Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/25

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
I could step out on the rain, leave this darkness,Blaze a path through the cool deserts of time,Descend from sun to sun, from ledge to ledge,Slip out beyond the edge,And lose the earth like a forgotten crime.
I could turn within, follow curious shadowsThrough the interminably opening doors,Finding a thousand griefs, old scents and laughter,Hung, cob-web like to rafters,And secret springs, blank corridors, and haunted floors.
The leaves blow like ghosts through the blur of lamplight.And gather in the wind at the foot of a wall;Well, I am weary, these days seem dusty, lonely,So much distance only,And I empty the ashes, watching the leaves, after all.
The New RepublicMazwell Anderson


RHAPSODY
As when trees are shrouded in December,Men recall the perfumes of the flower-time;So we sing a life we half remember:How we heard in some primeval shower-timeLiquid song of rain upon blue rivers;Dreamed on isles, in windless oceans planted,Where a dim-green twilight, bird enchanted,Under domes of drooping leafage quivers;How we climbed on many a hidden planetEagle heights stirred by a starry breeze;Watched by coffined kings in tombs of granite,Where the darkness hangs like boughs of trees,Glimpsing in the reddening light of torches

10

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.