A moon gate in my wall: собрание стихотворений

Alone, when once so many were around,
Who loved me so, and left me now alone!
And now, though once my sleep had been so sound,
I dream all night of faces I have known.
I talk to them of all I saw and learned,
I tell them all I have been thinking of;
I take such pride in praises I have earned,
i take such joy to see again their love!
But w hen the snow is melting on the range
Beneath the heated rays of coining day
Each morning brings too soon the loathsome change
And makes my lonely vision fade away.

Claremont, 12 Oct. [1924]

503. Masterpieces

Snow clouds came to rest on Baldy mountain,
When the sun had hidden in his den,
— After lights were low and voices quiet
In the valley cottages of men.

With a treasure they were heavy laden,

With the crystal blessings of the fr ost —
Such of which Old Baldy had been dreaming.
Which it loved and months ago had lost.

Only pictures of a Perfect Artist…

Wakened by the morning's early gleam,
Baldy stood majestically crowned,
— And the clouds were floating down their stream

What though passing clouds sent down their shadows?

Baldy's smile was deeper than before
For the soothing, purifying freshness
Which the falling snow had held in store.

Claremont, 17 Nov. [1924]

504. «The world is but a dancing hall…»

The world is but a dancing hall,
Where all the people dance; and all
Can foxtrot, but a mighty few
Can waltz, — and one of them is you.

17 Feb. [1925]

505. ««Expectantly?» Suppose, you little fool…»

П. No. 2

«Expectantly?» Suppose, you little fool,
A hunchback (but there are none in the school)…
Suppose a wench of some four feet and two
Would, since you ask, decide to visit you …
Or some gaunt giantess above six feet,
Such as the people laugh at when they meet…
Suppose she is bow-legged, and her hair,
Like that of ancient Furies, stands in air?
And let her face be harsh as mortal sin,
Belying any sparkle from within.
She winks an eye, distorts a ghastly cheek,
And then you hear, instead of voice, — a squeak!
Will you at that be able to disguise
The true interpretation of your eyes?
And generously willing to forget
The shock that you from such a sight would get?
But after all, you may be far amiss
And I may be Mister, not a Miss.
I really always hate to disappoint,
But «dazzling, flashing» are beside the point.
«Expectantly»… — You know not what you say!
Yet you may hear from me another day.

15 May [1926]

506. «…This funny game — this life — is full of things…»

П. (Отрывок)