| |
| I HAD been told | |
| A foolish tale— | |
| Of stone—dank—cold: | |
| But you, | |
| Held to wide winter storm, | 5 |
| To clutch of blackening frost and ocean gale, | |
| Are warm! | |
| |
| I thought that stone was silent too, | |
| Unmoved by beauty, | |
| Unaware of season or of mirth: | 10 |
| But I hear laughter, singing, as I lay | |
| My face against your gray; | |
| Surely I hear the ritual of far waves | |
| And scent their winging spray, | |
| Mixed with wild-rose and honeysuckle, | 15 |
| Budding sassafras, | |
| And the cool breath of pungent, leafy bay. | |
| |
| I knew that walls were sheltering | |
| And strong; | |
| But you have sheltered love so long | 20 |
| That love is part | |
| Of your high towering, | |
| Lifting you higher still, | |
| As heart lifts heart…. | |
| |
| Hush! | 25 |
| How the whip-poor-will | |
| Wails from his bush: | |
| The thrush | |
| Grows garrulous with delight! | |
| There is a rapture in that liquid monotone, | 30 |
| “Bob White! Bob—White!” | |
| Dear living stone! . . . . . . . . . . . . | |
| In the great room below, | |
| Where arches hold the listening spaces, | |
| Flames crackle, leap and gleam | 35 |
| In the deep fire-places; | |
| Memories dream … | |
| Of other memories, perhaps, | |
| Of gentle lives, | |
| Of births, and of those other births that men call death, | 40 |
| Of voices, foot-steps tapping the stone floor, | |
| And faces … faces … | |
| |
| Beyond, the open door, | |
| The meadows drowsy with the moon, | |
| The faint outline of dune, | 45 |
| The lake, the silver magic in the trees: | |
| Walls, you are one with these! . . . . . . . . . . . . | |
| High on the loggia-roof, | |
| Under the stars as pale as they, | |
| Two silent ones have crept away, | 50 |
| Seeking the deeper silence lovers know: | |
| Into the radiant shadows of the night, | |
| Into the aching beauty of the night, | |
| They dare to go! | |
| |
| The moon | 55 |
| Is a vast cocoon, | |
| Spinning her wild, white thread | |
| Across the sky. | |
| A thousand crickets croon | |
| Their sharp-edged lullaby. | 60 |
| I hear a murmuring of lips on lips: | |
| “All that I am, beloved! | |
| All!”— | |
| Lovers’ eternal cry! | |
| Lift them still higher, wall! . . . . . . . . . . . . | 65 |
| You stand serene: | |
| The great winds linger, lean | |
| Upon your breast; | |
| The mist | |
| Lifts up a gray face to be kissed; | 70 |
| The east and west | |
| Hang you with banners, | |
| Flaunt their bold victories of dusk and dawn; | |
| Seasons salute you as they pass, | |
| Call to you and are gone. | 75 |
| Amid your meadow-grass | |
| Lush, green, | |
| You stand serene. . . . . . . . . . . . . | |
| Houses, like hearts, are living, loving, | |
| Joyful or woeful, | 80 |
| Forget or are forgot; | |
| Houses, like tired hearts, | |
| Sicken at last, and die, | |
| Crumble and rot: | |
| But they who know you, Abrigada, | 85 |
| They—and I— | |
| Forget you not! . . . . . . . . . . . . | |
| Nor they who stand on Abrigada’s roof, | |
| Glowing, aloof! . . . . . . . . . . . . | |
| Come with me now, | 90 |
| Climb with me, stand, look down | |
| In new content of mood, | |
| Withdrawn from clasp of crowd | |
| And tangle of the town! | |
| Climb swifter still— | 95 |
| From safe companionship of cloud | |
| The deeper to look down! | |
| |
| Not back! | |
| Forget the thirst, the sordid cup, | |
| The plethora, the piteous lack; | 100 |
| Forget the trafficking in tears, | |
| The arrogance of scars. | |
| Look up … | |
| To dream undaunted dreams aloud, | |
| And stumble toward the stars! . . . . . . . . . . . . | 105 |
| This be in praise | |
| Of Abrigada; | |
| In all the ways | |
| That come to me | |
| Through the wise, wistful summer days. | 110 |
| |
| In speech, in rhyme and rhythm of word— | |
| Call it a poem, maybe! | |
| |
| In song—tuck the brown shining wood | |
| Under my chin! | |
| Call it my bird, | 115 |
| My heart, | |
| My violin! | |
| In prayer … | |
| In dream … | |
| In silence, best of all, | 120 |
| Leaning on the beloved dew-drenched wall. | |
| |
| Leaning and lifting … | |
| High … | |
| With Abrigada’s gesture toward the sky. | |
| |
