English

Friday came and the circus was there,
And Mother said that the twins and I
And Charles and Clarence and all of us
Could go out and see the parade go by.

And there were wagons with pictures on,
And you never could guess what they had inside,
Nobody could guess, for the doors were shut,
And there was a dog that a monkey could ride.

A man on the top of a sort of a cart
Was clapping his hands and making a talk.
And the elephant came—he can step pretty far—
It made us laugh to see him walk.

The fresh, bright bloom of the daffodils
Makes gold in the garden bed,
Gold that is like the sunbeams
Loitering overhead.
Bloom, bloom
In the sun and the wind, —
April hath a fickle mind.

The budding twigs of the sweetbrier
Stir as with hope and bliss
Under the sun's soft glances,
Under the wind's sly kiss.
Swing, swing
In the sun and the wind, —
April hath a fickle mind.

May, she calls to her little ones,
Her flowers hiding away,
" Never put off till to-morrow

Fresh and fair the morn awaketh,
From her couch of down;
Parting kiss her lover taketh,
Ere his daily journey maketh
Of the world around.

For a jolly-hearted rover,
Ever full of fun,
Making calls the wide world over,
Flower and leaf, and blade and clover,
Welcome him, the sun.

Gloom from weary hearts dispelleth,
Shedding joy and light
O'er the homes where sorrow dwelleth,
Of eternal sunshine telleth,
And the mansions bright.

Evening's gentle voice is pleading,

French spoken
across the snow
on Sheep Meadow
evokes a very rich hour
of the Duke of Berry …
three men traversing
a field of snow—
one of them alone—
hedged by trees
on the south side
where the towers
of the city rise …
one of those hours
in early afternoon
when nothing happens
but time makes room

The free evening fades, outside the windows fastened with decorative iron grilles.
The lamps are lighted; the shades drawn; the nurses are watching a little.
It is the hour of the complicated knitting on the safe bone needles; of the games of anagrams and bridge;
The deadly game of chess; the book held up like a mask.

The period of the wildest weeping, the fiercest delusion, is over.
The women rest their tired half-healed hearts; they are almost well.
Some of them will stay almost well always: the blunt-faced woman whose thinking dissolved

Free are the Muses, and where freedom is
They follow, as the thrushes follow spring,
Leaving the old lands songless there behind;
Parnassus disenchanted suns its woods,
Empty of every nymph; wide have they flown;
And now on new sierras think to set
Their wandering court, and thrill the world anew,
Where the Republic babbling waits its speech;
For but the prelude of its mighty song.
As yet has sounded. Therefore, would I woo
Apollo to the land I love, 'tis vain;
Unknown he spies on us; and if my verse

Fraught with stars the dark nights come and go
and come and go the dazzling coral days
and the grey of the rains and the fleeting clouds
. . . and thou, expectant.

Thou expectant and the lingering hours!
How languidly they stir, the torpid plants!
It seems the four-and-twenty sisters are shod
with clogs of lead.

This incandescent rose impends already
within the verdant clusters of its bodice.
Within the verdant clusters the wonder lurks
of its sacred flesh.

But when shall we behold the open rose!

1

Frankie was a good woman,
Ev'rybody knows,
Gave forty-one dollars to buy Albert
A suit of clothes:
" Yes, he's my man, but he done me wrong. "

2

Frankie went to the corner,
Took a forty-four gun,
Shot her Albert a-rooty-ti-toot,
And away he tried to run:
" He was my man, but he done me wrong. "

3

" Roll me over easy,
Roll me over slow,
Roll me over on my right side,
'Cause the bullet hurt me so;
I was your man, but I done you wrong. "

4

Wind:
Why do you play
that long, beautiful adagio,
that archaic air
tonight?
Will it never end?
Or is it the beginning,
some prelude you seek?

Is it a tale you strum?
Yesterday, yesterday —
Have you no more for us?

Wind:
Play on.
There is nor hope

Framed in the cavernous fire-place sits a boy,
Watching the embers from his grandsire's knee:
One sees red castles rise, and laughs with joy;
The other marks them crumble, silently.