glittering brightness …

Feel it against your face …
And think of sudden gusty showers,
A little horse's gleaming neck and flanks,
The smell of rain on leather;
The smell of rain on saddle soap;
And the pearly glitter of flying hoofs
Bound for the stable.

Rain…
Even in the city
It has the smell of the country!

You, the Sower of Seed

You, the sower of seed
In this fertile field
That is my body,
Tenderly shall I care for it,
Guard it from heat and cold
And sudden change.

Only the softest sun shall shine on it
Wrap't in careful quietness
This white field shall sleep.

Dream I, in arrowy adoration
Of the garnering-in time.
Your seed … sown in the field
That is my body,
Quickening to life
In the secret places
Under my heart.
And whatever the yield
I shall deem it beautiful,
Sprung from your seed.

Nightmare

"Mother!" he cried out to me, in the night.
And I knew that he had been dreaming.
Some dark and troubling shadow
Had pressed against him fearfully.
And I turned him in his little bed
And he drifted re-assured,
Into quiet sleep.
But who are we to turn to
In the long night
When the black wings beat?

Contact

What is this mysterious crying flame,
This urge, deeper than the curve in the young flesh;
The round enchanting turn of the smooth wrist;
The throat, white as the under side of a poplar leaf
And just as fair?

What is this hunger … holy and terrible,
Spawned in the marrow of the white bones?
A hunger that cannot be drowned in surf breaking on a white beach;
Or lost, in the wind coursing through the lane of trees in the forest.

What is the spirit to do
Chained as she is
Like hooded falcon to the wrist,
When she can neither rise, nor fly,
Nor sing her song in the darkness?

Autumn Is Unfair

Autumn is unfair
To stir again, in lash of wood smoke,
Scent of bitter berries
The ashes of desire.
To stir and prod with gnarled unfriendly fingers
The leaves piled high about the tender roots,
Disturbing the sleeping blossoms.

(Oh to be free of this damaging enchantment
Of russet leaves and scarlet thorny hedges!)

Even to walk quite swiftly in the evenings
Down fog-filled streets
Pressing the cool to your lips,
Is not enough;

O anodyne of snow,
Swift-falling, white, delivering angel,
Or rain … or wind … or any single thing
To break this tenuous leash.

To let the heart sleep
Lightly, as the brown tulip bulbs …
To let the heart sleep!

Nocturne

When lovers lie
In summer grass
And watch the cloud ships
As they pass,
Love is a blend
Of pain and bliss …
Somewhere a shadow,
Dark and tall,
Across the heart-beat
Seems to fall
Denying joy …

This thing will go,
It will not stay
When summer goes
And you're away …

So runs the thread of darkling song,
And yet - within each other's eyes
They drown this knowledge; and disguise
The shadowy blight.
So … each to each they turn and say
"We have each other anyway!"

Portrait of Father

He died, much as he lived,
Not making any fuss
About it. Accepting all we did
Quietly, and with a touch; of humour,
As if to say, "Beloveds, if this helps you,
But I go … anyway!"

Withdrawn, perceptibly withdrawn,
He waged his little struggle,
Agreeable to all the final desperate tries
Science affords. He drifted out
Farther away. You couldn't even reach him
With your hand, finally.
He'd made his peace with Death.
Just for a second, up from the
Sargasso Sea of kindly opiates
He came … living and sweet and somehow reassuring,
To name you, with his final stumbling breath!

Small Christmas Tree (For F. G.)

Stand very straight, small Christmas tree!
Put on your tallest dignity,
Wear your tinsel bright and bravely,
Carry your candles like holy things.
In the heart of a child you represent
Beauty and light and sacrament;
Your topmost star to him outshines the sun,
Your branches every one
Are precious.

Stand very straight, small Christmas tree!
You were chosen to grace a feast,
You were chosen to share this day.
Holly for merriment,
Holly for joy.
And you to bring to a little boy
Fabulous dreams.

Stand very straight, small Christmas tree!
Looking with love on my small son's face,
Sweet in your light,
I, this night, hear carols.
Know for certain that carols ring,
Know for certain that angels sing;
Stand very straight, small Christmas tree!

Ladies at Tea

Ladies at tea
Frighten me!

The tea is amber,
The ices lush;
But I always feel
That I'm swallowing plush
When the repartee
Becomes sharp and prickly;
I smile and nod
And agree too quickly;
And squirm for the victims
Slaughtered lightly;
And wish for a sign-board
To signal brightly
These welcoming words
To allay my fear:
"Chicken-hearted,
Exit, here!"

Ladies at tea
Frighten me!

Portrait

You walked in your drawing-room,
Your gown rustling like autumn leaves;
Its heavy folds of delicate silk
The colour of apricots.
You might have been the ghost of a great lady,
Your chin held rather high for one so small;
Or you might have been a frail fantastic figurine
In cloisonné, that had stepped down for a moment
From a Louis Quinze table.
Or then again, you might have been a princess
Who had lived most of her life
In a Fairy Tale for children.
Then you would have worn a little cap of pearls,
And your small enchanted hands
Would have been heavy with emeralds.

You walked in your drawing-room
In your gown of apricot satin,
And if you had disappeared into a mirror,
Or stepped back into a picture frame,
I could have believed in you!

Hill-top, Caledon

No, nor the green hills of Ireland
Couldn't be lovelier!
Beautiful, are the Caledon hills;
Green, like moss is green,
And gracious,
And ever-rolling.

And the little trees
That march down the sides of the hills
Are like trees
Cut from green blotting-paper.
They stand very straight,
And not very tall,
And their ranks are beautifully un-thinned.

And the hordes of silly sheep
Crying, "Baa Baa"
Out of their curious black faces;
And the Scottish cattle with their great horns;
And the chestnut-and-black horses
Leaning into the wind on the very hill-top;
All