Cliffs, Cliffs, And a twisted sea Beating under a freezing moon. Why should I, Sitting peaceful and warm, Cut my heart on so sharp a tune? Liquid lapping of seething fire Eating the heart of an old beech-tree. Crack of icicles under the eaves, Dog-wind whining eerily. The oaks are red, and the asters flame, And the sun is warm on bark and stones. There's a Hunter's Moon abroad tonight- The twigs are snapping like brittle bones. You carry a lantern of rose-green glass, Your dress is red as a Cardinal's cloak. I kneel at the trace of your feet on the grass, But when I would sing you a song, I choke. Choke for the fragile careless years We have scattered so easily from our hands. They flutter like leaves through an Autumn sun, One by one, one by one. I have lived in a place, I shall die in a place, I have no craving for distant lands. But a place is nothing, not even space, Unless at its heart a figure stands Swinging a rose-green lantern for me. I fear the fall of a rose-green gate, And the cry of a cliff-driven, haunted sea, And the crackle of ice while I wait-wait! Your face is flowers and singing sun, Your hands are the cool of waters falling. If the rose-green bars should drop between Would you know that I was calling? For the stars I see in that sky are black. The kind earth holds me and laughs in my ear. I have nothing to do with the planet's track, I only want you, my Dear. Beyond is a glaze, but here is fire, And love to comfort, and speech to bind, And the common things of morning and evening, And the light of your lantern I always find. One or the other-then let it be me, For I fear the whirl of the cliff-wrung sea, And the biting night. You smile at my fears, But the years-years- Like leaves falling. |