Classic and Contemporary Poetry
AN OLD WOMAN: 2. HARVEST, by EDITH SITWELL Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: I, an old woman whose heart is like the sun Last Line: "sign from the dead." Subject(s): Old Age | ||||||||
I, an old woman whose heart is like the Sun That has seen too much, looked on too many sorrows, Yet is not weary of shining, fulfilment, and harvest, Heard the priests that howled for rain and the universal darkness, Saw the golden princes sacrificed to the Rain-god, The cloud that came and was small as the hand of Man. And now in the time of the swallow, the bright one, the chatterer The young women wait like the mother of corn for the lost one -- Their golden eyelids are darkened like the great rain-clouds. But in bud and branch the nature of Fate begins -- And love with the Lion's claws and the Lion's hunger Hides in the brakes in the nihilistic Spring. Old men feel their scolding heart Reproach the veins that for fire have only anger. And Christ has forgiven all men -- the thunder-browed Caesar, That stone-veined Tantalus howling with thirst in the plain Where for innocent water flows only the blood of the slain, Falling forever from veins that held in their noonday The foolish companion of summer, the weeping rose. We asked for a sign that we have not been forsaken -- And for answer the Abraham-bearded Sun, the father of all things, Is shouting of ripeness over our harvest forever. And with the sound of growth, lion-strong, and the laughing Sun, Whose great flames stretch like branches in the heat Across the firmament, we almost see The great gold planets spangling the wide air And earth -- O sons of men, the firmament's beloved, The Golden Ones of heaven have us in care -- With planetary wisdom, changeless laws, Ripening our lives and ruling hearts and rhythms, Immortal hungers in the veins and heart Born from the primal Cause That keeps the hearts and blood of men and beasts ever in motion, The amber blood of the smooth-weeping tree Rising towards the life-giving heat of the Sun . . . For is not the blood -- the divine, the animal heat That is not fire -- derived from the solar ray? And does not the Beast surpass all elements In power, through the heat and wisdom of the blood Creating other Beasts -- the Lion a Lion, the Bull a Bull, The Bear a Bear -- some like great stars in the rough And uncreated dark -- or unshaped universes With manes of fire and a raging sun for heart? Gestation, generation, and duration -- The cycles of all lives upon the earth -- Plants, beasts, and men, must follow those of heaven; The rhythms of our lives Are those of the ripening, dying of the seasons, Our sowing and reaping in the holy fields, Our love and giving birth -- then growing old And sinking into sleep in the maternal Earth, mother of corn, the wrinkled darkness. So we, ruled by those laws, see their fulfilment. And I who stood in the grave-clothes of my flesh Unutterably spotted with the world's woes Cry, "I am Fire. See, I am the bright gold That shines like a flaming fire in the night -- the gold-trained planet, The laughing heat of the Sun that was born from darkness -- Returning to darkness -- I am fecundity, harvest." For on each country road, Grown from the needs of men as boughs from trees, The reapers walk like the harvesters of heaven -- Jupiter and his great train, and the corn-goddess, And Saturn marching in the Dorian mode. We heard in the dawn the first ripe-bearded fire Of wheat (so flames that are men's spirits break from their thick earth), Then came the Pentecostal Rushing of Flames, God in the wind that comes to the wheat, Returned from the Dead for the guilty hands of Caesar Like the rose at morning shouting of red joys And redder sorrows fallen from young veins and heart-springs, Come back for the wrong and the right, the wise and the foolish, Who like the rose care not for our philosophies Of life and death, knowing the earth's forgiveness And the great dews that comes to the sick rose: For those who build great mornings for the world From Edens of lost light seen in each other's eyes, Yet soon must wear no more the light of the Sun But say farewell among the morning sorrows. The universal language of the Bread -- (O Thou who are not broken, or divided -- Thou who art eaten, but like the Burning Bush Art not consumed -- Thou Bread of Men and Angels) -- The Seraphim rank on rank of the ripe wheat -- Gold-bearded thunders and hierarchies of heaven Roar from the earth: "Our Christ is arisen, He comes to give a sign from the Dead." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT EIGHTY I CHANGE MY VIEW by DAVID IGNATOW FAWN'S FOSTER-MOTHER by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE DEER LAY DOWN THEIR BONES by ROBINSON JEFFERS OLD BLACK MEN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A WINTER ODE TO THE OLD MEN OF LUMMUS PARK, / MIAMI, FLORIDA by DONALD JUSTICE AFTER A LINE BY JOHN PEALE BISHOP by DONALD JUSTICE TO HER BODY, AGAINST TIME by ROBERT KELLY SONG FROM A COUNTRY FAIR by LEONIE ADAMS BUCOLIC COMEDY: EARLY SPRING by EDITH SITWELL |
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