Poems
THEME/S
THE guiding voice with pleading cried
"For third last test the hour
Now comes, when many have espied
Something of Pixie power."
With glad consent I took my way :
A door vas closed behind.
A rocky slope, "a twilight grey,
A winding path I find.
It seems to be the furthest bound
Of a pleasure garden wild.
Trees loom above, below, around ;
But here great stones are piled
To harbour plants that tuft and creep
And nestle in their shade.
On near-by path are men who sweep—
My guide is half afraid
Their zealous care may interfere
With what we plan to do.
By upward path we disappear
Out of their rockbound view,
And through the wood expectant press
To where the trees grow thin :
A slender thong hangs motionless,
As waiting to begin
Some magic dance that shall enhance
Slow pulse and vision dull;
It trembles now, though yet in trance,
Impatient of the lull
(As eerie calm, before a storm,
Sets quivering all the air),
I fain would know what subtle form
Has power to make it stir—
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For in slow circles round it goes,
Then faster, wider flies ;
The silent woods no breeze disclose,
No being stays our eyes.
But fled are all the shadows and vanished are the trees,
The air's like sleeping crystal unstirred by sound or breeze,
The levelled rays from western sun are slanting through the sky,
And hopes are poised and spirits calmed and keener grows the eye !
The ground was rough with tussocks, With heather and jutting rock
On some long deserted hillside ungrazed by herd or flock.
" O see the little fay balloons," I heard the guide exclaim ;
Vision that could not pierce the veil more limpid then became.
Encircling zones, bright diamond clear,
The earth-jarred limbs and sense refresh ;
And mind must weave a quicker mesh
Tuned to this joy-vibrating sphere.
As one new roused from sleep I catch some fitful gleam
Of pearl-hued bobbing globelets, like thistledown, that seem
To float in charmed security, nor ground ward sink nor rise.
And faint beneath their filmy fleet are bubbling joyous cries.
" But here are dainty blooms and fairy toys for sale,
Exchanged for deep rich flowers—but not for blossoms pale
Or yellow-hued," declares some unseen guiding power,
While in my hand I find a crimson faded flower.
I stretch my hand toward a fairy woman seen
As if in gipsy guise of sable, brown and green ;
Her raven locks are braided, un shadowed is her face
(Where lurk no lie-bred cruelties and terrors find no place).
And for my earth-bruised offering she renders in exchange
The frail small blooms of Faerie—shell-formed and coloured strange.
My whim turns now toward a globe that sails in air :
" Two flowers are what you give," I learn—and grow aware
Of crushed dark sapphire blossoms, half-withered, that I hold ;
" You give me flower corpses !" she laughs—thus made more bold
I ask her how the fairies keep flowers from growing old.
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With quizzing smile, the laughing answer :
One rhythmic step the flower-bud measures,
Another weaves our Pixie pleasures—
And Life's the dancer !
More fixed now becomes the half-familiar sight :
Eyes that draw their peacefulness from tarns on mountain tops ;
And ageless even features, clear brown as autumn copse
Subdued by cleansing flood of keen October light.
And hers the untamed certainty of plough-defying places
Where swift o'er springy turf cloud-shadows run their races ;
There through the flowery months blue butterflies will float,
Mingling with scent of furze, bird song and cricket note.
July 8, 1931.
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