Lyrics by Three Poets

Poems by the Three Most Remarkable of Contemporary American Woman Poets

THE AUTUMN SEA

By Sara Teasdale

Drifting Sand

I THOUGHT I would not walk these dunes again Nor feel the sting of this wind-driven sand, Where the coarse grasses always blow one way, Bent, as my thoughts are, by an unseen hand.

I have returned; where the last wave rushed up The wet sand is a mirror for the sky A bright blue instant, and the same old way The little sand-pipers run twinkling by.

Nothing has changed; with the old, hollow thunder

The waves die in their everlasting snow-

Only the place we sat is drifted over,

Lost in the blowing sand, long, long, ago.

Low Tide

THE birds are gathering over the dunes,

Swerving and wheeling in restless flight,

A thousand wings go darkly by

Over the dunes and out of sight

Why did you bring me down to the sea

With the gathering birds and the fish-hawk

flying-

The beach is hare and the wind is hard,

Nothing is left but the old year dying.

I wish I were one of the gathering birds,

Two sharp black wings would be good for

me-

When nothing is left but the old year dying Why did you bring me down to the sea?

THIS is the end of all, and yet I strive To fight for nothing, having nothing kept Of loveliness that saved myself alive Before this killing distillation crept, Numbing my limbs, and stiffening my tongue To clay, less vital than the salted thorn Whereon a tyrant's banneret is hung As scarecrow for a harvesting still-born: And I am barren in a barren land, But who so breaks me, I shall pierce his hand.

This much is true, that there were certain times, Measured by minutes, with a blank between, When our two courages could meet, and climb Into the blue above the blowing green; But now the lifted pasture is too high, The shoal too deep, for such were noble graves; In this unlighted kennel, where to die Will not awaken hounds, nor anger slaves, I shall advise me to prepare my,couch; Here it is dark; for more I may not vouch.

Shadows

WE saw our shadows walking before us Etched on the hard sand, flat and gray; The last thin edge of the wave drew near us,

The autumn sunshine tried to be gay.

Chained to the shadows our bodies made there Slowly we walked in the dwindling light; Knowing the shadows would die at twilight With the black sea booming into the night.

THE WOOD ROAD

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

IF I were to walk this way Hand in hand with Grief,

I should mark that maple-spray Coming into leaf.

I should note how the old burrs Rot upon the ground.

Yes, though Grief should know me here While the world goes round.

It could not in tnith be said This was lost,on me:

A rock-maple showing red,

Burrs beneath a tree.

NUIT BLANCHE

I AM a shepherd of those sheep That climb a wall by night, One after one, until I sleep,

Or the black pane goes white. Because of which I cannot see A flock upon a hill,

But doubts come tittering up to me That should by day be stiU.

And childish griefs I have out-grown Into my eyes are thrust,

TiH my dull tears go dropping down Like lead into the dust.

Triangle—by Elinor Wylie

ONE of these men will find my skeleton; To one it wiU be delicate and slim, With stars for eyes, and portent of a sun Rising between the ribs to frighten him; Yet, being bold, he might embrace it soon With quick insensate passion in the night, And by the holy taper of the moon Encouraged, and because its bones were light As filagree of pearl, he might depart Bearing my jangled heart-strings on his heart

And he might bury it in sand or sod, Stamping it down to circumvent the wolf, And, being kind, commend it to his God, Whose Mind was swimming somewhere in the gulf Above his head; but if that other found The rotten framework of his servitor, He'd leave it lying on the cluttered ground Between a bottle and an apple-core, And go his way, in agony and sweat, Because he could not pity nor forget.

TWO SEASONS

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

I

I KNOW I am but summer to your heart, And hot die full four seasons of the year; And you must welcome from another part Such noble moods as are not mine, my dear. No gracious weight of golden fruits to sell Have I, nor any wise and. wintry thing; And I have loved you all too long and well To carry still the high sweet breast of spring. Wherefore I say: 0 love, as summer goes, I must be gone, steal forth with silent drums, That you may hail anew the bird and rose When I come back to you, as summer comes. Else wiU you seek, at some not distant time, Even your summer in another clime.

II

SAY what you will, and scratch my heart to find The roots of last year's roses in my breast; I am as surely riper in my mind As if the fruit stood in the stalls confessed. Laugh at the unshed leaf, say what you will, Call me in all things what I was before, A flutterer in the wind, a woman still; I tell you I am what I was and more. My branches weigh me down, frost cleans the air, My sky is black with small birds bearing south; Say what you will, confusfc me with fine care, Put by my word as but an April truthAutumn is no less on me that a rose Hugs the brown bough and sighs before it goes.

FOR various questions which I shall not ask, And various answers which I cannot hear, I have contrived a substituted task To prove my body is devoid of fear; To prove my spirit's elemental blood Is pure, courageous, and uniform, I shall submerge my body in the mud, I shall submit my spirit to the storm; I shall bend down my bosom to the snake, As to an infant for its father's sake.

I shall persist, I shall pursue my way

Believing that his cruelty was fine

As tempered steel for chastening of clay,

Impatient of corrosions that were mine;

He that despised me shall not be forgot;

He that disparaged me shall be my lord;

That was a flambeau, half-consumed and hot,

This was the running light along a sword;

And though I warmed my fingers at the one,

The other is my father and my son.