I will mend the sleeve of that coat, All ragged, -- and make her the hood Furry, and white, for the snow.

She shall tumble and laugh . . .

Oh, I think Though a thousand rivers of grief Flood over my head, -- though a hill Of horror lie on my breast, -- Something will sing, "Be glad!

You have had all your heart's desire: The unknown things that you asked When you lay awake in the nights, Alone, and searching the dark For the secret wonder of life.

You have had them (can you forget?): The ancient beautiful things!" . . .

How long he is gone. And yet It is only an hour or two. . . .

Oh, I am so happy. My eyes Are troubled with tears.

Did you know, O G.o.d, they would be like this, Your ancient beautiful things?

~Are there more? Are there more, -- out there? -- O G.o.d, are there always more?~

Mater Dolorosa. [Louis V. Ledoux]

O clinging hands, and eyes where sleep has set Her seal of peace, go not from me so soon.

O little feet, take not the pathway yet, The dust of other feet with tears is wet, And sorrow wanders there with slow regret; O eager feet, take not the path so soon.

Take it not yet, for death is at the end, And kingly death will wait until you come.

Full soon the feet of youth will turn the bend, The eyes will see where followed footsteps wend.

Go not so soon, though death be found a friend; For kingly death will wait until you come.

Prevision. [Aline Kilmer]

I know you are too dear to stay; You are so exquisitely sweet: My lonely house will thrill some day To echoes of your eager feet.

I hold your words within my heart, So few, so infinitely dear; Watching your fluttering hands I start At the corroding touch of fear.

A faint, unearthly music rings From you to Heaven -- it is not far!

A mist about your beauty clings Like a thin cloud before a star.

My heart shall keep the child I knew, When you are really gone from me, And spend its life remembering you As sh.e.l.ls remember the lost sea.

"A Wind Rose in the Night". [Aline Kilmer]

A wind rose in the night, (She had always feared it so!) Sorrow plucked at my heart And I could not help but go.

Softly I went and stood By her door at the end of the hall.

Dazed with grief I watched The candles flaring and tall.

The wind was wailing aloud: I thought how she would have cried For my warm familiar arms And the sense of me by her side.

The candles flickered and leapt, The shadows jumped on the wall.

She lay before me small and still And did not care at all.

How much of G.o.dhood. [Louis Untermeyer]

How much of G.o.dhood did it take -- What purging epochs had to pa.s.s, Ere I was fit for leaf and lake And worthy of the patient gra.s.s?

What mighty travails must have been, What ages must have moulded me, Ere I was raised and made akin To dawn, the daisy and the sea.

In what great struggles was I felled, In what old lives I labored long, Ere I was given a world that held A meadow, b.u.t.terflies and Song?

But oh, what cleansings and what fears, What countless raisings from the dead, Ere I could see Her, touched with tears, Pillow the little weary head.

The First Food. [George Sterling]

Mother, in some sad evening long ago, From thy young breast my groping lips were taken, Their hunger stilled, so soon again to waken, But nevermore that holy food to know.

Ah! nevermore! for all the child might crave!

Ah! nevermore! through years unkind and dreary!

Often of other fare my lips are weary, Unwearied once of what thy bosom gave.

(Poor wordless mouth that could not speak thy name!

At what unhappy revels has it eaten The viands that no memory can sweeten, -- The banquet found eternally the same!)

Then fell a shadow first on thee and me, And tendrils broke that held us two how dearly!

Once infinitely thine, then hourly, yearly, Less thine, as less the worthy thine to be.

(O mouth that yet should kiss the mouth of Sin!

Were lies so sweet, now bitter to remember?

Slow sinks the flame unfaithful to an ember; New beauty fades and pa.s.sion's wine is thin.)

How poor an end of that solicitude And all the love I had not from another!

Peace to thine unforgetting heart, O Mother, Who gav'st the dear and unremembered food!