively to the tales they tell I will imagine their thoughts, Their love for the earth they live on : I think of a tree poised Above a pool of flowers. . . . This is more to me than legend. [140] LULLABY DROWSY, drowsy are the stars In the dark blue sky. The moon comes like the mother of the world And kisses them goodnight. One by one people shut up their day- tired eyes And sleep . . . and dream . . . Hiding behind the lilac bush I have heard dreams come. Drowsy, drowsy are the winds. Faint with almond petals. Rosy with the opening almond flowers; Tangled in almond boughs or plum boughs. . . Any Spring sweetness To bring the drowsy dreams. . . . [141] PALM TREES T\ALM trees like old India shine . . JL I said to myself : But really they were folded elm-boughs Written in shadow On the grass. [142] WHITE-CAPPED LAKE FOAM comes and goes; Stones shine on the lake-bottom . . . Waves gurgle like bells. A maple curves over that lake To see its shadow. The lake is clear with dew and wind; The wind blows a little music To that tree. All I have heard and seen and thought Will go away. The maple tree will be there still, But the bright water gone. The tree will bend until I think of the lake, make it real again, Make it shine again under green leaves Of my mind. [143] THE FORGOTTEN RIVER THERE was a river In a dream I had Now it has gone. Now It lies lost At the bottom of my heart. Not till I find the gold at the end of the rainbow Can It stir and flow and live As other rivers do. [144] WAKING THE MOTHS WHITE as pearls would be on a bed of moss, I awake them one by one From their sleepy hours On the under side of meadow-grasses To their happy hours of flitting. I shake the grasses . . . They scatter softly . . . Airy and light and uncertain I watch them vanishing. [145] WEEPING WILLOW DROOPING her eyes, Looking long into the skyblue lake, The willow stands on her island. Tears are falling gently; You cannot see them . . . What could comfort her? Some day a wind will blow A western wind . . . Out of heaven's bosom A breeze will come flying with a harp around its neck. . . Into the willow branches it will fly And the harp will sing a happy tune. I know how they sing, Those harps of the wind, When the wind is sorry Or puzzled! [146] COSTUME I HAD ribbons the color of daffodils That are bells within bells : I had shoes with crystal heels To keep me dancing: I tossed my head under a cap With a tassel of cherries, And then I said and said once more My name is Miranda. [147] SOUTH WIND WHEN the south sang like a nightingale It was the hour bringing the tinted dawn. Over the meadow's grassy breast I trod with trembling feet : I rested on moss : My thoughts glittered . . . I felt I could touch them. My hair was blowing . . . fell around me . . . I heard the nightingale wind Like magic in mist: It was then I said to the thick trees "Why try to pretend? You cannot hide the world from me: It is looking at me through your fingers." [148] PINE TREE AWAY in the great forest On the slope of a snow-capped mountain A lonely pine tree stood by itself. It had no one to love it : So I stayed all night Under its branches laden with snow. I did not mind the cold. [149] CLARKE FARM AS you wander down a road of golden sand You look past stretches of winter-dry meadow Inlaid with spruce and pine. Red maples splash down the forest hillside ; Transparent birches draw pale lines against the underbrush ; The Connecticut has just now gone swinging between those mountains, Though I could not see it going. The mountains curve downward, they hold their hands over their eyes . . . They peer into the water curiously Over the tops of yellow willows. I am far away ... I see the mountains blurred . . . Bent heads . . . blue shoulders . . . [150] CRYSTAL CAVE (Bermuda) THE sea is quiet Within the cave . . . The sea hangs from a topaz thread In a silver bowl. The trembling sea Hangs and glitters And is gone. [151] APRIL WITH VEILED ARMS APRIL with veiled arms And body like a swan's wing, Opal and bronze in your hair, Gold in your eyes, Are you a woman Out of the sea? Did you come last night From the uncurled wave ? [152] PEACE-OF-OUR-OWN SITTING alone In the peace-time When day turns shadowy My mother and I read . . .wonder. . . Make poems about beautiful things We have known and seen. I have names for many songs I have not yet made . . . Iris . . . Sun-rays . . . Sun-down . . . or the Moon-Dark . Or that queer blue song about a pea- cock feather. I never know why It is But whenever I listen In flies a poem. [153] LONELY SONG BEND low, blue sky, Touch my forehead; You look cool . . . bend down . . . Flow about me in your blueness and coolness, Be thistledown, be flowers. Be all the songs I have not yet sung. Laugh at me, sky ! Put a cap of cloud on my head, Blow it off with your blue winds . . . Give me a feeling of your laughter Beyond cloud and wind! I need to have you laugh at me As though you liked me a little. [154] I THOUGHT 1 THOUGHT the sea was honeycomb And all the waves were bees Humming cozily among the foam. I thought that white mulberry trees Shook their blossoms out all day In foam of honey, windy spray: And then I made a song of these After I got home. [155] CLIFFACRE A RAMBLING house on top of a cliff Overlooking a many-colored canyon Alone with the sunset, Alone with the dawn. Trees crowding down beyond the garden: A place where I should put food for wild animals . . . Through my big west windows I could watch them come and go. Sand along the cliff . . . cedars with berries like blue wax . . . Then the stable half-hidden where I shall keep my horses Barberry and Gray Glory, Just a tile-roofed shelter for them in a wing of sand Off at one side . . . but not too far . . . Where will it be? I think ... in Wyoming. A cliff somewhere ... I know I can find it . . . An acre of land for my house and garden. [156] CLIFFACRE I shall have a wild silver fox for a pet; He will learn my ways. Doors will stand always open . . . I shall do as I please all day in that house. There will be bowls For short-stemmed flowers; (I want all flowers that like that country To live in my garden . . .) There will be twenty-four vases To keep filled with roses. [157] JEANNE D'ARC IF I were Jeanne D'Arc It would be hard remembering the apple- orchard In bloom, With nothing about me but noise and armies, All men, all women, unhappy. No time for children (Let them be quiet!) No time for anybody But kings . . . And the appletrees all the time wondering . . [158] WILD CANARY LIKE a lump of fresh gold You shine On an old dead tree you sit As though you were not a bird at all But trying your best to seem real, To give me a thought of wings. [159] BOOKS BOOKS, books that I love so, Poetry . . . fairy-tales . . . stories . . All of them together make one huge book Broad as a mountain With golden pages And pictures of long ago. I read and I read ... of living ... of thoughts . . . Of queer things people tell : If I could I would buy that huge book, All the world in one! But It cannot be bought For one penny or two. [1 60] I WAS THINKING I WAS thinking The tenderness children need Is in soft shadow-things; Is a kind of magic . . . Petals of a dark pansy . . . Cloudy wings. . . . (But the sun can touch me With fingertips like flowers . . .) And the tenderness children need Is in old thoughts and songs of all the world People have not forgotten . . . It is in the way mothers look at tired children. It is in the half-voice fathers use Feeling some surprise and gladness To see their children there at all. [i6i] BIG DIPPER THE Big Dipper spilled stars down over the roofs, I felt the way the wind whirled stars Over the town roofs. . . . I felt the town asleep : I felt people there in the great crisp dark. When morning came in a waver of light There was a breath of change ... all the dreams going away from the dreamers As dreams do go away in the morning. A ring of hills . . . one river . . . some streets Make a design. Stars make a design And it is a Big Dipper Or the Pleiades like a bunch of grapes. . . . It is harder to say what the roofs mean: I don't know . . , Maybe I'm not yet far enough Away. [162] NEVER-KNOWN THE chickadee taught me this river Through the goldenrod field: A river of blue light Going zigzag over the goldenrod In the sun. I found a mountain . . . At least it was one to the ants and crickets : It was round soft turf, It had a dimple where a stone had been And a stalk of goldenrod Instead of an elm tree. Once I saw a field full of gentians The color of mountains when they are far away. But this was an ordinary field Where a mouse could live quietly all his days Exploring his own country. Only to me it was different . . . To me It was a Never-Known With a blue river and a yellow jungle . . . [163] NEVER-KNOWN And while I was about it, I made my mountains high, Feathery on top, as they do in maps, Curved feathers dropped along in handfuls Marked Mts. [164] I THIS DAY NEVER asked the day to be good to me Yet it has been sweet in its going. This day began behind the moon Where all the white things come from. Thistledown comes from behind the moon, And that clearness of early hours. . . . But the clearness of this day turned into color When the sun came. Now it is dark : now it is bedtime. I can see the color as though it had not gone, I can see it better than when it was here: Even the moon of those early hours of morning Is more like mother-of-pearl Or pink silver. Mother-of-pearl Moon, Your lonely face grows warm . . . You have changed all of a sudden . . . You make me think of flowers. [165] DESERTED HOUSE DO you remember the house With many windows? It looked through its cobwebs At the blue mountain. There were old rosebushes near the doorstep Queer bright single roses bloomed . . . I used to think of people Who had wanted them there. Maybe there was a little girl Going barefoot . . . Maybe she thought summer began With a rosebush. Do you remember the maples And the fence where we saw baby swallows In a row? I made a song about a princess. She was a little girl . . . In the cobweb house of stone she is hidden They have left her alone. [i66] DESERTED HOUSE When she called no one answered . . . They have left her alone. She sang to keep her heart high . . . They have left her alone. But the silvery cold made her shiver and sleep And her song went by. After that I made a story about her Out of the old house: I put roseleaves on her eyes . . . (You know how sunset . . . every afternoon . . . Used to fill the window-panes with colors They had never known?) [167] DRAGON FLY you jerk, against the sun, You twist your diamond wires and green- gold scales, You tilt your body . . . head down . . . You quiver . . . Are you angry or only excited? I should think the ferns might be excited Feeling you there : And you never mention the reasons For your coming. Sure of your wings You have time in the air for thinking: You poise and are content. But only lizards among old stones Can find as you find the unexpected turning: You say // is time to go! And you have gone. [i68] I SHAUL COME BACK I SHALL be coming back to you From seas, rivers, sunny meadows, glens that hold secrets : I shall come back with my hands full Of light and flowers. Brooks braided in with sunbeams Will hang from my fingers. My heart will be awake . . . All my thoughts and joys will go to you. I shall bring back things I have picked up, Traveling this road or the other. Things found by the sea or in the pine- wood. There will be a pine-cone in my pocket. Grains of pink sand between my fingers. I shall tell you of a golden pheasant's feather; I shall tell you of stars like seaweed. Moons will glitter in my hair . . . Will you know me? I shall come back when sunset has turned away and gone, And you will untangle the moons And make me drowsy And put me to bed. [169] TIME TIME is a harp That plays to you till you fall asleep; You are always spending it away Like a music . . . Suddenly you are left alone On a trail of wind. The mountains were asleep Long ago! Listen . . . the tune is changing . . . Do you hear it? You will sleep too Before long . . . THE END [170] iliiiili 018 602 698 6