Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/24
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Between the dawn and silver morning
She could not sleep, so the blood dinned
With the river's silver and the sea's silence
And the wind.
She could not sleep, so the blood dinned
With the river's silver and the sea's silence
And the wind.
The New Republic Maxwell Anderson
EMPTYING ASHES
The leaves blow like ghosts through the blur of lamplight
And gather in the wind at the foot of the wall;
Bare trees breathe in the wind with silverly singing;
Save for the street lamps flinging
Long level rays there are no stars seen at all.
And gather in the wind at the foot of the wall;
Bare trees breathe in the wind with silverly singing;
Save for the street lamps flinging
Long level rays there are no stars seen at all.
And no man goes or comes; the houses are silent;
They have all withdrawn within from the cold rain,
Pulled down the blinds, and drawn up chairs to the fire
Each to his own desire,
Knowing the wind only as winter wind again.
They have all withdrawn within from the cold rain,
Pulled down the blinds, and drawn up chairs to the fire
Each to his own desire,
Knowing the wind only as winter wind again.
Winter, a furnace to tend, ashes to empty,
A banking of many fires, the evenings longer—
While the land is turned to the stars, the sea to the sun;
And mile by mile, one by one,
The rivers pause; and the tug of storms is stronger.
A banking of many fires, the evenings longer—
While the land is turned to the stars, the sea to the sun;
And mile by mile, one by one,
The rivers pause; and the tug of storms is stronger.
At the base of the wall the leaves lift in the wind's whirl;
The clouds pour over the sky; behind them rides
Somewhere a quiet moon, swift and dark,
Cutting its changeless are,
Calling the tides we know, called by unknown tides.
The clouds pour over the sky; behind them rides
Somewhere a quiet moon, swift and dark,
Cutting its changeless are,
Calling the tides we know, called by unknown tides.
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