White April by Harold Vinal (1922, Yale University Press) Proserpine (Persephone) from an 1874 painting by Dante Gabriel Rossetti; Click for a larger image; [selection by the Editor]

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Part I. Golden Windows

My Own

O I MUST answer to a name

And live upon a certain street,

And stairs within a dingy house

Must bear the burden of my feet.



Still, when the night is dim and sweet,

In dreams I roam the silent hills,

Where aisles of shadow, vague with light,

Are petalled soft with daffodils.



I foot it through the silver dark,

I shout aloud to field and tree

And all this gipsy heart of me

Is longing, longing to be free.



O I must answer to a name

And live upon a certain street,

But who shall take my dreams from me

Or keep my life from being sweet?

Harold Vinal

Candle

I WILL light my candle

Before night comes on,

A room is a dreary place

And forlorn.



I will light the tiny flame

So it sputter brightly,

For ghosts of lonely things

Trouble me nightly.



I will shut my ears

Lest I hear again

Wind crying in the hall,

Rain on the pane.



I will light my candle

Before night comes on,

A room is a dreary place,

Now love has gone.

Harold Vinal

To Persephone

NO more you weave, Persephone,

Gowns the colors of the sea.



Your ivory fingers now are still

And your grave a grassy hill.



But everywhere songs are sung

They sing of you who died so young.



And lads and lassies passing by

Place bergamot where you lie.



No more you weave, Persephone,

Gowns the colors of the sea,



Emerald, chrysoprase and blue

That looked beautiful on you.



But everywhere songs are sung

They sing of you who died so young.



Harold Vinal

Window

FROM my window I see

Tall trees in a row,

Rhododendron and phlox,

Spicy things that blow.



All of beauty there

Through four little panes,

Clumps of columbine

Wet with the rains.



Through my window I see

Life pass by me--

Colin and Christopher,

Rose and Charity.

Harold Vinal

Tokens

IN memory of this and that

I'll wear a starry hood

And set a bowl upon the stoop

And light the wood.



In memory of laughter

I'll dance no more

But hide my gown and feathers

Behind a dark door.



In memory of sorrow

I'll take them out again

And put a ribbon in my hair

And dance down a lane.

Harold Vinal

Forgotten

HOW can I remember

Autumn and pain,

When trees hold dreams

In their arms again ?



How can my heart break

Till it cries"?

The joy of summer

Has made me wise.



I can't remember

What hurt me so--

Autumn and winter

Were so long ago.

Harold Vinal

Query

I AM bound by twilight,

I am chained by snow,

I am held a captive

To the winds that blow.


But the careless people

Laugh as they go by

Blind to all the wonder

Of the earth and sky;


Deaf to all the music

Falling over me;

Is it they are captive--

And that I am free ?

Harold Vinal

Deborah Speaks

THE candles I keep burning

Above the door

Are in memory of those

Who pass no more.



Faith and Caroline,

Rose and Margaret,

I light candles there

Lest the heart forget.



I keep candles flaming

Lest, when Strephon call,

I forget that they

Ever lived at all.

Harold Vinal

Lesbia Sewing

STITCHES over and over

So the heart won't break,

Thrust the needle under

For sorrow's sake.



Stitches over and over

Till the pattern's set,

Thrust the needle under

So the heart forget.



Stitches over and over,

Needle hurry fast,

Till the love of beauty

Fall from me at last.

Harold Vinal

Part II. Sonnets for Weeping

Late and Soon

I AM so near to grief I needs must weep

For little places fair as Camelot,

For dusty inns and gardens long forgot,

They haunt me ever so I cannot sleep.

I am the slave of beauty late and soon,

Of apricots blown into silver rain,

Held close to tears by many a shining lane

Where ghostly birds call wildly to the moon.

Is there at last an ending to it all,

An end of petals blown against my face,

Can I not hide myself behind a wall

And forget beauty for a little space,

Forget all passion that I ever knew--

Old beauty gone and you and you and you ?

Harold Vinal

Invocation

I THOUGHT that beauty was forever dead,

Until I saw a daffodil abloom

And two bright tulips in my garden bed

And silver spills beyond my little room.

I thought that grief would never go from me,

Yet now how wonderful are all the days,

I am no longer hurt by misery

But wild with joy and tremulous with praise.

0 God, let not too many white stars fall,

Nor let your bushes bloom in one small hour,

I could not bear the beauty of it all,

For I would pause with awe before each flower

And touch each blossom with my finger-tips

And feel the wind's first sweetness on my lips.

Harold Vinal

Earth Lover

OLD loveliness has such a way with me,

That I am close to tears when petals fall

And needs must hide my face against a wall,

When autumn trees burn red with ecstasy.

For I am haunted by a hundred things

And more that I have seen in April days;

I have held stars above my head in praise,

I have worn beauty as two costly rings.

Alas, how short a state does beauty keep,

Then let me clasp it wildly to my heart

And hurt myself until I am a part

Of all its rapture, then turn back to sleep,

Remembering through all the dusty years

What sudden wonder brought me close to tears.

Harold Vinal

After Dusk

BY day no singing beauty wakes in me;

My soul is silent as a silver dell,

Where voiceless winds speak only of farewell

And cloistered flowers dwell in secrecy.

Shaken with woe I hide against my heart

Sweetness and loveliness and meadowed rain

And swallow-beauty May has brought again;

Dream-still they lie alone, untouched, apart.

But when day undesired falls asleep,

Dreaming on hills where shaking stars look down,

I roam cool-misted vales beyond the town,

And cry my love of beauty till I weep.

The glowing trees, so faint that no one hears,

Drop veils of shadow down to hide my tears.

Harold Vinal

Year's Ending

O I COULD weep my heart out, late and soon,

For dear and lovely things I would forget:

A blur of silver spills that burned at noon,

A clump of daffodils and mignonette,

Aprils remembered that come back no more

To haunt my gardens where the tulips bloom

And banished summers flaming at my door,

When haunted moonlight streamed into my room.

At times the thought of so much loveliness

Drops from me strangely, like the end of grief,

Then suddenly I feel the wind's caress,

Or a wild tree lets fall a lyric leaf.

The thought of you drifts from an ancient spring-

And I near weep again remembering.

Harold Vinal

Autumn Afternoon

OLD loveliness returned this afternoon

To break my heart and make me weep aloud;

I had forgotten autumn came so soon,

With blur of golden leaf and jewelled cloud.

Here once wild, scarlet tulips used to blow

And daffodils wave lightly in the spring

And lovely spicewood bushes burn and glow

And April trees spill April blossoming.

Now the last birds go winging down the air

And children's laughter and a scrap of song

Blown from a shivering pipe; Nothing lasts long,

Not even April that was once so fair.

O how it hurts to see the wild trees thinned

And spring's dear beauty falling in the wind.

Harold Vinal

Evanescence

SLOWLY I pass among the blowing flowers

Catching my breath at their beauty as I go;

Familiar sweetness drifts across the hours,

Keen, lovely sweetness, intimate as woe.

Yet by to-morrow all the roses blown

Will be a sea of crimson on the grass,

And the naked trees will shudder at the moan

Of glowing winds that wake them as they pass.

In such wise, love will vanish as the night,

Each word of joy that you have sung to me

The years will silence with their dark delight,

And the wild soaring after ecstasy

Will be a lyric bird that dares the sky--

Only to fall to earth when storms beat by.

Harold Vinal

Pity

O DO not pity me because I gave

My heart when lovely April with a gust

Swept down the singing lanes like a cool wave,

And do not pity me because I thrust

Aside your love that once burned as a flame;

I was as thirsty as a windy flower

That bares its bosom to the summer shower

And to the unremembered winds that came.

Pity me most for moments yet to be

In the far years, when some day I shall turn

Toward this strong path up to our little door

And find it barred to all my ecstasy.

No sound of your warm voice the winds have borne--

Only the crying sea upon the shore.

Harold Vinal

Earth Memory

THE earth remembers many an April blown

To lyric beauty on a lovely hill,

And many a golden hour she has known

Comes back to haunt her with old wonder still.

The earth remembers things she knew of yore,

Summers that olden lovers have forgot,

The way of silver rain upon a shore

And little towns as fair as Camelot.

The earth has moon-kissed beauty and to spare,

While I weep long for love, a thing as frail

As blue spills blown high in a sudden gale,

The space of weeping is too great to bear;

Blow by a whirl of petalled blossoming--

So I forget to weep with wondering.

Harold Vinal

Part III. Of Mariners

Sea Longing

YOU who are inland born know not the pain

Of one who longs for grey dunes and the seas

And sound of ebbing tide and windy rain

And sea-mews crying down immensities.

You who are inland born know not the urge

Of rapt tides beating passionate and wild,

Nor have you thrilled with wonder at the surge

Of drifting water, wayward as a child.

Impetuous I seek the eager sea,

Imperious for joy and wind-blown spray;

You, who are city beaten every day,

What do you know of mirth and ecstasy?

No thirsty wind has journeyed from the South--

And laid a cool, wet finger on your mouth!

Harold Vinal

Exiled

I WILL remember to the very last

The look of ships upon a quiet sea,

Each windy sail, each spar and slender mast

Must linger ever in my memory.

I will remember hills and harbor ways

And bright lagoons, though I long to forget;

Enchanted islands green as chrysoprase

And lonely nights of rose and violet.

Men who have known such splendid things as these

Can never quite forget what they have learned;

Their thoughts must always be of secret seas

Or of dim places where the moonlight burned.

Always the sound of wind moans in their ears

Or rush of waters under ghostly piers.

Harold Vinal

Of Mariners

YOU who have known the changes of the sea

And marked the tides and watched each wistful star;

You who have known old ships, each mast and spar,

Can only know what such things mean to me.

You who have known the quiet mystery

Of lovely islands in a glowing bay,

Know what it is that haunts me night and day--

A ghost of things that will not let me be.

For they who know such things must always dream

Of wind and tide and barques that they have known,

Old schooners lying where the town lights gleam,

A tall ship sailing by at dawn alone.

They who have felt the wind upon their lips,

Their speech must always be of sea or ships.

Harold Vinal

Old Ships

WHAT memories hang round about the spars

Of splendid ships that come to port no more,

What dreams of moonlit seas and lovely stars,

What sound of waters on a wooden floor.

Something remembered from an ancient day

Comes back to haunt them when the evening falls,

The cry of gleaming birds from far away,

The moan of winds around their whitened walls.

Something survives to make them wistful still

Of silver harbors that they knew of yore,

Of midnight quiet by a secret hill,

Of shining lights upon a singing shore.

Perchance, a ghostly gull against the sky

Or a white sail at twilight flashing by.

Harold Vinal

Little Song

PUT a fence about my house

It matters not to me,

If from the highest window

I cannot watch the sea.



Scent the rooms with flowers,

You may leave them bare

If no salty sea wind

Wanders there.



Leave tall candles burning,

A house can be a grave--

If it's far from water

And a breaking wave.

Harold Vinal

The Sea Remembers

THE sea remembers things she knew of yore,

Ships that have flowered on her lovely breast

And secret islands, silvered by a shore,

The cry of winds that mocked her with a jest.

Remembered beauty comes to haunt her still,

A ghostly sail blown by at evenfall,

A singing bird above a starry hill--

In haunted hours she remembers all.

She cannot quite forget these wistful things,

Barges that were her lovers in old days

And golden argosies with lifted wings,

And splendid schooners that sailed down her bays.

Always she dreams of masts and wooden spars

Or a tall ship that passed beneath the stars.

Harold Vinal

Rumours

THERE is a rumor when each ship returns

Of ghostly harbors that it touched at dawn,

Of blue lagoons where lifted beauty burns,

Shore lines towards which its wooden spars have gone.

There is a rumor of disastrous days

And nights by quiet islands near a town,

Of wine-red hills, beyond the waterways

Where both the moon and lovely stars looked down.

Now do they dream beneath the April sky

Of olden time and golden circumstance,

Of ancient summers, ended like a dance,

And mad adventures, now a memory.

A secret flower lying on their breast

The wind dropped down upon an old, old quest.

Harold Vinal

Let Me Lie

LET me lie in an unremembered place

With sorrel red about me and currants swaying;

Let the cool darkness fall upon my face--

I only want to hear waves playing.



I only ask this thing, sound of the sea,

Clean water shifting under a granite ledge,

Spindrift flying wildly by a tree,

The sound of the wind among the sedge.



Life must go on, to-morrow and to-morrow,

Night following night and day following day;

Give me the one thing, Life, that I desire--

The sound of wheeling gulls and waves at play.

Harold Vinal

Part IV. White Glamour

You Came to Me

YOU came to me with darkness as a lute

On which you played strange melodies to woo me,

You came with cymbals and wild timbrelling--

With golden harmonies did you pursue me.



Upon a pipe of lovely shivering reeds,

You strung your arabesques like filigrees;

The notes were kisses blown to touch my lips

As warm as rain upon pomegranate trees.



You came to me with darkness as a lute,

A twirl of tears to woo me and your eyes;

You brought me death and beauty, I was mute--

Now do I hunger for you, O most wise.

Harold Vinal

The House of Dust

WHEN this, our love, at last is buried low

Beneath the flaming streets of a dark city

And other hearts forget to scoff and pity

Our lovely dream that burned as deep as woe,

We shall arise again and gladly turn

Down these far dew-drenched vales we tread to-day

And wander where the rain-kissed boughs of May

Shed streaming perfume over starry fern.

No one will see or guess that we are there,

Who spoke their last farewell above our dust,

When our hushed voices ended all surprise,

And bitter silence for a moment thrust

Dead waves across your beauty burning fair

And petalled flowers over your sweet eyes.

Harold Vinal

The Nights Remember

T HE nights remember lovely things they knew,

The words of lovers, tremulous and wise,

And kisses blown and laughter and the beauty

Of glowing eyes.



The nights remember hours white with wonder,

Lipped with red stars and strangely luminous;

Perchance, beloved, when the years have lengthened--

They will remember us.

Harold Vinal

Unbound

SHELTER me from loving you

Lest it grow too great to bear,

Put a silence to my song

Lest it sing you everywhere.



Let me be a common hour

Or a careless word;

Pluck me, as you would a flower,

Cage me, as you would a bird.



For I praise you everywhere,

Shout your wonder down the street;

Bind me, so I may not dare

Leave you, sweet.

Harold Vinal

Talisman

I SHALL remember you in years to be,

As June's first rose or as a golden bough,

And all this beauty that we gather now

Will be a song or a dear memory.

I shall remember you as mists that blow

Across reluctant fields where no sounds are

And grief's dark night will wear a splendid star

Because of the enchanted things I know.

The peace of all your preciousness will make

Each hour of pain an hour of loveliness,

For some remembered call or faint caress

Will startle me and make my soul awake.

So I forget that woe is terrible--

Remembering that love is beautiful.

Harold Vinal

Little Death

YOUR love died for me

Like rain in a hollow,

Suddenly there was no cry

For me to follow.



All that was dear and sweet

Last, last December,

Now is a little poem

You can't remember.



Your love died for me

Like mist on a bough,

Well, since I must forget--

I will, somehow.

Harold Vinal

Rosemary

FOR the thought of you

I'll wind up the clock,

Sweep the floor

And turn the lock.



For the thought of you

I'll put on a gown,

A ribbon or two

And go to town.



For the thought of you

I'll talk to strange folk

And smile merrily--

Though my heart's broke.

Harold Vinal

Moonlight Magic

MOONLIGHT is magic when a day is gone

For shivering silver hangs upon each flower;

Here where old lovers wandered once forlorn

The trees are blown to beauty in an hour.

Flowers and moonlight, these shall ever dwell

A part of beauty on each secret hill,

And whispered words that lovers dared not tell,

Will be the birth of many a daffodil.

Nor shall there be an ending to it all

For always music shall drift down the air

And shining petals tremble by a wall

And olden loveliness pass unaware.

We, who wear moonlight now like flower and grass,

In later years will bring new things to pass.

Harold Vinal

Vision

I PUT my dream away,

My dream of you;

A lonely little dream

Of star and dew.



Now you can only see

Wild April skies

When you look deep into

My sober eyes.



So sorrowfully sad

Their look shall be--

Your heart will never guess

What made them see.

Harold Vinal

Song of Young Love

I MADE my love a palanquin

From wood of Lebanon,

The seats were all of purple

And ivory from the dawn,

For she who was to ride it

Was fair to look upon.



I made my love a palanquin,

Inlaid with filigrees,

The cushions were of river blue

And color from the seas,

And there were slaves to bear it

Dark as pomegranate trees.



I made my love a palanquin,

The ceiling overhead

Was silver and wild olive

And ebony and red—

I did not dream that it would be

A place for young love dead.

Harold Vinal

Part V. Overtures

Buried

DEEPER far than dead men lie

Have I buried thoughts of you

Underneath cool grasses

And a night-green yew.



Never shall the starlings wake

Things that lie so deep;

Never shall the sunlight stir

Thoughts asleep.



Deeper far then dead men lie,

Shaded and withdrawn,

I have buried thoughts of you

From another dawn.

Harold Vinal

Glimpses

I SAW a star flame in the sky,

I heard a wild bird sing

And down where all the forest stirred

Another answering.



All suddenly I felt the gleam

That made my faith revive--

Ah God, it takes such simple things

To keep the soul alive.

Harold Vinal

Pastoral

THE air is thin and sweet

With sounds I do not hear,

Somewhere beauty blows

As it does each year.



Somewhere laughter calls

Down a country lane,

But I hear the shriek

Of a noisy train.



Somewhere lovers wait

For maids undoubtedly,

Wait for a word, a kiss,

That belong to me.

Harold Vinal

Death Comes

DEATH comes in a night,

All that we cherish,

Beauty and laughter

Soon perish.



Death comes in a day--

House yourself well,

Colin, Beatrice,

Isobel.

Harold Vinal

Old Things

SONGS that I have loved

Come back to me,

One cannot forget a bird

Or the crying sea.



Words that I have loved

Give the heart no rest,

Always they He like flowers

On the breast.



Faces I have loved,

Eyes that gave no sign,

Did the soul behind them

Yearn as much as mine ?

Harold Vinal

Music Tides

TIDES of old music what do you sing

Out in the darkness like a bird ?

Listen and I will tell to you

The unspeakable word.



Tides of old music what do you cry

Out where the warm stars flame ?

Bend low and I will whisper you

The unspeakable name.

Harold Vinal

Surety

DO not weep for her who lies

In the silences,

For she knew both youth and age

And grew tired of these.



Do not weep for she was glad

To share the quiet earth,

Who grew weary of such things

As joy and mirth.



Weep only for yourself

Who pass unsatisfied--

You have much to learn from her

Who so gladly died.

Harold Vinal

Miser

I HAVE seen many things,

Too beautiful for words;

Twilights, tremulous with mist--

Birds.



I have heard music

That was to me

Soft as the clinging fingers

Of the sea.



I have known many things,

Now I am old--

I am a miser

Counting my gold.

Harold Vinal