Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/126
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A RHYME OUT OF MOTLEY
"I grasped a thread of silver; it cut me to the bone—
I reached for an apple; it was bleak as a stone—
I reached for a heart, and touched a raw blade—
And this was the bargain God had made
For a little gift of speech
I reached for an apple; it was bleak as a stone—
I reached for a heart, and touched a raw blade—
And this was the bargain God had made
For a little gift of speech
Set a cubit higher than the common reach,
A debt running on until the fool is dead."
A debt running on until the fool is dead."
Carve a Pater Noster to put at his head
As a curse or a prayer,
And leave him there.
As a curse or a prayer,
And leave him there.
The Literary ReviewAmy Lowell
N. Y. Evening Post
N. Y. Evening Post
A GRAVE SONG
I've a pocketful of emptiness for you, my Dear.
I've a heart like a loaf was baked yesteryear,
I've a mind like ashes spilt a week ago,
I've a hand like a rusty, cracked corkscrew.
I've a heart like a loaf was baked yesteryear,
I've a mind like ashes spilt a week ago,
I've a hand like a rusty, cracked corkscrew.
Can you flourish on nothing and find it good?
Can you make petrifaction do for food?
Can you warm yourself at ashes on a stone?
Can you give my hand the cunning which has gone?
Can you make petrifaction do for food?
Can you warm yourself at ashes on a stone?
Can you give my hand the cunning which has gone?
If you can, I will go and lay me down
And kiss the edge of your purple gown.
I will rise and walk with the sun on my head.
Will you walk with me, will you follow the dead?
And kiss the edge of your purple gown.
I will rise and walk with the sun on my head.
Will you walk with me, will you follow the dead?
The New RepublicAmy Lowell
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