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HELEN OF TROY and OTHER POEMS
BY SARA TEASDALE
Author of "Sonnets to Duse, and Other Poems"
To Marion Cummings Stanley
[1911]
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Part II: Love Songs
Primavera Mia
- AS kings who see their little life-day pass,
- Take off the heavy ermine and the crown,
- So had the trees that autumn-time laid down
- Their golden garments on the faded grass,
- When I, who watched the seasons in the glass
- Of mine own thoughts, saw all the autumn's brown
- Leap into life and don a sunny gown
- Of leafage such as happy April has.
- Great spring came singing upward from the south;
- For in my heart, far carried on the wind,
- Your words like winged seeds took root and grew,
- And all the world caught music from your mouth;
- I saw the light as one who had been blind,
- And knew my sun and song and spring were you.
Soul's Birth
- WHEN you were born, beloved, was your soul
- New made by God to match your body's flower,
- And were they both at one same precious hour
- Sent forth from heaven as a perfect whole?
- Or had your soul since dim creation burned,
- A star in some still region of the sky,
- That leaping earthward, left its place on high
- And to your little new-born body yearned?
- No words can tell in what celestial hour
- God made your soul and gave it mortal birth,
- Nor in the disarray of all the stars
- Is any place so sweet that such a flower
- Might linger there until thro' heaven's bars,
- It heard God's voice that bade it down to earth.
Love and Death
- SHALL we, too, rise forgetful from our sleep,
- And shall my soul that lies within your hand
- Remember nothing, as the blowing sand
- Forgets the palm where long blue shadows creep
- When winds along the darkened desert sweep?
- Or would it still remember, tho' it spanned
- A thousand heavens, while the planets fanned
- The vacant ether with their voices deep?
- Soul of my soul, no word shall be forgot,
- Nor yet alone, beloved, shall we see
- The desolation of extinguished suns,
- Nor fear the void wherethro' our planet runs,
- For still together shall we go and not
- Fare forth alone to front eternity.
For the Anniversary of John Keats' Death
(February 23, 1821)
- AT midnight when the moonlit cypress trees
- Have woven round his grave a magic shade,
- Still weeping the unfinished hymn he made,
- There moves fresh Maia like a morning breeze
- Blown over jonquil beds when warm rains cease.
- And stooping where her poet's head is laid,
- Selene weeps while all the tides are stayed
- And swaying seas are darkened into peace.
- But they who wake the meadows and the tides
- Have hearts too kind to bid him wake from sleep
- Who murmurs sometimes when his dreams are deep,
- Startling the Quiet Land where he abides,
- And charming still, sad-eyed Persephone
- With visions of the sunny earth and sea.
Silence
(To Eleonora Duse)
- WE are anhungered after solitude,
- Deep stillness pure of any speech or sound,
- Soft quiet hovering over pools profound,
- The silences that on the desert brood,
- Above a windless hush of empty seas,
- The broad unfurling banners of the dawn,
- A faery forest where there sleeps a Faun;
- Our souls are fain of solitudes like these.
- O woman who divined our weariness,
- And set the crown of silence on your art,
- >From what undreamed-of depth within your heart
- Have you sent forth the hush that makes us free
- To hear an instant, high above earth's stress,
- The silent music of infinity?
The Return
- I TURNED the key and opened wide the door
- To enter my deserted room again,
- Where thro' the long hot months the dust had lain.
- Was it not lonely when across the floor
- No step was heard, no sudden song that bore
- My whole heart upward with a joyous pain?
- Were not the pictures and the volumes fain
- To have me with them always as before?
- But Giorgione's Venus did not deign
- To lift her lids, nor did the subtle smile
- Of Mona Lisa deepen. Madeleine
- Still wept against the glory of her hair,
- Nor did the lovers part their lips the while,
- But kissed unheeding that I watched them there.
Fear
- I AM afraid, oh I am so afraid!
- The cold black fear is clutching me to-night
- As long ago when they would take the light
- And leave the little child who would have prayed,
- Frozen and sleepless at the thought of death.
- My heart that beats too fast will rest too soon;
- I shall not know if it be night or noon, --
- Yet shall I struggle in the dark for breath?
- Will no one fight the Terror for my sake,
- The heavy darkness that no dawn will break?
- How can they leave me in that dark alone,
- Who loved the joy of light and warmth so much,
- And thrilled so with the sense of sound and touch, --
- How can they shut me underneath a stone?
Anadyomene
- THE wide, bright temple of the world I found,
- And entered from the dizzy infinite
- That I might kneel and worship thee in it;
- Leaving the singing stars their ceaseless round
- Of silver music sound on orbed sound,
- For measured spaces where the shrines are lit,
- And men with wisdom or with little wit
- Implore the gods that mercy may abound.
- Ah, Aphrodite, was it not from thee
- My summons came across the endless spaces?
- Mother of Love, turn not thy face from me
- Now that I seek for thee in human faces;
- Answer my prayer or set my spirit free
- Again to drift along the starry places.
Galahad in the Castle of the Maidens
(To the maiden with the hidden face in Abbey's painting)
- THE other maidens raised their eyes to him
- Who stumbled in before them when the fight
- Had left him victor, with a victor's right.
- I think his eyes with quick hot tears grew dim;
- He scarcely saw her swaying white and slim,
- And trembling slightly, dreaming of his might,
- Nor knew he touched her hand, as strangely light
- As a wan wraith's beside a river's rim.
- The other maidens raised their eyes to see
- And only she has hid her face away,
- And yet I ween she loved him more than they,
- And very fairly fashioned was her face.
- Yet for Love's shame and sweet humility,
- She dared not meet him with their queenlike grace.
To an Aeolian Harp
- THE winds have grown articulate in thee,
- And voiced again the wail of ancient woe
- That smote upon the winds of long ago:
- The cries of Trojan women as they flee,
- The quivering moan of pale Andromache,
- Now lifted loud with pain and now brought low.
- It is the soul of sorrow that we know,
- As in a shell the soul of all the sea.
- So sometimes in the compass of a song,
- Unknown to him who sings, thro' lips that live,
- The voiceless dead of long-forgotten lands
- Proclaim to us their heaviness and wrong
- In sweeping sadness of the winds that give
- Thy strings no rest from weariless wild hands.
To Erinna
- WAS Time not harsh to you, or was he kind,
- O pale Erinna of the perfect lyre,
- That he has left no word of singing fire
- Whereby you waked the dreaming Lesbian wind,
- And kindled night along the lyric shore?
- O girl whose lips Erato stooped to kiss,
- Do you go sorrowing because of this
- In fields where poets sing forevermore?
- Or are you glad and is it best to be
- A silent music men have never heard,
- A dream in all our souls that we may say:
- "Her voice had all the rapture of the sea,
- And all the clear cool quiver of a bird
- Deep in a forest at the break of day"?
To Cleis
Paris in Spring
- THE city's all a-shining
- Beneath a fickle sun,
- A gay young wind's a-blowing,
- The little shower is done.
- But the rain-drops still are clinging
- And falling one by one --
- Oh it's Paris, it's Paris,
- And spring-time has begun.
- I know the Bois is twinkling
- In a sort of hazy sheen,
- And down the Champs the gray old arch
- Stands cold and still between.
- But the walk is flecked with sunlight
- Where the great acacias lean,
- Oh it's Paris, it's Paris,
- And the leaves are growing green.
- The sun's gone in, the sparkle's dead,
- There falls a dash of rain,
- But who would care when such an air
- Comes blowing up the Seine?
- And still Ninette sits sewing
- Beside her window-pane,
- When it's Paris, it's Paris,
- And spring-time's come again.
Madeira from the Sea
- OUT of the delicate dream of the distance an emerald emerges
- Veiled in the violet folds of the air of the sea;
- Softly the dream grows awakening -- shimmering white of a city,
- Splashes of crimson, the gay bougainvillea, the palms.
- High in the infinite blue of its heaven a quiet cloud lingers,
- Lost and forgotten of winds that have fallen asleep,
- Fallen asleep to the tune of a Portuguese song in a garden.
City Vignettes
- I
- Dawn
- THE greenish sky glows up in misty reds,
- The purple shadows turn to brick and stone,
- The dreams wear thin, men turn upon their beds,
- And hear the milk-cart jangle by alone.
- II
- Dusk
- The city's street, a roaring blackened stream
- Walled in by granite, thro' whose thousand eyes
- A thousand yellow lights begin to gleam,
- And over all the pale untroubled skies.
- III
- Rain at Night
- The street-lamps shine in a yellow line
- Down the splashy, gleaming street,
- And the rain is heard now loud now blurred
- By the tread of homing feet.
By the Sea
- BESIDE an ebbing northern sea
- While stars awaken one by one,
- We walk together, I and he.
- He woos me with an easy grace
- That proves him only half sincere;
- A light smile flickers on his face.
- To him love-making is an art,
- And as a flutist plays a flute,
- So does he play upon his heart
- A music varied to his whim.
- He has no use for love of mine,
- He would not have me answer him.
- To hide my eyes within the night
- I watch the changeful lighthouse gleam
- Alternately with red and white.
- My laughter smites upon my ears,
- So one who cries and wakes from sleep
- Knows not it is himself he hears.
- What if my voice should let him know
- The mocking words were all a sham,
- And lips that laugh could tremble so?
- What if I lost the power to lie,
- And he should only hear his name
- In one low, broken cry?
On the Death of Swinburne
- HE trod the earth but yesterday,
- And now he treads the stars.
- He left us in the April time
- He praised so often in his rhyme,
- He left the singing and the lyre and went his way.
- He drew new music from our tongue,
- A music subtly wrought,
- And moulded words to his desire,
- As wind doth mould a wave of fire;
- From strangely fashioned harps slow golden tones he wrung.
- I think the singing understands
- That he who sang is still,
- And Iseult cries that he is dead, --
- Does not Dolores bow her head
- And Fragoletta weep and wring her little hands?
- New singing now the singer hears
- To lyre and lute and harp;
- Catullus waits to welcome him,
- And thro' the twilight sweet and dim,
- Sappho's forgotten songs are falling on his ears.
Triolets
- I
- LOVE looked back as he took his flight,
- And lo, his eyes were filled with tears.
- Was it for love of lost delight
- Love looked back as he took his flight?
- Only I know while day grew night,
- Turning still to the vanished years,
- Love looked back as he took his flight,
- And lo, his eyes were filled with tears.
- II
- (Written in a copy of "La Vita Nuova". For M. C. S.)
- If you were Lady Beatrice
- And I the Florentine,
- I'd never waste my time like this --
- If you were Lady Beatrice
- I'd woo and then demand a kiss,
- Nor weep like Dante here, I ween,
- If you were Lady Beatrice
- And I the Florentine.
- III
- (Written in a copy of "The Poems of Sappho".)
- Beyond the dim Hesperides,
- The girl who sang them long ago
- Could never dream that over seas,
- Beyond the dim Hesperides,
- The wind would blow such songs as these --
- I wonder now if she can know,
- Beyond the dim Hesperides,
- The girl who sang them long ago?
- IV
- Dead leaves upon the stream
- And dead leaves on the air --
- All of my lost hopes seem
- Dead leaves upon the stream;
- I watch them in a dream,
- Going I know not where,
- Dead leaves upon the stream
- And dead leaves on the air.
Vox Corporis
- THE beast to the beast is calling,
- And the soul bends down to wait;
- Like the stealthy lord of the jungle,
- The white man calls his mate.
- The beast to the beast is calling,
- They rush through the twilight sweet,
- But the soul is a wary hunter,
- He will not let them meet.
A Ballad of Two Knights
- TWO knights rode forth at early dawn
- A-seeking maids to wed,
- Said one, "My lady must be fair,
- With gold hair on her head."
- Then spake the other knight-at-arms:
- "I care not for her face,
- But she I love must be a dove
- For purity and grace."
- And each knight blew upon his horn
- And went his separate way,
- And each knight found a lady-love
- Before the fall of day.
- But she was brown who should have had
- The shining yellow hair --
- I ween the knights forgot their words
- Or else they ceased to care.
- For he who wanted purity
- Brought home a wanton wild,
- And when each saw the other knight
- I ween that each knight smiled.
Christmas Carol
- THE kings they came from out the south,
- All dressed in ermine fine,
- They bore Him gold and chrysoprase,
- And gifts of precious wine.
- The shepherds came from out the north,
- Their coats were brown and old,
- They brought Him little new-born lambs --
- They had not any gold.
- The wise-men came from out the east,
- And they were wrapped in white;
- The star that led them all the way
- Did glorify the night.
- The angels came from heaven high,
- And they were clad with wings;
- And lo, they brought a joyful song
- The host of heaven sings.
- The kings they knocked upon the door,
- The wise-men entered in,
- The shepherds followed after them
- To hear the song begin.
- And Mary held the little child
- And sat upon the ground;
- She looked up, she looked down,
- She looked all around.
- The angels sang thro' all the night
- Until the rising sun,
- But little Jesus fell asleep
- Before the song was done.
The Faery Forest
- THE faery forest glimmered
- Beneath an ivory moon,
- The silver grasses shimmered
- Against a faery tune.
- Beneath the silken silence
- The crystal branches slept,
- And dreaming thro' the dew-fall
- The cold white blossoms wept.
A Fantasy
- HER voice is like clear water
- That drips upon a stone
- In forests far and silent
- Where Quiet plays alone.
- Her thoughts are like the lotus
- Abloom by sacred streams
- Beneath the temple arches
- Where Quiet sits and dreams.
- Her kisses are the roses
- That glow while dusk is deep
- In Persian garden closes
- Where Quiet falls asleep.
A Minuet of Mozart's
- ACROSS the dimly lighted room
- The violin drew wefts of sound,
- Airily they wove and wound
- And glimmered gold against the gloom.
- I watched the music turn to light,
- But at the pausing of the bow,
- The web was broken and the glow
- Was drowned within the wave of night.
Twilight
- DREAMILY over the roofs
- The cold spring rain is falling,
- Out in the lonely tree
- A bird is calling, calling.
- Slowly over the earth
- The wings of night are falling;
- My heart like the bird in the tree
- Is calling, calling, calling.
The Prayer
- MY answered prayer came up to me,
- And in the silence thus spake he:
- "O you who prayed for me to come,
- Your greeting is but cold and dumb."
- My heart made answer: "You are fair,
- But I have prayed too long to care.
- Why came you not when all was new,
- And I had died for joy of you."
Two Songs for a Child
- I
- Grandfather's Love
- THEYhey said he sent his love to me,
- They wouldn't put it in my hand,
- And when I asked them where it was
- They said I couldn't understand.
- I thought they must have hidden it,
- I hunted for it all the day,
- And when I told them so at night
- They smiled and turned their heads away.
- They say that love is something kind,
- That I can never see or touch.
- I wish he'd sent me something else,
- I like his cough-drops twice as much.
- II
- The Kind Moon
- I think the moon is very kind
- To take such trouble just for me.
- He came along with me from home
- To keep me company.
- He went as fast as I could run;
- I wonder how he crossed the sky?
- I'm sure he hasn't legs and feet
- Or any wings to fly.
- Yet here he is above their roof;
- Perhaps he thinks it isn't right
- For me to go so far alone,
- Tho' mother said I might.
On to the next poem.
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