Classic and Contemporary Poetry
GOOD-BYE, by ELIZABETH SEWELL HILL First Line: The orchards hang heavy to the top of the slope Last Line: And I kneel there tonight. Dear, there is no good-bye. Subject(s): Farewell; Parting | ||||||||
The orchards hang heavy to the top of the slope God's peace on it all!and the lagging feet grope Back thro' flecked shade and sunshine to the gate-way's pent scope Of all life holds dearest: the path pulling thro' Hushed clover and grasses with first fruits astrew Up the wind, past the brown grace of gardensthe blue Bending warmthro' the bushes, by the well-house, up to The shed with the grapevine; up thro' doors swinging wide To the dooryard beyondthere and there!Oh, the pride Of it all, the soft radiance, the glory, the crown; The hands long since patient; the back bending down. Soft splendors of dreams on the memories lie Heart of me! Life of mine! Hail and good-bye. The banked blossoms blur and the path loiters now For the tired feet, time-weathered brave old bare brow, Embattled, eyes steady, breath clogged,my heart, how The throbs hurt!God's patience; as He sends, or fallow or plow, Toil, pain or privation. So with the pale prow Pushing out from the brink only God's peace. And now The first call from the boat; and down from the mow With its smell of new hay, from the ripening bough, Come the tributes of forced fun, and eager feet ply From garden to pantry. Then the long lane's far cry: "God keep youBe good to yourselfsoGood-bye." God keep you! The road bends. The lagging footfalls Hush back into silencethe forced funthe calls. Does the door beckon white? Does the brave old brow wait Embattled still, bare, just beside the old gate, Eyes steady, this way? My priest and my king! How the dust hazes outblurs and blotsand a-wing The song of the thrush. From the bars rattling down In their shadow and sunshine, the pasture, tramped brown, Stretches warm past the grapes, pausing green by the mound With the chestnuts; across to the washout's old wound With its clumps of sand grass; up the soft swinging slopes To the woods coming down in massed phalanx to cope With all comers. The birches gleam white where the crest Wanders up thro' the wooddamps and wood smells to rest In the sweep of the uplands.God's sun always shines On the upland. And the beech-woods beyond, with the shrine In its heart; the cathedral with the star reaching lift, All pillar'd, green, misty, with the shadow's deep drift Down dim aisles, with the pent sun's one striking red note Thro' the heart of it all. That call from the boat! One sweep of the slopes swinging breathlessly by, Lifting wistful as dreams in the late sun. Good-bye! We plunge down the long hill, go zigzagging down Under pines black with shadowhere the bank breaks out brown, Breaks sheer from the roadway, clean up and sheer down Veering out under oaks that at outermost edge Of the roadway grip down thro' the undergrowth's hedge And across to the main hill, the big roots spreading bare While the tough fibers catch at the flying feet where The loam gullies out; down where gnarled apples stand, Boughs bending, wide spreading, deep in white drifted sand, Bearing brave as in first fruit. Here the hill breaks out fair From the chill of the shadow, running swiftly down where The wild grape bells over the last pine and where The blackberries catch and the junipers dare The oncoming surge down the breast of the dune, Drifting white down the sweep of the shore, overstrewn With the half-buried drift; while wet and fresh piled Lifts and falls the fenced drift from the last storm beguiled A bit of torn sidingIt is green painta mast God pity the sea-folk ere that blow should be past. The boat grows impatientthere goes the last call. The sped engine rocks and the leased hausers fall Splashing into clear water as the long pier moves back With a rush of white water all down the green track, And white faces beyond, all hushed now; fine and high Flutter out the last signalsGod keep you! Good-bye! Swinging into the south, dipping low, piling high, The hushed sunset glories a-swim; with the sky, Clouds, bluffs, boat below us, and broad at our feet The path to the low-hanging crumpled west beat Into flame and crisp fire, at whose uttermost marge Sinks, tawny thro' fog-banks, the splendid lit targe Of the sun. Lo, the star! Now the gray mists creep down As the long piers run out from the lights of the town And the bay, where, impatient, the great steamers wait For their share of the cargo, while laggard and late We creep down the slip, and the hurried trucks fly Down the wet rocking gangways. The searchlight swings high And the last line is off. The sea widens. Good-bye. Thro' the black of the night and the bay, with the far Ranging lights twinkling out thro' the sea-mists; the jar Of wet decksOur light picks up the buoywith the damp Breathing fresh, blowing chill; slowing down for the lamp; We're out under the stars There's a tinkle of bells Thro' the mists of the meadows; there are fine fragrant smells From the kitchen's fed fire while the kept supper waits, And the lighted pane calls to the feet that stray late. The path from the doorway lies warm to the gate And beyond. And beyond? Ah, the pathway lies straight Thro' the world to my feet, and the homing feet fly And I kneel there tonight. Dear, there is no Good-bye. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE THREE CHILDREN by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN STUDY #2 FOR B.B.L. by JUNE JORDAN WATCHING THE NEEDLEBOATS AT SAN SABBA by JAMES JOYCE SESTINA: TRAVEL NOTES by WELDON KEES COMING HOME by ELIZABETH SEWELL HILL |
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