Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, OLD CASEMENTS; A SONNET CYCLE, by WINIFRED DAVIDSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

OLD CASEMENTS; A SONNET CYCLE, by                    
First Line: We know old homes on lomea, weathered ... Gray
Last Line: From our forsaken casements . . . Weathered, gray.
Subject(s): Castles


I
We knew old homes on Loma, weathered . . . gray:
Poor bleak board-shacks that matched the silvered rue,
Climbing thin trails of mountain sage. We knew
One mossed low cabin on the crest, away
Above ships' sailing paths, above the bay;
Where life withdrew small casements to kissed blue,
Where youth and love life's last white veils withdrew;
And there were we -- householders for a day.
Sky cottage -- passing shelter! I had tears
Those drudging morns, those young and weary nights;
And oft was bitter in my thoughts the years
I put its little crowded rooms to rights.
As dream-sweet as the hill it overpeers --
That empty house which now west sun-fire smites.

II
An empty house -- where once high westering lights
Burned to the sea; like dim small stars turned towards
Vast blazing skies. Within gray redwood boards
A shining shrine . . . Flame-hollowed chrysolites
Those births, deaths, hungers, and those strange young frights
Of love in poverty. Now memory hoards
Its fragrant poured-out chrisms of the Lord's
That fed pure fire to mystic curtained rites.
With lamps adrift in time, on time's vast flow
Of love, we faced the measureless, the deep
Abysmal night. Youth's wick burned out. We know
Such heart-warmed casements no earth hearts could keep.
* * * * *
Sails in the bay beat southward; but how slow
Are we to give our buoyant hopes to sleep.

III
At last we give our drooping heads to sleep,
At last the brightest window frame stares blank:
Lights out, like ships that dipped just now and sank
Down empty, unknown seas. Shall we two weep
Now that our oil is low and ashes heap
Our parquetry floors; now that dead cinders clank
About our feet? Bright windows! Life, we thank
Thee for bright windows, who are come to leap
Beyond our house into star paths alone;
Are come to end that which we had to say.
Faint requiems high Loma winds intone
For our lost ships, lost loves . . . hearts . . . homes; and they
Will sing us forth. See! Tattered curtains blown
From our forsaken casements . . . weathered, gray.





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