Ellen Margaret Janson

From “Tableaux”

I AM the stir of garments that you heard

Pass by you in the wood.

I am the lips that smile, but speak no word

For evil or for good.

I am the voice that whispered in the long

Sweet twilights of the spring.

I am the haunting music of the song

I would not let you sing.

I am the finger beckoning in the street;

The strife, and the reward;

The quivering joy that stabbed you with its sweet

Sharper than any sword.

I am the dream that shines—a light apart,

When other lights are spent.

I am the pain that grips and breaks your heart

To save it from content!