Chapter I: A Snowy Day in School lix

II. The Best of School lx.
III. Afternoon in School lxiii.

WEDDING MORN

The morning breaks like a pomegranate
In a shining crack of red,
Ah, when to-morrow the dawn comes late
Whitening across the bed,
It will find me watching at the marriage gate
And waiting while light is shed
On him who is sleeping satiate,
With a sunk, abandoned head.

And when the dawn comes creeping in,
Cautiously I shall raise
Myself to watch the morning win
My first of days,
As it shows him sleeping a sleep he got
Of me, as under my gaze,
He grows distinct, and I see his hot
Face freed of the wavering blaze.

Then I shall know which image of God
My man is made toward,
And I shall know my bitter rod
Or my rich reward.
And I shall know the stamp and worth
Of the coin I've accepted as mine,
Shall see an image of heaven or of earth
On his minted metal shine.

Yea and I long to see him sleep
In my power utterly,
I long to know what I have to keep,
I long to see
My love, that spinning coin, laid still
And plain at the side of me,
For me to count--for I know he will
Greatly enrichen me.

And then he will be mine, he will lie
In my power utterly,
Opening his value plain to my eye
He will sleep of me.
He will lie negligent, resign
His all to me, and I
Shall watch the dawn light up for me
This sleeping wealth of mine.

And I shall watch the wan light shine
On his sleep that is filled of me,
On his brow where the wisps of fond hair twine
So truthfully,
On his lips where the light breaths come and go
Naïve and winsomely,
On his limbs that I shall weep to know
Lie under my mastery.

KISSES IN THE TRAIN

I saw the midlands
Revolve through her hair;
The fields of autumn
Stretching bare,
And sheep on the pasture
Tossed back in a scare.

And still as ever
The world went round,
My mouth on her pulsing
Neck was found,
And my breast to her beating
Breast was bound.

But my heart at the centre
Of all, in a swound
Was still as a pivot,
As all the ground
On its prowling orbit
Shifted round.

And still in my nostrils
The scent of her flesh,
And still my wet mouth
Sought her afresh;
And still one pulse
Through the world did thresh.

And the world all whirling
Around in joy
Like the dance of a dervish
Did destroy
My sense--and my reason
Spun like a toy.

But firm at the centre
My heart was found;
Her own to my perfect
Heart-beat bound,
Like a magnet's keeper
Closing the round.

CRUELTY AND LOVE

What large, dark hands are those at the window Lifted, grasping the golden light Which weaves its way through the creeper leaves To my heart's delight?

Ah, only the leaves! But in the west, In the west I see a redness come Over the evening's burning breast-- --'Tis the wound of love goes home!

The woodbine creeps abroad
Calling low to her lover:
The sun-lit flirt who all the day
Has poised above her lips in play
And stolen kisses, shallow and gay
Of pollen, now has gone away
--She woos the moth with her sweet, low word,
And when above her his broad wings hover
Then her bright breast she will uncover
And yield her honey-drop to her lover.

Into the yellow, evening glow
Saunters a man from the farm below,
Leans, and looks in at the low-built shed
Where hangs the swallow's marriage bed.
The bird lies warm against the wall.
She glances quick her startled eyes
Towards him, then she turns away
Her small head, making warm display
Of red upon the throat. His terrors sway
Her out of the nest's warm, busy ball,
Whose plaintive cry is heard as she flies
In one blue stoop from out the sties
Into the evening's empty hall.

Oh, water-hen, beside the rushes Hide your quaint, unfading blushes, Still your quick tail, and lie as dead, Till the distance folds over his ominous tread.

The rabbit presses back her ears, Turns back her liquid, anguished eyes And crouches low: then with wild spring Spurts from the terror of _his_ oncoming To be choked back, the wire ring Her frantic effort throttling: Piteous brown ball of quivering fears!

Ah soon in his large, hard hands she dies, And swings all loose to the swing of his walk. Yet calm and kindly are his eyes And ready to open in brown surprise Should I not answer to his talk Or should he my tears surmise.

I hear his hand on the latch, and rise from my chair Watching the door open: he flashes bare His strong teeth in a smile, and flashes his eyes In a smile like triumph upon me; then careless-wise He flings the rabbit soft on the table board And comes towards me: ah, the uplifted sword Of his hand against my bosom, and oh, the broad Blade of his hand that raise my face to applaud His coming: he raises up my face to him And caresses my mouth with his fingers, which still smell grim Of the rabbit's fur! God, I am caught in a snare! I know not what fine wire is round my throat, I only know I let him finger there My pulse of life, letting him nose like a stoat Who sniffs with joy before he drinks the blood: And down his mouth comes to my mouth, and down His dark bright eyes descend like a fiery hood Upon my mind: his mouth meets mine, and a flood Of sweet fire sweeps across me, so I drown Within him, die, and find death good.

CHERRY ROBBERS

Under the long, dark boughs, like jewels red
In the hair of an Eastern girl
Shine strings of crimson cherries, as if had bled
Blood-drops beneath each curl.

Under the glistening cherries, with folded wings
Three dead birds lie:
Pale-breasted throstles and a blackbird, robberlings
Stained with red dye.

Under the haystack a girl stands laughing at me,
With cherries hung round her ears--
Offering me her scarlet fruit: I will see
If she has any tears.

LILIES IN THE FIRE

I

Ah, you stack of white lilies, all white and gold, I am adrift as a sunbeam, and without form Or having, save I light on you to warm Your pallor into radiance, flush your cold

White beauty into incandescence: you Are not a stack of white lilies to-night, but a white And clustered star transfigured by me to-night, And lighting these ruddy leaves like a star dropped through

The slender bare arms of the branches, your tire-maidens Who lift swart arms to fend me off; but I come Like a wind of fire upon you, like to some Stray whitebeam who on you his fire unladens.

And you are a glistening toadstool shining here Among the crumpled beech-leaves phosphorescent, My stack of white lilies burning incandescent Of me, a soft white star among the leaves, my dear.

II

Is it with pain, my dear, that you shudder so? Is it because I have hurt you with pain, my dear?

Did I shiver?--Nay, truly I did not know--
A dewdrop may-be splashed on my face down here.

Why even now you speak through close-shut teeth. I have been too much for you--Ah, I remember!

The ground is a little chilly underneath
The leaves--and, dear, you consume me all to an ember.

You hold yourself all hard as if my kisses Hurt as I gave them--you put me away--

Ah never I put you away: yet each kiss hisses
Hot as a drop of fire wastes me away.