one passes he drops his head Shading his face in his black felt hat, While the hard girl hardens; nothing is said, There is nothing to wonder or cavil at. Alone on the open road again With the mountain snows across the lake Flushing the afternoon, they are uncomfortable, The loneliness daunts them, their stiff throats ache. And he sighs with relief when she parts from him; Her proud head held in its black silk scarf Gone under the archway, home, he can join The men that lounge in a group on the wharf. His evening is a flame of wine Among the eager, cordial men. And she with her women hot and hard Moves at her ease again. She is marked, she is singled out For the fire: The brand is upon him, look—you, Of desire. They are chosen, ah, they are fated For the fight! Champion her, all you women! Men, menfolk Hold him your light! Nourish her, train her, harden her Women all! Fold him, be good to him, cherish him Men, ere he fall. Women, another champion! This, men, is yours! Wreathe and enlap and anoint them Behind separate doors. GARGNANO
Winter Dawn
GREEN star Sirius
Dribbling over the lake;
The stars have gone so far on their road,
Yet we're awake!
Without a sound
The new young year comes in
And is half-way over the lake.
We must begin
Again. This love so full
Of hate has hurt us so,
We lie side by side
Moored—but no,
Let me get up
And wash quite clean
Of this hate.—
So green
The great star goes!
I am washed quite clean,
Quite clean of it all.
But e'en
So cold, so cold and clean
Now the hate is gone!
It is all no good,
I am chilled to the bone
Now the hate is gone;
There is nothing left;
I am pure like bone,
Of all feeling bereft.
A BAD BEGINNING THE yellow sun steps over the mountain-top And falters a few short steps across the lake— Are you awake? See, glittering on the milk-blue, morning lake They are laying the golden racing-track of the sun; The day has begun. The sun is in my eyes, I must get up. I want to go, there's a gold road blazes before My breast—which is so sore. What?—your throat is bruised, bruised with my kisses? Ah, but if I am cruel what then are you? I am bruised right through. What if I love you!—This misery Of your dissatisfaction and misprision Stupefies me. Ah yes, your open arms! Ah yes, ah yes, You would take me to your breast!—But no, You should come to mine, It were better so. Here I am—get up and come to me! Not as a visitor either, nor a sweet And winsome child of innocence; nor As an insolent mistress telling my pulse's beat. Come to me like a woman coming home To the man who is her husband, all the rest Subordinate to this, that he and she Are joined together for ever, as is best. Behind me on the lake I hear the steamer drumming From Austria. There lies the world, and here Am I. Which way are you coming?
Why Does She Weep?
HUSH then
why do you cry?
It's you and me
the same as before.
If you hear a rustle
it's only a rabbit
gone back to his hole
in a bustle.
If something stirs in the branches
overhead, it will be a squirrel moving
uneasily, disturbed by the stress
of our loving.
Why should you cry then?
Are you afraid of God
in the dark?
I'm not afraid of God.
Let him come forth.
If he is hiding in the cover
let him come forth.
Now in the cool of the day
it is we who walk in the trees
and call to God "Where art thou?"
And it is he who hides.
Why do you cry?
My heart is bitter.
Let God come forth to justify
himself now.
Why do you cry?
Is it Wehmut, ist dir weh?
Weep then, yea
for the abomination of our old righteousness,
We have done wrong
many times;
but this time we begin to do right.
Weep then, weep
for the abomination of our past righteousness.
God will keep
hidden, he won't come forth.
Giorno Dei Morti
ALONG the avenue of cypresses
All in their scarlet cloaks, and surplices
Of linen go the chanting choristers,
The priests in gold
