Poems of Alan Seeger Part 18

I Have a Rendezvous with Death ...

I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air -- I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath -- It may be I shall pa.s.s him still.

I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear.

G.o.d knows 'twere better to be deep Pillowed in silk and scented down, Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep, Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath, Where hushed awakenings are dear ...

But I've a rendezvous with Death At midnight in some flaming town, When Spring trips north again this year, And I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous.

Sonnets:

- Sonnet I -

Sidney, in whom the heyday of romance Came to its precious and most perfect flower, Whether you tourneyed with victorious lance Or brought sweet roundelays to Stella's bower, I give myself some credit for the way I have kept clean of what enslaves and lowers, Shunned the ideals of our present day And studied those that were esteemed in yours; For, turning from the mob that buys Success By sacrificing all Life's better part, Down the free roads of human happiness I frolicked, poor of purse but light of heart, And lived in strict devotion all along To my three idols--Love and Arms and Song.

- Sonnet II -

Not that I always struck the proper mean Of what mankind must give for what they gain, But, when I think of those whom dull routine And the pursuit of cheerless toil enchain, Who from their desk-chairs seeing a summer cloud Race through blue heaven on its joyful course Sigh sometimes for a life less cramped and bowed, I think I might have done a great deal worse; For I have ever gone untied and free, The stars and my high thoughts for company; Wet with the salt-spray and the mountain showers, I have had the sense of s.p.a.ce and amplitude, And love in many places, silver-shoed, Has come and scattered all my path with flowers.

- Sonnet III -

Why should you be astonished that my heart, Plunged for so long in darkness and in dearth, Should be revived by you, and stir and start As by warm April now, reviving Earth?

I am the field of undulating gra.s.s And you the gentle perfumed breath of Spring, And all my lyric being, when you pa.s.s, Is bowed and filled with sudden murmuring.

I asked you nothing and expected less, But, with that deep, impa.s.sioned tenderness Of one approaching what he most adores, I only wished to lose a little s.p.a.ce All thought of my own life, and in its place To live and dream and have my joy in yours.

- Sonnet IV -

To ... in church

If I was drawn here from a distant place, 'Twas not to pray nor hear our friend's address, But, gazing once more on your winsome face, To wors.h.i.+p there Ideal Loveliness.

On that pure shrine that has too long ignored The gifts that once I brought so frequently I lay this votive offering, to record How sweet your quiet beauty seemed to me.

Enchanting girl, my faith is not a thing By futile prayers and vapid psalm-singing To vent in crowded nave and public pew.

My creed is simple: that the world is fair, And beauty the best thing to wors.h.i.+p there, And I confess it by adoring you.

__ Biarritz, Sunday, March 26, 1916.

- Sonnet V -

Seeing you have not come with me, nor spent This day's suggestive beauty as we ought, I have gone forth alone and been content To make you mistress only of my thought.

And I have blessed the fate that was so kind In my life's agitations to include This moment's refuge where my sense can find Refreshment, and my soul beat.i.tude.

Oh, be my gentle love a little while!

Walk with me sometimes. Let me see you smile.

Watching some night under a wintry sky, Before the charge, or on the bed of pain, These blessed memories shall revive again And be a power to cheer and fortify.

- Sonnet VI -

Oh, you are more desirable to me Than all I staked in an impulsive hour, Making my youth the sport of chance, to be Blighted or torn in its most perfect flower; For I think less of what that chance may bring Than how, before returning into fire, To make my dearest memory of the thing That is but now my ultimate desire.

And in old times I should have prayed to her Whose haunt the groves of windy Cyprus were, To prosper me and crown with good success My will to make of you the rose-twined bowl From whose inebriating brim my soul Shall drink its last of earthly happiness.

- Sonnet VII -

There have been times when I could storm and plead, But you shall never hear me supplicate.

These long months that have magnified my need Have made my asking less importunate, For now small favors seem to me so great That not the courteous lovers of old time Were more content to rule themselves and wait, Easing desire with discourse and sweet rhyme.

Nay, be capricious, willful; have no fear To wound me with unkindness done or said, Lest mutual devotion make too dear My life that hangs by a so slender thread, And happy love unnerve me before May For that stern part that I have yet to play.

- Sonnet VIII -

Oh, love of woman, you are known to be A pa.s.sion sent to plague the hearts of men; For every one you bring felicity Bringing rebuffs and wretchedness to ten.

I have been oft where human life sold cheap And seen men's brains spilled out about their ears And yet that never cost me any sleep; I lived untroubled and I shed no tears.

Fools prate how war is an atrocious thing; I always knew that nothing it implied Equalled the agony of suffering Of him who loves and loves unsatisfied.

War is a refuge to a heart like this; Love only tells it what true torture is.

- Sonnet IX -

Well, seeing I have no hope, then let us part; Having long taught my flesh to master fear, I should have learned by now to rule my heart, Although, Heaven knows, 'tis not so easy near.

Oh, you were made to make men miserable And torture those who would have joy in you, But I, who could have loved you, dear, so well, Take pride in being a good loser too; And it has not been wholly unsuccess, For I have rescued from forgetfulness Some moments of this precious time that flies, Adding to my past wealth of memory The pretty way you once looked up at me, Your low, sweet voice, your smile, and your dear eyes.