Rivers to the Sea Part 11

I asked the darkened sea Down where the fishers go-- It answered me with silence, Silence below.

Oh, I could give him weeping, Or I could give him song-- But how can I give silence My whole life long?

VI

Ruins of Paestum

On lowlands where the temples lie The marsh-gra.s.s mingles with the flowers, Only the little songs of birds Link the unbroken hours.

So in the end, above my heart Once like the city wild and gay, The slow white stars will pa.s.s by night, The swift brown birds by day.

VII

Rome

Oh for the rising moon Over the roofs of Rome, And swallows in the dusk Circling a darkened dome!

Oh for the measured dawns That pa.s.s with folded wings-- How can I let them go With unremembered things?

VIII

Florence

The bells ring over the Anno, Midnight, the long, long chime; Here in the quivering darkness I am afraid of time.

Oh, gray bells cease your tolling, Time takes too much from me, And yet to rock and river He gives eternity.

IX

Villa Serbelloni, Bellaggio

The fountain s.h.i.+vers lightly in the rain, The laurels drip, the fading roses fall, The marble satyr plays a mournful strain That leaves the rainy fragrance musical.

Oh dripping laurel, Phoebus sacred tree, Would that swift Daphne's lot might come to me, Then would I still my soul and for an hour Change to a laurel in the glancing shower.

X

Stresa

The moon grows out of the hills A yellow flower, The lake is a dreamy bride Who waits her hour.

Beauty has filled my heart, It can hold no more, It is full, as the lake is full, From sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e.

XI

Hamburg

The day that I come home, What will you find to say,-- Words as light as foam With laughter light as spray?

Yet say what words you will The day that I come home; I shall hear the whole deep ocean Beating under the foam.

V

SAPPHO

SAPPHO

I

MIDNIGHT, and in the darkness not a sound, So, with hushed breathing, sleeps the autumn night; Only the white immortal stars shall know, Here in the house with the low-lintelled door, How, for the last time, I have lit the lamp.

I think you are not wholly careless now, Walls that have sheltered me so many an hour, Bed that has brought me ecstasy and sleep, Floors that have borne me when a gale of joy Lifted my soul and made me half a G.o.d.

Farewell! Across the threshold many feet Shall pa.s.s, but never Sappho's feet again.

Girls shall come in whom love has made aware Of all their swaying beauty--they shall sing, But never Sappho's voice, like golden fire, Shall seek for heaven thru your echoing rafters.

There shall be swallows bringing back the spring Over the long blue meadows of the sea, And south-wind playing on the reeds of rain, But never Sappho's whisper in the night, Never her love-cry when the lover comes.

Farewell! I close the door and make it fast.

The little street lies meek beneath the moon, Running, as rivers run, to meet the sea.

I too go seaward and shall not return.

Oh garlands on the doorposts that I pa.s.s, Woven of asters and of autumn leaves, I make a prayer for you: Cypris be kind, That every lover may be given love.

I shall not hasten lest the paving stones Should echo with my sandals and awake Those who are warm beneath the cloak of sleep, Lest they should rise and see me and should say, "Whither goes Sappho lonely in the night?"

Whither goes Sappho? Whither all men go, But they go driven, straining back with fear, And Sappho goes as lightly as a leaf Blown from brown autumn forests to the sea.

Here on the rock Zeus lifted from the waves, I shall await the waking of the dawn, Lying beneath the weight of dark as one Lies breathless, till the lover shall awake.

And with the sun the sea shall cover me-- I shall be less than the dissolving foam Murmuring and melting on the ebbing tide; I shall be less than spindrift, less than sh.e.l.ls; And yet I shall be greater than the G.o.ds, For destiny no more can bow my soul As rain bows down the watch-fires on the hills.

Yes, if my soul escape it shall aspire To the white heaven as flame that has its will.

I go not bitterly, not dumb with pain, Not broken by the ache of love--I go As one grown tired lies down and hopes to sleep.

Yet they shall say: "It was for Cercolas; She died because she could not bear her love."

They shall remember how we used to walk Here on the cliff beneath the oleanders In the long limpid twilight of the spring, Looking toward Lemnos, where the amber sky Was pierced with the faint arrow of a star.

How should they know the wind of a new beauty Sweeping my soul had winnowed it with song?

I have been glad tho' love should come or go, Happy as trees that find a wind to sway them, Happy again when it has left them rest.

Others shall say, "Grave Dica wrought her death.

She would not lift her lips to take a kiss, Or ever lift her eyes to take a smile.

She was a pool the winter paves with ice That the wild hunter in the hills must leave With thirst unslaked in the brief southward sun."

Ah Dica, it is not for thee I go; And not for Phaon, tho' his s.h.i.+p lifts sail Here in the windless harbor for the south.

Oh, darkling deities that guard the Nile, Watch over one whose G.o.ds are far away.

Egypt, be kind to him, his eyes are deep-- Yet they are wrong who say it was for him.

How should they know that Sappho lived and died Faithful to love, not faithful to the lover, Never transfused and lost in what she loved, Never so wholly loving nor at peace.