Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
The Bacchante to Her Babe
By Eunice Tietjens
        COME, sprite, and dance! The sun is up,
      The wind runs laughing down the sky
      That brims with morning like a cup.
      Sprite, we must race him,
      We must chase him—        5
      You and I!
      And skim across the fuzzy heather—
      You and joy and I together
      Whirling by!
        You merry little roll of fat!—        10
      Made warm to kiss, and smooth to pat,
      And round to toy with, like a cub;
      To put one’s nozzle in and rub
      And breathe you in like breath of kine,
      Like juice of vine,        15
      That sets my morning heart a-tingling,
      Dancing, jingling,
      All the glad abandon mingling
      Of wind and wine!
        Sprite, you are love, and you are joy,        20
      A happiness, a dream, a toy,
      A god to laugh with,
      Love to chaff with,
      The sun come down in tangled gold,
      The moon to kiss, and spring to hold.        25
        There was a time once, long ago,
      Long—oh, long since … I scarcely know.
      Almost I had forgot …
      There was a time when you were not,
      You merry sprite, save as a strain,        30
      The strange dull pain
      Of green buds swelling
      In warm, straight dwelling
      That must burst to the April rain.
      A little heavy I was then        35
      And dull—and glad to rest. And when
      The travail came
      In searing flame …
      But, sprite, that was so long ago!—
      A century!—I scarcely know.        40
      Almost I had forgot
      When you were not.
        So, little sprite, come dance with me!
      The sun is up, the wind is free!
      Come now and trip it,        45
      Romp and skip it,
      Earth is young and so are we.
      Sprite, you and I will dance together
      On the heather,
      Glad with all the procreant earth,        50
      With all the fruitage of the trees,
      And golden pollen on the breeze,
      With plants that bring the grain to birth,
      With beast and bird,
      Feathered and furred,        55
      With youth and hope and life and love,
      And joy thereof—
      While we are part of all, we two—
      For my glad burgeoning in you!
        So, merry little roll of fat,        60
      Made warm to kiss and smooth to pat
      And round to toy with, like a cub,
      To put one’s nozzle in and rub,
      My god to laugh with,
      Love to chaff with,        65
      Come and dance beneath the sky,
      You and I!
      Look out with those round wondering eyes,
      And squirm, and gurgle—and grow wise!

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