La Felice

La Felice, by the forest pond looks through leaves to the Western screen of Chinese gold that lies beyond black trees and boughs of golden-green.

The little body of La Felice weary of everything on earth has passed from love to love, till peace and beauty alone have any worth.

So still and deep the water lies,
so fiery-cool, so yellow-clear;
Here beauty sleeps!  La Felice cries,
I will give myself to beauty here !”

The mud is smooth and deep, the weeds beneath her feet are soft and cool, ripples widen and glistening beads of bubble rise on the forest pool.

The water reaches to her knee, now to her thigh, now to her breast, till like a child all peacefully does La Felice lie down to rest.

She struggles like a fearful bride with ecstasy—­then La Felice turns quietly upon her side and over the sunset pool is peace.

The Journey

Three women walked through the snow
     Beneath an empty sky,
And one was blind, and one was old,
     And one was I.

Bravely the Blind One led,
     I questioned from behind
“Tell me, where do we go?” She said
     “Have courage...  I am blind!”

We came at last to a cliff,
     The Blind One plunged, and was gone—­
I looked behind me, stark and stiff
     The Old One stood in the dawn.

The deep crevasse was black
     Beneath the dawning day,
I could not turn and travel back,
     The Old One barred the way.

I could not turn aside,
     (To lead, one dare not see)
I think that day I must have died
     Such silence is in me.

The Last Illusion

Along the twilight road I met three women,
And they were neither old nor very young;
In her hands each bore what she most cherished,
For they were neither rich, nor very poor.

     In the hands of the first woman
     I saw white ashes in an urn,
     In the hands of the next woman
     I saw a tarnished mirror gleam,
     In the hands of the last woman
     I saw a heavy, jagged stone—­

Along the twilight road I met three women,
And they were neither fools nor very wise,
For each was troubled lest another covet
Her precious burden—­so they walked alone.

The Desert

Through dusty years, and drearily,
Two lovers rode across a desert hill
While patient love followed them wearily
Through the long, sultry day... 
But when night came, the desert had its way,
Turning, they found love cold and still.

It lay so pitiful a thing,
Threadbare, and soiled, and worn—­
“Why have we kept such starveling love?” she cried,
“Was it worth treasuring?”
And he replied: 
“Bury it then!  I shall not mourn!”

The wind came from the West,
It seemed to blow
Across a million graves to the sordid bier
Where lay their love.  She said:  “We will bury it here!”
They laid it low,
They rode on, dispossessed.