Night Song at Amalfi

I asked the heaven of stars What I should give my love -- It answered me with silence, Silence above.

I asked the darkened sea Down where the fishers go -- It answered me with silence, Silence below.

Oh, I could give him weeping, Or I could give him song -- But how can I give silence My whole life long?

Song

Let it be forgotten as a flower is forgotten, Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold, Let it be forgotten forever and ever, Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.

If any one asks, say it was forgotten Long and long ago, As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall In a long forgotten snow.

Love is a Terrible Thing. [Grace Fallow Norton]

I went out to the farthest meadow, I lay down in the deepest shadow;

And I said unto the earth, "Hold me,"

And unto the night, "O enfold me,"

And unto the wind petulantly I cried, "You know not for you are free!"

And I begged the little leaves to lean Low and together for a safe screen;

Then to the stars I told my tale: "That is my home-light, there in the vale,

"And O, I know that I shall return, But let me lie first mid the unfeeling fern.

"For there is a flame that has blown too near, And there is a name that has grown too dear, And there is a fear . . ."

And to the still hills and cool earth and far sky I made moan, "The heart in my bosom is not my own!

"O would I were free as the wind on wing; Love is a terrible thing!"

Valley Song. [Carl Sandburg]

Your eyes and the valley are memories.

Your eyes fire and the valley a bowl.

It was here a moonrise crept over the timberline.

It was here we turned the coffee cups upside down.

And your eyes and the moon swept the valley.

I will see you again to-morrow.

I will see you again in a million years.

I will never know your dark eyes again.

These are three ghosts I keep.

These are three sumach-red dogs I run with.

All of it wraps and knots to a riddle: I have the moon, the timberline, and you.

All three are gone -- and I keep all three.

Spring in Carmel. [George Sterling]

O'er Carmel fields in the springtime the sea-gulls follow the plow.

White, white wings on the blue above!

White were your brow and breast, O Love!

But I cannot see you now.

Tireless ever the Mission swallow Dips to meadow and poppied hollow; Well for her mate that he can follow, As the buds are on the bough.

By the woods and waters of Carmel the lark is glad in the sun.

Harrow! Harrow! Music of G.o.d!

Near to your nest her feet have trod Whose journeyings are done.

Sing, O lover! I cannot sing.

Wild and sad are the thoughts you bring.

Well for you are the skies of spring, And to me all skies are one.

In the beautiful woods of Carmel an iris bends to the wind.

O thou far-off and sorrowful flower!

Rose that I found in a tragic hour!

Rose that I shall not find!

Petals that fell so soft and slowly, Fragrant snows on the gra.s.ses lowly, Gathered now would I call you holy Ever to eyes once blind.

In the pine-sweet valley of Carmel the cream-cups scatter in foam.

Azures of early lupin there!

Now the wild lilac floods the air Like a broken honey-comb.

So could the flowers of Paradise Pour their souls to the morning skies; So like a ghost your fragrance lies On the path that once led home.

On the emerald hills of Carmel the spring and winter have met.