I know, dear heart, that some day I shall find you
Alone, and in the evening shade of trees:
Twilight, and hills, and quietness behind you
-- A scent I shall remember in the breeze…
Always you come, a precious ghost, to haunt
The days, the nights: - in sudden, waking dreams
I find your face; you smile, you beckon; - flaunt
Your lovely self before my eyes; it seems.
To love is pain! But … did you really care?
Have you forgotten? – Is it all in vain
To breathe out sonnets to the midnight air,
To long to touch your hands, your lips again?
And yet, I know that someday I shall find you
Alone, and in the evening shade of trees;
Twilight, and hills, and quietness behind you -
A scent I shall remember in the breeze …
(And a couple thoughts from him at 16 about this world)
What Agony of Beauty! – How the sad
Long look of moonlight troubles all this place!
A sweetness fills my head, until
The mind is swamped with fullness of the soul …
How will this beauty, at the time of death
Come sweeping back, come flooding over me!
How will this quiet hour in after years
Engulf the mind that once beheld its form!
What more could man desire?
- Quite and Peace,
You I would have flow over me like water
As some cool wave upon a sun-dried sand –
Here is a soothing rest for the troubled mind
In evening’s coolness, fingers of the wind …
For here, in this freshening hour of breeze and night-birds
Here is the source of constant sanity.
We who spent years in offices and cars,
Who though the slaves of Time can yet sustain
The balance of our twisted nerves and notions
As a heated lover –
Hearing the song of a bird
Is still, - hears too, perhaps, though undefined
The haunting drift of death in somber wind …
How many generations loved this place.
And passing, left to us this privilege?
So we have come, continuing in their stead
Inherit the spirit and phrase of ancient sagas
Hearing , perhaps, in the whisperings of leaves
Tales that our fathers told when they were here
Feeling, perhaps, at evening in this place
Loves of the morning that they knew
Here where the valley is filled with voices and pine winds …
A Prayer (16)
Some evening, when I’m sitting out alone
Watching, perhaps, a cloud across the sky,
I’ll feel as if a strange cool wind has blown,
And suddenly I’ll know that I am to die;
Then I’ll remember how we stood together,
And laughed, and kissed the lovely sun to bed;
And how we talked of death among the heather,
And wondered gaily at the ancient dead …
When breath comes short, and tears come all in vain,
And in the silence I must realize
That I shall never laugh, nor love again,
May I find, leaning over me, - your eyes.