e
the winds have had their way
And laid the desert horrific of silence and snow on
the world of mankind,
School now is the rock in this weary land the winter
burns and makes blind.

SICKNESS

WAVING slowly before me, pushed into the dark,
Unseen my hands explore the silence, drawing the
bark
Of my body slowly behind.

Nothing to meet my fingers but the fleece of night
Invisible blinding my face and my eyes! What if
in their flight
My hands should touch the door!

What if I suddenly stumble, and push the door
Open, and a great grey dawn swirls over my feet,
before
I can draw back!

What if unwitting I set the door of eternity wide
And am swept away in the horrible dawn, am gone
down the tide
Of eternal hereafter!

Catch my hands, my darling, between your breasts.
Take them away from their venture, before fate
wrests
The meaning out of them.

EVERLASTING FLOWERS

WHO do you think stands watching
The snow-tops shining rosy
In heaven, now that the darkness
Takes all but the tallest posy?

Who then sees the two-winged
Boat down there, all alone
And asleep on the snow's last shadow,
Like a moth on a stone?

The olive-leaves, light as gad-flies,
Have all gone dark, gone black.
And now in the dark my soul to you
Turns back.

To you, my little darling,
To you, out of Italy.
For what is loveliness, my love,
Save you have it with me!

So, there's an oxen wagon
Comes darkly into sight:
A man with a lantern, swinging
A little light.

What does he see, my darling
Here by the darkened lake?
Here, in the sloping shadow
The mountains make?

He says not a word, but passes,
Staring at what he sees.
What ghost of us both do you think he saw
Under the olive trees?

All the things that are lovely--
The things you never knew--
I wanted to gather them one by one
And bring them to you.

But never now, my darling
Can I gather the mountain-tips
From the twilight like half-shut lilies
To hold to your lips.

And never the two-winged vessel
That sleeps below on the lake
Can I catch like a moth between my hands
For you to take.

But hush, I am not regretting:
It is far more perfect now.
I'll whisper the ghostly truth to the world
And tell them how

I know you here in the darkness,
How you sit in the throne of my eyes
At peace, and look out of the windows
In glad surprise.

THE NORTH COUNTRY

IN anothe