poems50

LOGS ON THE HEART
A Memory of a Sister
The fire advances along the log
Of the tree we felled,
Which bloomed and bore striped apples by the peck
�Till its last hour of bearing knelled.

The fork that first my hand would reach
And then my foot
In climbing upward inch by inch, lies now
Sawn, sapless, darkening with soot.

Where the bark chars is where, one year,
It was pruned, and bled -
Then overgrew the wound. But now, at last,
Its growing all have stagnated.

My fellow-climber rises dim
From her chilly grave-
Just as she was, her foot near mine on the bending limb,
Laughing, her young brown hand awave.
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THE LAST SIGNAL
Silent I footed by an uphill road
That led from my abode to a spot yew-boughed;
Yellowly the sun sloped low down to the westward,
And dark was the east with cloud.

Then, amid the shadow of that livid sad east,
Where the light was least, and a gate stood wide,
Something flashed the fire of the sun that was facing it,
Like a brief blaze on that side.

Looking hard and harder I knew what it meant-
The sudden shine sent from the livid east scene;
It meant the west mirrored by the coffin of my friend there,
Turning to the road from his green,

To take his last journey forth - he who in his prime
Trudged so many a time from that gate athwart the land!
Thus a farewell to me he signaled on his gave-way,
As with a wave of his hand.
---------------
THE BALLAD-SINGER
Sing, Ballad-singer, raise a hearty tune;
Make me forget that there was ever a one
I walked with in the meek light of the moon
   When the day�s work was done.

Rhyme, Ballad-rhymer, strat a country song;
Make me forget that she whom I loved well
Swore she would love me dearly, love me long,
   Then - what I cannot tell!!

Sing, Ballad-singer, from your little book;
Make me forget those heart-breaks, achings, fears;
Make me forget her name, her sweet sweet look-
   Make me forget her tears.
-----------------------
SHUT OUT THAT MOON
Close up the casement, draw the blind,
Shut out that stealing moon,
She wears too much the guise she wore
Before our lutes were strewn
With years-deep dust, and names we read
On a whitestone were hewn.

Step not forth on the dew-dashed lawn
To view the lady�s Chair,
Immense Orion�s glittering form,
The Less and Greater Bear:
Stay in; to such sights we were drawn
When faded ones were fair.

Brush not the bough for midnight scents
That come forth lingeringly,
And wake the same sweet sentiments
They breathed to you and me
When living seemed a laugh, and love
All it was said to be.

Within the common lamp-lit room
Prison my eyes and thought;
Let dingly details crudely loom,
Mechanic speech be wrought:
Too fragrant was Life�s early bloom,
Too tart the fruit it brought!!