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Seven Poems

Girl’s Song

I went out alone
To sing a song or two,
My fancy on a man
And you know who.

Another came in sight
That on a stick relied
To hold himself upright,
I sat and cried.

And that was all my song—
When everything is told
Saw I an old man yo’ing
Or young man old?

Young Man’s Song

“She will change,” I cried,
“Into a withered crone.”
The heart in my side
That so still had lain,
In noble rage replied
And beat upon the bone.

“Uplift those eyes and throw
Those glances unafraid;
She would as bravely show
Did all the fabric fade;
No withered crone I saw
Before the world was made.”

Her Dream

I dreamed, as in my bed I lay
Night’s fathomless wisdom come,
That I had shorn my locks away
And laid them on love’s lettered tomb;
But something bore them out of sight
In a great tumult of the air,
And after nailed upon the night
Berenice’s burning hair.

His Bargain

Who talks of Plato’s spindle;
What set it whirling round.
Eternity may dwindle,
Time is unwound,
Dan and Jerry tout,
Change their loves about.

However they may take it,
Before the thread began
I made, and may not break it
When the last thread has run,
A bargain with that hair
And all the windings there.

Abashed by that report
For the heart cannot lie
I knelt in the dirt,
And all shall bend the knee
To my offended heart
Until it pardon me.

Her Anxiety

Earth in beauty dressed
Awaits returning spring.
All true love must die,
Alter at the best
Into some lesser thing.
Prove that I lie.

Such body lovers have,
Such exacting breath,
That they touch or sigh.
Every touch they give,
Love is nearer death.
Prove that I lie.

His Confidence

Undying love to buy
I wrote upon
The corners of this eye
All wrongs done.
What payment were enough
For undying love?

I broke my heart in two
So hard I struck,
What matter for I know
That out of rock,
Out of a desolate source
Love leaps upon is course.

Love’s Loneliness

Old fathers, great grandfathers,
Rise as kindred should.
If ever lover’s loneliness
Came where you stood;
Pray that heaven protect us
That protect your blood.

The mountain throws a shadow,
Thin is the moon’s horn;
Wha did we remember
Under the ragged thorn?
Dread has followed longing
And our hearts are torn.