poem selections: THE WAY THINGS GO I THE FUTILE The stone falls, the bird flies, the arrow goes home,But we have no motion, we scatter like foam. O, give me a song to sing for your sorrow,A song that will lift, like a wave from the reef,You and myself, that will fling like an arrowMy poor scattered words to the target of grief:I want to forget, to remember no morrow,To go with the petrel, to go with the leaf.... We would fly with all things to the goal of their flying,We would turn with all things to the magnetic star,But we never can live, because of our dying,And we never can be, for the things that we are. We alone of all creatures-the stones more than we- Have no end, no motion, no destiny. VERY YOUNG LOVE Wishes are birds. You have been circled round With them, invisible, I sent you in distress,Flown from my heart that long had held them bound, Surpassing winds in their sharp eagerness. You have not seen their dim shades on the ground; Nor heard them: never felt their pinions press Beating the air, but never making sound,And hanging over you in breathlessness. So, with you here, the trembling little wordsLie down like frightened children in the dark,Lie down and weep; and wishes winged like birds Fly crowding back; with this the only mark That I have almost told you breathless things: You hear the weary folding-down of wings. FIRST MIRACLE There was a time when Mother Nature made My soul's sun, and my soul's shade. A cloud in the sky could take away The song in my heart for all day, And a little lark in a willow-tree Would mean happiness to me. My moods would mirror all her whims;Trees were my strength: their limbs, my limbs. But, oh, my mother tortured me,Blowing with wind, and sighing with sea. I flamed, I withered, I blossomed, I sang, With her I suffered pang for pang, Until I said: "I will grow my own tree Where no natural wind will bother me." And I grew me a willow of my own heart's strength, With my will for its width, and my wish for its length: And I made me a bird of my own heart's fire,To sing my own sun, and my own desire. And a vast white circle came in the air,And the winds around said, "Don't blow there." I said, "Blow on-blow, blow, blow, blow,Fill all the sky, above, below,With tempest, and sleet, and silence, and snow! "Wherever I go, no matter where,My bird and my willow-tree are there. "However you frown, no matter how, I will sing as I am singing now." II TROPICAL GIRL TO HER GARDEN Withhold your breath!Heavy in noon, and sleepy as slow death, Garden of sweets and sours,The cluster of my body hangs Odorous with flowers: Stamen serpent-fangs, Sultry, in showers. Withhold your hand!My boughs are bent with gold, my face is fanned With wings of bees that, thirsting, curve and kiss; Under green leaves, green tendrils coil and hiss;Sun spills on me, gloom bears me down too much; My heavy fruit will fall without a touchFrom hanging long in sultriness like this. JUST INTRODUCED Only a few hours!We danced like wind,Our faces like noon flowersOn one slim stem were lifted, turned aside. You flew, I followed, matched your stride,And held your pause, and swung and parted wide.... Only a few hours!We danced like wind, Thirsty as blown flowers, Heavy lidded, fearful eyed. --This text refers to the Kindle Edition edition.