there, among the great docks, ispeace, my mind;
there with the ships moored in the river.
Go out, timid child,
and snuggle in among the great ships
talking so quietly.
Maybe you will even fall asleep near
them and be
lifted into one of their laps, and in the
morning—
There is always the morning in which to
remember it all!
Of what are they gossiping? God knows.
And God knows it matters little for we
cannot understand them.
Yet it is certainly of the sea, of that
there can be no question.
It is a quiet sound. Rest! That's all
I care for now.
The smell of them will put us to sleep
presently.
Smell! It is the sea water mingling here
into the river—
at least so it seems—perhaps it is some-
thing else—but what matter?
The sea water! It is quiet and smooth
here!
How slowly they move, little by little
trying
the hawsers that drop and groan with
their agony.
Yes, it is certainly of the high sea they
are talking.
WINTER SUNSET
Then I raised my head
and stared out over
the blue February waste
to the blue bank of hill
with stars on it
in strings and festoons—
but above that:
one opaque
stone of a cloud
just on the hill
left and right
as far as I could see;
and above that
a red streak, then
icy blue sky!
It was a fearful thing
to come into a man's heart
at that time: that stone
over the little blinking stars
they'd set there.
APOLOGY
Why do I write today?
The beauty of
the terrible faces
of our nonentities
stirs me to it:
colored women
day workers—
old and experienced—
returning home at dusk
in cast off clothing
faces like
old Florentine oak.
Also
the set pieces
of your faces stir me—
leading citizens—
but not
in the same way.
PASTORAL
The little sparrows
hop ingenuously
about the pavement
quarreling
with sharp voices
over those things
that interest them.
But we who are wiser
shut ourselves in
on either hand
and no one knows
whether we think good
or evil.
Meanwhile,
the old man who goes about
gathering dog-lime
walks in the gutter
without looking up
and his tread
is more majestic than
that of the Episcopal minister
approaching the pulpit
of a Sunday.
These things
astonish me beyond words.
