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Over the blue Connecticut hills;
The west was rosy, the east was flushed,

And over my head the swallows rushed
This way and that, with changeful wills.

I heard them twitter and watched them dart
Now together and now apart

Like dark petals blown from a tree;
The maples stamped against the west

Were black and stately and full of rest,
And the hazy orange moon grew up

And slowly changed to yellow gold
While the hills were darkened, fold on fold

To a deeper blue than a flower could hold.
Down the hill I went, and then

I forgot the ways of men,
For night-scents, heady, and damp and cool

Wakened ecstasy in me
On the brink of a shining pool.

O Beauty, out of many a cup
You have made me drunk and wild

Ever since I was a child,
But when have I been sure as now

That no bitterness can bend
And no sorrow wholly bow

One who loves you to the end?
And though I must give my breath

And my laughter all to death,
And my eyes through which joy came,

And my heart, a wavering flame;
If all must leave me and go back

Along a blind and fearful track
So that you can make anew,

Fusing with intenser fire,
Something nearer your desire;

If my soul must go alone
Through a cold infinity,

Or even if it vanish, too,
Beauty, I have worshipped you.

Let this single hour atone
For the theft of all of me.

Memories
II

Places
Places I love come back to me like music,

Hush me and heal me when I am very tired;
I see the oak woods at Saxton's flaming

In a flare of crimson by the frost newly fired;
And I am thirsty for the spring in the valley

As for a kiss ungiven and long desired.
I know a bright world of snowy hills at Boonton,

A blue and white dazzling light on everything one sees,
The ice-covered branches of the hemlocks sparkle

Bending low and tinkling in the sharp thin breeze,
And iridescent crystals fall and crackle on the snow-crust

With the winter sun drawing cold blue shadows from the trees.
Violet now, in veil on veil of evening

The hills across from Cromwell grow dreamy and far;
A wood-thrush is singing soft as a viol

In the heart of the hollow where the dark pools are;
The primrose has opened her pale yellow flowers

And heaven is lighting star after star.
Places I love come back to me like music --

Mid-ocean, midnight, the waves buzz drowsily;
In the ship's deep churning the eerie phosphorescence

Is like the souls of people who were drowned at sea,
And I can hear a man's voice, speaking, hushed, insistent,

At midnight, in mid-ocean, hour on hour to me.
Old Tunes

As the waves of perfume, heliotrope, rose,
Float in the garden when no wind blows,

Come to us, go from us, whence no one knows;
So the old tunes float in my mind,

And go from me leaving no trace behind,
Like fragrance borne on the hush of the wind.

But in the instant the airs remain
I know the laughter and the pain

Of times that will not come again.
I try to catch at many a tune

Like petals of light fallen from the moon,
Broken and bright on a dark lagoon,

But they float away -- for who can hold
Youth, or perfume or the moon's gold?

"Only in Sleep"
Only in sleep I see their faces,

Children I played with when I was a child,
Louise comes back with her brown hair braided,

Annie with ringlets warm and wild.
Only in sleep Time is forgotten --

What may have come to them, who can know?
Yet we played last night as long ago,

And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair.
The years had not sharpened their smooth round faces,

I met their eyes and found them mild --
Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder,

And for them am I too a child?
Redbirds

Redbirds, redbirds,
Long and long ago,

What a honey-call you had
In hills I used to know;

Redbud, buckberry,
Wild plum-tree

And proud river sweeping
Southward to the sea,

Brown and gold in the sun
Sparkling far below,

Trailing stately round her bluffs
Where the poplars grow --

Redbirds, redbirds,
Are you singing still

As you sang one May day
On Saxton's Hill?

Sunset: St. Louis
Hushed in the smoky haze of summer sunset,

When I came home again from far-off places,
How many times I saw my western city

Dream by her river.
Then for an hour the water wore a mantle

Of tawny gold and mauve and misted turquoise
Under the tall and darkened arches bearing

Gray, high-flung bridges.
Against the sunset, water-towers and steeples

Flickered with fire up the slope to westward,
And old warehouses poured their purple shadows

Across the levee.
High over them the black train swept with thunder,

Cleaving the city, leaving far beneath it
Wharf-boats moored beside the old side-wheelers

Resting in twilight.
The Coin

Into my heart's treasury
I slipped a coin

That time cannot take
Nor a thief purloin, --

Oh better than the minting
Of a gold-crowned king

Is the safe-kept memory
Of a lovely thing.

The Voice
Atoms as old as stars,

Mutation on mutation,
Millions and millions of cells

Dividing yet still the same,
From air and changing earth,

From ancient Eastern rivers,
From turquoise tropic seas,

Unto myself I came.
My spirit like my flesh

Sprang from a thousand sources,
From cave-man, hunter and shepherd,

From Karnak, Cyprus, Rome;
The living thoughts in me

Spring from dead men and women,
Forgotten time out of mind

And many as bubbles of foam.
Here for a moment's space

Into the light out of darkness,
I come and they come with me

Finding words with my breath;
From the wisdom of many life-times

I hear them cry: "Forever
Seek for Beauty, she only

Fights with man against Death!"
III

Day and Night
In Warsaw in Poland

Half the world away,
The one I love best of all

Thought of me to-day;
I know, for I went

Winged as a bird,
In the wide flowing wind

His own voice I heard;
His arms were round me

In a ferny place,
I looked in the pool

And there was his face --
But now it is night

And the cold stars say:
"Warsaw in Poland

Is half the world away."
Compensation

I should be glad of loneliness
And hours that go on broken wings,

A thirsty body, a tired heart
And the unchanging ache of things,

If I could make a single song
As lovely and as full of light,

As hushed and brief as a falling star
On a winter night.

I Remembered
There never was a mood of mine,

Gay or heart-broken, luminous or dull,
But you could ease me of its fever

And give it back to me more beautiful.
In many another soul I broke the bread,

And drank the wine and played the happy guest,
But I was lonely, I remembered you;

The heart belongs to him who knew it best.
"Oh You Are Coming"

Oh you are coming, coming, coming,


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