Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, OUT O' THE STARS, by MORA SCOTT


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

OUT O' THE STARS, by                    
First Line: Out o' the stars an' out o' the wind an' out o' the / sea stole I
Last Line: The proper folk never forgave me quite. But oh, what a night and a day!
Subject(s): Drinks & Drinking; Wine


Out o' the stars an' out o' the wind an' out o' the sea stole I,
An' I was a creature o' vagrancy that romped in the field o' the sky,
An' I was a creature that crazily found sport in the mad moon-shine,
An' I was a guest o' the sad, pale mist to loan her some joys o' mine.
I was filled with the breath that the night's heart breathed in the new-born
soul of me --
That first strange thirst she quenched with a draught of the wine of pure
extacy.
An' I was a fellow of gay star-shine, had kin in the daffodil,
As I ran to the place where the dawn slips in for my feet would not be still!

Out o' the clouds an' out o' the breeze an' out o' the morn stole I.
An' I was a half crazed loon an' drunk with the dew of the day. That's why
I danced to the bend in the morning road then dashed through a slumbering wood.
Where a sleepy Jack in a green pulpit cried, "Shame, can you not be good?"
An' I that was born o' the gypsy moon laughed back at his preaching then:
"I am not good! I am bad, all bad, as bad as the madcap Pan!
But, oh I am glad! I am glad! I am mad as the maddest wild March hare!
I was sent with a surge of a swinging soul and for long I stay nowhere!"

Out o' the singing pines an' the hill, out o' the gentian hearts,
Out o' the green o' a rain-bathed fern in sequestered, woodland parts,
Out o' the notes of a bird's swelled throat, free in the fresh wildwood,
Out o' the stream in the valley there, out o' Spring's freshet flood,
Out o' the scent o' the happy trees that fair and straight arise
I came to play in the gold sunshine, an' I laughed with the summer skies.
An' I like a fugitive fleeing from earth flew fast to the Heaven's sill,
An' I sang as I lay on a cloudlet white for my heart would not be still!

Out o' the high lights of high noon, out o' the noon day's star,
Out o' the mountain's dizzy height jutting the sky afar,
I came down in a gown o' gauze, I was a sprite that passed
Like a wraith o' joy the proper homes and proper folks' window glass.
Ah, how I shocked them that summer noon! An' I would not heed to their sigh,
An' I would have done with the somberness o' the years gone dully by!
The child that had cried on the stairs by day, an' the maid that had wept in her
dreams,
I had pushed far over a ragged cliff and I laughed with their splash an' their
screams.

The long, brown hands of childhood were tight on my throat, they were hot.
An' youth had hurt, had hurt too much with its loneliness I loved not.
For that one mad flight on myself's wild heart I must pay and pay and pay.
The proper folk never forgave me quite. But oh, what a night and a day!





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