Poems
THE EMPTY HOUSE
ALL day the board was spread for you, all day the fire burned,
All day I waited for you more and more;
But my heart turned with the shadows when the evening shadows turned,
And a little wind of change has clapped the door.
All day I waited for you more and more;
But my heart turned with the shadows when the evening shadows turned,
And a little wind of change has clapped the door.
I leave the bread and wine for you, the ember on the stone,
The key beneath the threshold wet with dew —
I’m off and down the road again I used to walk alone,
Before I ever built a house for you.
The key beneath the threshold wet with dew —
I’m off and down the road again I used to walk alone,
Before I ever built a house for you.
THE TRODDEN WAYS
LIKE little wandering trails that stray
From off the road and make away
Beneath green leaves, and never say
What they are meaning — where they go —
But tempt me ever till I know —
From off the road and make away
Beneath green leaves, and never say
What they are meaning — where they go —
But tempt me ever till I know —
So in yourself I am aware
Of trodden ways that vanish where
Yourself is secret — O beware!
My feet pursue you — I must go
Forever deeper till I know.
Of trodden ways that vanish where
Yourself is secret — O beware!
My feet pursue you — I must go
Forever deeper till I know.
THE NAME
THEY say a thousand words,
And then they speak your name.
A flight of passing birds
Are all their thousand words,
And they are all the same
But one — that is your name.
And then they speak your name.
A flight of passing birds
Are all their thousand words,
And they are all the same
But one — that is your name.
I startle when they say
Your name; when that is said,
I watch it fly away
With all the words they say,
And wish a net were spread
To catch the name they said.
Your name; when that is said,
I watch it fly away
With all the words they say,
And wish a net were spread
To catch the name they said.
THE WHITE MAN’S DREAMS
BY his clay-daubed wall, that is silver-bright
In the wash of the white moonbeams,
Where the dark of his door is wide to the night,
The lonely white man dreams.
In the wash of the white moonbeams,
Where the dark of his door is wide to the night,
The lonely white man dreams.
Where the moon is broad on the forest way
And the black men go and come,
The tribes that trouble the white man’s day
Dance to the beaten drum.
And the black men go and come,
The tribes that trouble the white man’s day
Dance to the beaten drum.
To the ceaseless drum, and the broken call,
And the shout, and the storm of sound,
They dance and are dark, and they trample all
Their shadows, dark on the ground.
And the shout, and the storm of sound,
They dance and are dark, and they trample all
Their shadows, dark on the ground.
The dream that the white man waits, — alas! —
It is a thing so slight;
If these are the ways by which it must pass,
How may it pass to-night?
It is a thing so slight;
If these are the ways by which it must pass,
How may it pass to-night?
THE DAWN
THIS year I love you and I cannot sleep;
I weep at night who am too proud to weep;
I hope good things a little while, and then
Those sadder thoughts come darkly back again.
I weep at night who am too proud to weep;
I hope good things a little while, and then
Those sadder thoughts come darkly back again.
Only last night I lay and thought of you —
I could not help it — till the morning dew
Smelled strangely sweet; and then I seemed to know
I might forget if I could let you go.
I could not help it — till the morning dew
Smelled strangely sweet; and then I seemed to know
I might forget if I could let you go.