Classic Poem

Spring lies a wedding-feast at our feet:
Beloved one,
Drink — eat! She:

I am so dazed with buds and wings,
So dizzy with high trees —
And the sky brimming its cloudy cup
As we climbed up —
I am so filled with all good things,
Have drunk so deep of these:

And now this height!
This pouring forth
Of the horizon's bowl
From east to west and south to north,
This too tremendous whole
Of width and light!

I cannot see.
My eyes are closed —
And you beneath the lids —
Look, lover's eyes, for me. He:

Green swirls across the fields,
Leaping from hedge to hedge:
Green clasps the hills and dreams within the wood,
Green wrapt in dew —

She, with eyes still closed:
As you clasp me and as I dream in you! He:

Green shudders into life,
Everywhere is the pang of green. She:

I know that pang —
Beloved, tell the field,
Tell every leaf and blade,
To yield! He:

I'see a stream that breaks its winter word,
That takes a new, wild vow
And lifts a new, wild cry. She:

I know that cry —
Deep in the night I heard
Its sudden murmuring:
Oh bid it sing! He:

I see far, little squares of homes,
Of snug, warm roofs,
Red — gray —

She, opening her eyes and looking down:

Under the roofs is love
Alway. He:

But our strong roof, the swinging sky,
And all about, soft-spread,
The earth's eternal blossoming,
Our bed!

She sings on the hill:

The green and the blue,
Our pillow, our cover,
And close to me, you,
My lover!

The gold of the sun
To nestle upon:
Above us, below us,
Above us,
April to love us!

They climb higher. He:

The hill is reeling with its own bold height.
But you and I,
Like gentle gods,
Will help it up the sky. She:

Call not so loud!
How soft the hill against my breast,
How light,
How still;
In some white cradle-cloud
We two will rock the frightened little hill
To rest. They reach the top of the hill. She runs ahead and leaps onto an over-jutting rock. He stands below her, holding out his arms .

She sings:

I am a leaf on the edge of noon,
Lifting still higher:
I am the tip of the crescent-moon,
Pointing my silver fire:
I am a bird on the boughs of dawn,
Singing a light where no songs are,
I am a falling, falling star —
He, catching her as she falls toward him:

I am desire!

*****

The sun slips down the sky. He:

Shall we climb on?
Beyond the hill I see
A gleaming road that dips,
Untrodden of cloud or star:
Beloved, shall we journey there? She:

Must we climb on — so far — ?
Dear lips
That have so weakened me,
Oh weight of love that I must bear —

The ferns are sweet to lie upon:
Must we climb on?

***** He:

On — yes —
And on —
Alone — alone —

***** She:

I think that we are dead,
And that we float
Across a heaven all our own, —
Remote —
Even from God —
Oh blessed loneliness —

*****

They stand looking down into the valley. She:

The world is such a tiny garden
In which to plant our vast content,
The seeds of such full hours: He:
You are all fruits, all flowers,
You are the bough, the vine,
The sowing and the ripening,
The harvesting divine! She:

Gather me, harvester mine!

***** He:

How empty all the valley,
Its green how vain,
I hear the meadows crying out their pain,
The tree-tops droop, the birds are dumb,
All April fades:
So must I bring you to the earth again,
Heart of mine, come! She:

Yet am I sad to go,
To leave the hill,
Our hill,
God has sung here, I know:
This is His first-created canticle,
We stand upon His morning melody
Of slope and peak,
His rocky trill: He:

We are His song of love, beloved,
You and I! She:

Lift me, strong arms, once more,
High up against the sky,
That I may kiss its blue —
And kiss me — you!

They turn to descend.