Look! We Have Come Through! Part 7

Again. This love so full Of hate has hurt us so, We lie side by side Moored--but no,

Let me get up And wash quite clean Of this hate.-- So green

The great star goes!

I am washed quite clean, Quite clean of it all.

But e'en

So cold, so cold and clean Now the hate is gone!

It is all no good, I am chilled to the bone

Now the hate is gone; There is nothing left; I am pure like bone, Of all feeling bereft.

_A BAD BEGINNING_

THE yellow sun steps over the mountain-top And falters a few short steps across the lake-- Are you awake?

See, glittering on the milk-blue, morning lake They are laying the golden racing-track of the sun; The day has begun.

The sun is in my eyes, I must get up.

I want to go, there's a gold road blazes before My breast--which is so sore.

What?--your throat is bruised, bruised with my kisses?

Ah, but if I am cruel what then are you?

I am bruised right through.

What if I love you!--This misery Of your dissatisfaction and misprision Stupefies me.

Ah yes, your open arms! Ah yes, ah yes, You would take me to your breast!--But no, You should come to mine, It were better so.

Here I am--get up and come to me!

Not as a visitor either, nor a sweet And winsome child of innocence; nor As an insolent mistress telling my pulse's beat.

Come to me like a woman coming home To the man who is her husband, all the rest Subordinate to this, that he and she Are joined together for ever, as is best.

Behind me on the lake I hear the steamer drum- ming From Austria. There lies the world, and here Am I. Which way are you coming?

_WHY DOES SHE WEEP?_

HUSH then why do you cry?

It's you and me the same as before.

If you hear a rustle it's only a rabbit gone back to his hole in a bustle.

If something stirs in the branches overhead, it will be a squirrel moving uneasily, disturbed by the stress of our loving.

Why should you cry then?

Are you afraid of G.o.d in the dark?

I'm not afraid of G.o.d.

Let him come forth.

If he is hiding in the cover let him come forth.

Now in the cool of the day it is we who walk in the trees and call to G.o.d "Where art thou?"

And it is he who hides.

Why do you cry?

My heart is bitter.

Let G.o.d come forth to justify himself now.

Why do you cry?

Is it Wehmut, ist dir weh?

Weep then, yea for the abomination of our old righteousness,

We have done wrong many times; but this time we begin to do right.

Weep then, weep for the abomination of our past righteousness.

G.o.d will keep hidden, he won't come forth.

_GIORNO DEI MORTI_

ALONG the avenue of cypresses All in their scarlet cloaks, and surplices Of linen go the chanting choristers, The priests in gold and black, the villagers. . . .

And all along the path to the cemetery The round dark heads of men crowd silently, And black-scarved faces of women-folk, wistfully Watch at the banner of death, and the mystery.

And at the foot of a grave a father stands With sunken head, and forgotten, folded hands; And at the foot of a grave a mother kneels With pale shut face, nor either hears nor feels

The coming of the chanting choristers Between the avenue of cypresses, The silence of the many villagers, The candle-flames beside the surplices.

_ALL SOULS_

THEY are chanting now the service of All the Dead And the village folk outside in the burying ground Listen--except those who strive with their dead, Reaching out in anguish, yet unable quite to touch them: Those villagers isolated at the grave Where the candles burn in the daylight, and the painted wreaths Are propped on end, there, where the mystery starts.

The naked candles burn on every grave.

On your grave, in England, the weeds grow.

But I am your naked candle burning, And that is not your grave, in England, The world is your grave.

And my naked body standing on your grave Upright towards heaven is burning off to you Its flame of life, now and always, till the end.

It is my offering to you; every day is All Souls'

Day.

I forget you, have forgotten you.

I am busy only at my burning, I am busy only at my life.

But my feet are on your grave, planted.

And when I lift my face, it is a flame that goes up To the other world, where you are now.