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Time's Laughingstocks, and Other Verses
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The tones around me that I hear,
The aspects, meanings, shapes I see,
Are those far back ones missed when near,
And now perceived too late by me!
NIGHT IN THE OLD HOME
When the wasting embers redden the chimney-breast,
And Life’s bare pathway looms like a desert track to me,
And from hall and parlour the living have gone to their rest,
My perished people who housed them here come back to me.
They come and seat them around in their mouldy places,
Now and then bending towards me a glance of wistfulness,
A strange upbraiding smile upon all their faces,
And in the bearing of each a passive tristfulness.
“Do you uphold me, lingering and languishing here,
A pale late plant of your once strong stock?” I say to them;
“A thinker of crooked thoughts upon Life in the sere,
And on That which consigns men to night after showing the day to them?”
“ – O let be the Wherefore! We fevered our years not thus:
Take of Life what it grants, without question!” they answer me seemingly.
“Enjoy, suffer, wait: spread the table here freely like us,
And, satisfied, placid, unfretting, watch Time away beamingly!”
AFTER THE LAST BREATH
(J. H. 1813–1904)
There’s no more to be done, or feared, or hoped;
None now need watch, speak low, and list, and tire;
No irksome crease outsmoothed, no pillow sloped
Does she require.
Blankly we gaze. We are free to go or stay;
Our morrow’s anxious plans have missed their aim;
Whether we leave to-night or wait till day
Counts as the same.
The lettered vessels of medicaments
Seem asking wherefore we have set them here;
Each palliative its silly face presents
As useless gear.
And yet we feel that something savours well;
We note a numb relief withheld before;
Our well-beloved is prisoner in the cell
Of Time no more.
We see by littles now the deft achievement
Whereby she has escaped the Wrongers all,
In view of which our momentary bereavement
Outshapes but small.
1904.
IN CHILDBED
In the middle of the night
Mother’s spirit came and spoke to me,
Looking weariful and white —
As ’twere untimely news she broke to me.
“O my daughter, joyed are you
To own the weetless child you mother there;
‘Men may search the wide world through,’
You think, ‘nor find so fair another there!’
“Dear, this midnight time unwombs
Thousands just as rare and beautiful;
Thousands whom High Heaven foredooms
To be as bright, as good, as dutiful.
“Source of ecstatic hopes and fears
And innocent maternal vanity,
Your fond exploit but shapes for tears
New thoroughfares in sad humanity.
“Yet as you dream, so dreamt I
When Life stretched forth its morning ray to me;
Other views for by and by!”.
Such strange things did mother say to me.
THE PINE PLANTERS
(Marty South’s Reverie)
I
We work here together
In blast and breeze;
He fills the earth in,
I hold the trees.
He does not notice
That what I do
Keeps me from moving
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Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
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