Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GOOD-BYE, by ELIZABETH SEWELL HILL


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GOOD-BYE, by                    
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 gardens—the blue
Bending warm—thro' the bushes, by the well-house, up to
The shed with the grapevine; up thro' doors swinging wide
To the dooryard beyond—there 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 you—Be good to yourself—so—Good-bye."

God keep you! The road bends. The lagging footfalls
Hush back into silence—the forced fun—the 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 out—blurs and blots—and 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 shadow—here 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 siding—It is green paint—a mast—
God pity the sea-folk ere that blow should be past.

The boat grows impatient—there 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 signals—God 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 decks—Our light picks up the buoy—with 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...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net