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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
AGE IN YOUTH, by TRUMBULL STICKNEY Poet's Biography First Line: From far she's come, and very old Last Line: This is a scar upon the year. Subject(s): Old Age | |||
From far she's come, and very old, And very soiled with wandering. The dust of seasons she has brought Unbidden to this field of Spring. She's halted at the log-barred gate. The May-day waits, a tangled spill Of light that weaves and moves along The daisied margin of the hill. Where Nature bears her bridal heart, And on her snowy soul the sun Languors desirously and dull, An amorous pale vermilion. She's halted, propped her rigid arms With dead big eyes she drinks the west; The brown rags hang like clotted dust About her, save her withered breast. A very soilure of a dream Runs in the furrows of her brow, And with a crazy voice she croons An ugly catch of long ago. Its broken rhythm is hard and hoarse, Its sunken soul of music toils In precious ashes, dust of youth And lovely faces sorrow soils. But look! along the molten sky There runs strange havoc of the sun. "What a strange sight this is," she says, "I'll cross the field. I'll follow on." The bars are falling from the gate. The meshes of the meadow yield; And trudging sunsetward she draws A journey thro' the daisy field. The daisies shudder at her hem. Her dry face laughs with flowery light; An aureole lifts her soiled gray hair: "I'll on," she says, "to see this sight." In the rude math her torn shoe mows Juices of trod grass and crushed stalk Mix with a soiled and earthy dew With smear of petals gray as chalk. The Spring grows sour along her track; The winy airs of amethyst Turn acid. "Just beyond the ledge," She says, "I'll see the sun at rest." And to the tremor of her croon, Her old, old catch of long ago, The newest daisies of the grass She shreds and passes on below. The sun is gone where nothing is And the black-bladed shadows war. She came and passed, she passed along That wet, black curve of scimitar. In vain the flower-lifting morn With golden fingers to uprear The week spring here shall pause awhile: This is a scar upon the year. | 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 AN ATHENIAN GARDEN by TRUMBULL STICKNEY |
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