Completion

COMPLETION

The man is made as a machine,

He is as efficient as a new gun,

And in his light is the full spectrum seen-—
He is my God, my lover, and my son.

AFTER ANNUNCIATION

Rest, little guest,

Beneath my breast.

Feed, sweet seed,
At your need.

I took Love for my lord

And this is my reward

My body is good earth,

That you, dear plant, have birth.

Anna Wickham

A MAN

Often, when I would sit, a dreamy, straight-haired child, A book held gaping on my knee,

Watering a sterile romance with my thoughts,

You would come bounding to the curb

And startle me to life.

You sat so straight upon your vibrant horse

That lovely horse, all silken fire and angry grace

And yet you seemed so merged in him,

So like! At least my thoughts

Gave you a measure of that wildness.

And oh, for many years you seemed to me
Something to marvel at and yet to fear.

But now I know that you resemble most That growth in nature that you most revere. You are so like, so very like, a treeGrown straight and strong and beautiful, With many leaves.

The years but add in richness to your boughs,

You make a noble pattern on the sky.

About your rugged trunk

Vines creep and lichens cling,

And children play at tag.

Upon your branches some will hang their load

And rest and cool while you must brave the sun.
But you put forth new life with every year,

And tower nearer to the clouds
And never bend or grow awry.

I wonder what sweet water bathes your roots, And if you gain your substance from the earth; Or if you have a treaty with the sun,

Or keep some ancient promise with the heavens.

A Man

RAIN

I have always hated the rain, And the gloom of grayed skies.

But now I think I must always cherish

Rain-hung leaf and the misty river;

And the friendly screen of dripping green

Where eager kisses were shyly given,

And your pipe-smoke made clouds in our damp, close heaven.

The curious laggard passed us by,

His wet shoes soughed on the shining walk.

And that afternoon was filled with a blurred glory

That afternoon, when we first talked as lovers.

Jean Starr Untermeyer

ANACREONTIC

Do ye mock me, wantons, that I come among ye Drunken, bedecked with garlands,

Like a white, sacrificial bull?

Laugh, then!

So Cypris, laughing, shake one petal down
From her rose-braided hair!

Honeyed with kisses, be profuse

The glowing purple that brims up this gold!

Laugh then, and mock, but kiss me: for what man
Would come among ye sober?

Wise, I come,

Borne on Silenus' ass to praise Eros.

Frederic Manning

TO A MOUNTAIN PINE

O lonely pine

Upon your granite cliff,

I know your pain-
Tossing your weird arms
To the mighty winds,
Beating your ragged breast
With shrunken hands.

I know your pain,
For I have stood

On such high, dawn-kissed peaks,

And flung my arms

And beat with futile hands,

Because I still was held

To stone and clod

By sullen roots

Of unremembered lives.

Anna Spencer Twitchell

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