Kin to Sorrow

AM I kin to Sorrow,
   That so oft
Falls the knocker of my door--
   Neither loud nor soft,
But as long accustomed,
   Under Sorrow's hand?
Marigolds around the step
   And rosemary stand,
And then comes Sorrow--
   And what does Sorrow care
For the rosemary
   Or the marigolds there?
Am I kin to Sorrow?
   Are we kin?
That so oft upon my door--
   Oh, come in!

Three Songs of Shattering

I
THE FIRST rose on my rose-tree
   Budded, bloomed, and shattered,
During sad days when to me
       Nothing mattered.
Grief of grief has drained me clean;
   Still it seems a pity
No one saw,--it must have been
       Very pretty.
II
Let the little birds sing;
   Let the little lambs play;
Spring is here; and so 'tis spring;--
   But not in the old way!
I recall a place
   Where a plum-tree grew;
There you lifted up your face,
   And blossoms covered you.
If the little birds sing,
   And the little lambs play,
Spring is here; and so 'tis spring--
   But not in the old way!
III
All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!
   Ere spring was going--ah, spring is gone!
And there comes no summer to the like of you and me,--
   Blossom time is early, but no fruit sets on.
All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree,
   Browned at the edges, turned in a day;
And I would with all my heart they trimmed a mound for me,
   And weeds were tall on all the paths that led that way!

The Shroud

DEATH, I say, my heart is bowed
   Unto thine,--O mother!
This red gown will make a shroud
   Good as any other!
(I, that would not wait to wear
   My own bridal things,
In a dress dark as my hair
   Made my answerings.
I, to-night, that till he came
   Could not, could not wait,
In a gown as bright as flame
   Held for them the gate.)
Death, I say, my heart is bowed
   Unto thine,--O mother!
This red gown will make a shroud
   Good as any other!

The Dream

LOVE, if I weep it will not matter,
   And if you laugh I shall not care;
Foolish am I to think about it,
   But it is good to feel you there.
Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,--
   White and awful the moonlight reached
Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere,
   There was a shutter loose,--it screeched!
Swung in the wind,--and no wind blowing!--
   I was afraid, and turned to you,
Put out my hand to you for comfort,--
   And you were gone! Cold, cold as dew,
Under my hand the moonlight lay!
   Love, if you laugh I shall not care,
But if I weep it will not matter,--
   Ah, it is good to feel you there!

Indifference

I SAID,--for Love was laggard, O, Love was slow to come,--
   "I'll hear his step and know his step when I am warm in bed;
But I'll never leave my pillow, though there be some
   As would let him in--and take him in with tears!" I said.
I lay,--for Love was laggard, O, he came not until dawn,--
   I lay and listened for his step and could not get to sleep;
And he found me at my window with my big cloak on,
   All sorry with the tears some folks might weep!

Witch-Wife

SHE is neither pink nor pale,
   And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
   And her mouth on a valentine.
She has more hair than she needs;
   In the sun 'tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of colored beads,
   Or steps leading into the sea.
She loves me all that she can,
   And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
   And she never will be all mine.

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