Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/49
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No, you remember
Our city fell; came tumbling to the grass
With all its palaces and domes,
Not one note on another,
Where he, the breathless builder, fluttered,
Happy in ruin.
Our city fell; came tumbling to the grass
With all its palaces and domes,
Not one note on another,
Where he, the breathless builder, fluttered,
Happy in ruin.
Yes, he panted so?
Tell you cool things?
Tell you cool things?
(Words, words!
Running like water under leaves,
That they may fall on pain
And make it less!)
Running like water under leaves,
That they may fall on pain
And make it less!)
Cool, my heavenliest?
Then shall we walk again
Between the winter and the cliff
Where green things clung?—the little venturers,
Lustrous and shyly brave, that feed on shade
And tug at scornful bowlders
Till they are gay and gentle?
They were all there; the fronds and tresses;
Fingers and baby's palm;
The curling tufts, the plumelets proudly niched,
And little unknown leaves
That make the cold their mother;
The hearts and lances and unpious spires;
The emerald gates to houses of the gnomes.
The fairy tents that vanish at a name;
Each greener than Spring's footprint when her track
Is bright as sea-wet beryl;
Yet wearing like an outer soul
A silvered breath of winter. There
They waited, magically caught
Within a crystal smile. A place, we thought,
Where one might listen, standing long,
Thinking to hear some secret
Earth tells but once to time.
Then shall we walk again
Between the winter and the cliff
Where green things clung?—the little venturers,
Lustrous and shyly brave, that feed on shade
And tug at scornful bowlders
Till they are gay and gentle?
They were all there; the fronds and tresses;
Fingers and baby's palm;
The curling tufts, the plumelets proudly niched,
And little unknown leaves
That make the cold their mother;
The hearts and lances and unpious spires;
The emerald gates to houses of the gnomes.
The fairy tents that vanish at a name;
Each greener than Spring's footprint when her track
Is bright as sea-wet beryl;
Yet wearing like an outer soul
A silvered breath of winter. There
They waited, magically caught
Within a crystal smile. A place, we thought,
Where one might listen, standing long,
Thinking to hear some secret
Earth tells but once to time.
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