Song-Surf - LightNovelsOnl.com
You're reading novel online at LightNovelsOnl.com. Please use the follow button to get notifications about your favorite novels and its latest chapters so you can come back anytime and won't miss anything.
Then on, for elders odorously will steal My senses till I climb up where they heal The livid heat of its malingering ray, And wooingly betray To memory many a long-forgotten day.
There I shall rest within the woody peace Of afternoon. The bending azure frothed With silveryness, the sunny pastures swathed, Fragrant with morn-mown clover and seed-fleece; The hills where hung mists muse, and Silence calls To Solitude thro' aged forest halls, Will waft into me their mysterious ease, And in the wind's soft cease I shall hear hintings of eternities.
FROM ABOVE
What do I care if the trees are bare And the hills are dark And the skies are gray.
What do I care for chill in the air For crows that cark At the rough wind's way.
What do I care for the dead leaves there-- Or the sullen road By the sullen wood.
There's heart in my heart To bear my load!
So enough, the day is good!
BY THE INDUS
Thou art late, O Moon, Late, I have waited thee long.
The nightingale's flown to her nest, Sated with song.
The champak hath no odour more To pour on the wind as he pa.s.seth o'er-- But my heart it will not rest.
Thou art late, O Love, Late, For the moon is a-wane.
The kusa-gra.s.s sighs with my sighs, Burns with my pain.
The lotus leans her head on the stream-- Shall I not lean to thy breast and dream, Dream ere the night-cool dies?
Thou art late, O Death, Late, For he did not come!
A pariah is my heart, Cast from him--dumb!
I cannot cry in the jungle's deep-- Is it not time for the Tomb--and Sleep?
O Death, strike with thy dart!
EVOCATION
(NIKKO, j.a.pAN, 1905)
Dim thro' the mist and cryptomeria Booms the temple bell, Down from the tomb of Ieyasu Yearning, as a knell.
Down from the tomb where many an aeon Silently has knelt; Many a pilgrimage of millions-- Still about it felt.
Still, for I see them gather ghostly Now, as the numb sound Floats, an unearthly necromancy, From the past's dead ground.
See the invisible vast millions, Hear their soundless feet Climbing the shrine-ways to the gilded Carven temple's seat.
And, one among them--pale among them-- Pa.s.ses waning by.
What is it tells me mystically That strange one was I?...
Weird thro' the mist and cryptomeria Dies the bell--'tis dumb.
After how many lives returning Shall I hither come?
Hither again! and climb the votive Ever mossy ways?
Who shall the G.o.ds be then, the millions Meek, entreat or praise?
THE CHILD G.o.d GAVE
"Give me a little child To draw this dreary want out of my breast,"
I cried to G.o.d.
"Give, for my days beat wild With loneliness that will not rest But under the still sod!"
It came--with groping lips And little fingers stealing aimlessly About my heart.
I was like one who slips A-sudden into Ecstasy And thinks ne'er to depart.
"Soon he will smile," I said, "And babble baby love into my ears-- How it will thrill!"
I waited--Oh, the dread, The clutching agony, the fears!-- He was so strange and still.
Did I curse G.o.d and rave When they came shrinkingly to tell me 'twas A witless child?
No ... I ... I only gave One cry ... just one ... I think ... because ...
You know ... he never smiled.
THE WINDS
The East Wind is a Bedouin, And Nimbus is his steed; Out of the dusk with the lightning's thin Blue scimitar he flies afar, Whither his rovings lead.
The Dead Sea waves And Egypt caves Of mummied silence laugh When he mounts to quench the Siroc's stench And to wrench From his clutch the tyrant's staff.
The West Wind is an Indian brave Who scours the Autumn's crest.
Das.h.i.+ng the forest down as a slave, He tears the leaves from its limbs and weaves A maelstrom for his breast.
Out of the night Crying to fright The earth he swoops to spoil-- There is furious scathe in the whirl of his wrath, In his path There is misery and moil.
The North Wind is a Viking--cold And cruel, armed with death!
Born in the doomful deep of the old Ice Sea that froze ere Ymir rose From Niflheim's ebon breath.
And with him sail Snow, Frost, and Hail, Thanes mighty as their lord, To plunder the sh.o.r.es of Summer's stores-- And his roar's Like the sound of Chaos' horde.
