I found him talking simply and gladly of God, And noise. Thought kindled in his cheek, And his white faith Was the tree in spring To look upon. He whispered me he knew the God of Daniel In the lions' den; The faith of Joan of Arc On parapets. He will walk, a spirit Of unguessed power, He will walk unreached Into fire! MY HEART, LIKE HYACINTH Oh, Grief is not so near to tears Hurting me more than chord-pain The thought of you, Quiet, alone, Lovely as a watered reed, For I, storm-shattered and sick, Oh, Grief is not so near to tears THE ADVENTURER Gatherer of shells, Flower-hunter, Breather of slight winds- I bring you songs for flutes, And pointed vagaries. These trinkets you may toy, The aspen lifts The moon slips down It is odd To stand here alone- THE FOREST OF DEAD TREES 2 I climbed up the rough mountain-side I touched their smooth, stark limbs, And learned much of the white beauty of death. Whose taut, slender thigh was this? O life, you are not more beautiful Than this silent, curving death is beautiful! 1 And Eternity I think I heard it cry: "Centre within centre, Death or Life, One am I." BENEDICTION Let no blasphemer till the sacred earth Lest fruit should fail And weed-scars sting its fineness. Send him here who loves its beauty And its brownness. He will plow the earth As a dancer dances Ecstatically. Let no blasphemer till the sacred earth. Mark Turbyfill |