I HOW many things old time has blown to sand! The creeping masses of his moments swarm Beauty of memory, beauty of feature, beauty of form! Alone by the four-roads crossing I saw you stand -- The heavy press of the Autumn wind was warm. And then came haggard visions! Oceans agleam, And blue hills moving nearer home at noon, And a shimmer and swell of fields in mid-afternoon The tapering fingers of willows caressed a stream -- Dusk and a boat and a kindly pallid moon. I saw you waiting alone in a desolate place; I did not ask for sun in that morning's dismal hues For memory's aweary now of asking what gods refuse. I dared not turn to your strangely tranquil face; The dead leaves drifted against your crumpled shoes. II So we have met! Not laughing as of old, Not laughing, neither happy nor afraid; We have grown older, dear, a trifle staid -- The street-wind swirls in dust and then falls cold. So you have come! Your languid fingers fold My own: 'Be not alarmed,' you say, 'all's dead!' Behind your eyes, perhaps, lie thoughts unsaid, And there are many thoughts my lips withhold. You come; and with you -- as across calm seas Across quiet stars, the storm-banks swoop and burst Till basking schooners struggle at their chains And every stone in the breakwater strains, In drifts of cloud and sun, of best and worst -- The grave, slow tempest of our memories. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FLORIDA GHOST by SIDNEY LANIER FOR THE NEW YEAR by EDWIN MARKHAM DOMESDAY BOOK: THE JURY DELIBERATES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: HENRY PHIPPS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE LEAVES FIRST by CARL PHILLIPS FIRST FRUIT by ISAAC ROSENBERG |