The Secret Way - Zona Gale

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least violet.

      The fragile fabric of dissolved night

       Seemed in the air. A million little minds

       Kept concert in the very realm of sight.

      O—and suddenly as sunlight finds

       White towers I heard the ancient wood unfold

       Its ancient secret piped by little winds.

      “Behold the beauty in me. O behold

       The beauty that makes utter peace, in me;

       Beauty that is immeasurably old.”

      The whole world like a bell heard echoingly.

       Words wonderful! I found a fairy bed

       And saw that which the wildwood let me see.

       (O Little Wind that brought me what it said!)

      III: Night Is Here

      Night is here and star-rise

       And demeanour of the dark.

       Visioned by my closed eyes

      Now I lie within an arc.

       Lyric loom,

       All the silence is a-hark

      For a poppy bud to bloom

       In some flowery harmony

       Woven through this quiet room.

      Prick of light and shadow take me,

       Fire and stars and voices keep,

       Fairy clamour will not wake me …

       … Sleep.

      But that warm grave of sleep

       Nothing save myself immures.

       Singing light and dreaming deep

       Now my spirit walks with yours.

       Table of Contents

      I

       BALLADE OF EYES THAT SEE

      Leaves loosened when there blow

       No winds; long fields whose green

       Dim beneath the darling bow

       Of the May-moon is seen;

       Robins at dawn; the keen

       Sour odour of vines—these show

       Frail meanings caught between

       The bourne of yes and no.

       Yet there is tender art

       To fathom what they mean,

       Deep in the heart.

      I go among them. Now I lean

       Where willows fret the flow

       Of water that has been

       For miles to glean.

       And in the osiers—O

       An ouphe, an elfin queen.

       I did not see her—lo,

       The osiers did not part,

       Yet she was there I ween,

       Deep in the heart.

       Envoy

      Spells, lay upon the screen

       The things that move me so.

       I ask the better part:

       To see with eyes serene

       What things these others know——

       Deep in the heart.

      II

       BALLADE OF LISTENING

      On summer slopes lit white

       With old desire of day,

       The air with pearl bedight

       Prepares for gold array.

       The sun-drugged stars delay

       To die; the winds take fright

       And question, and betray

       Frail sounds for my delight.

       O voice of ancient springs!

       O little echo-flight!

       O harp of things!

      In grasses that lie bright,

       In grasses that lie grey,

       Up on the clouded height

       Down in the zone of May

       Are printless feet astray.

       Airy the hands that smite

       The lyre in nameless lay;

       And the great gods invite

       Echo of earth chantings

       On quiet wing away.

       O—harp of things!

       Envoy

      Harp, is it this that you say?

       “Delicate is my might,

       Quickening the voice that sings;

       For I am sense grown fey.

       I am word of the morn and the night.”

       O harp of things!

      III

       BALLADE OF OLD PERFUMES

      Now out of dream old springs

       Flow soft with many red

       And golden fluttering things.

       Sweetly from underhead

       All the wan air is fed

       With faint rememberings

       Of hours long buried.

       Rose-rumours steal and stir;

       They come on wind-like wings.

       The old odours that were

       Nard and mint and myrrh.

      I think that as there clings

       Colour to blossoms shed,

       So love and all that sings,

       So hearts that beat and bled

       Were with old fragrance wed.

       Now when the garden flings

       On many a secret thread

       Sweets to the wanderer,

       Some buried witch-bell rings

       The old odours that were

       Nard and mint and myrrh.

       Envoy

      Spring, let me lay my head

       Where the wild season sings

       Some dead girl’s heart from her.

       O young heart, ages dead,

       Old odours thrill mute strings.

       The old odours that were

       Nard and mint and myrrh.

       Table of Contents

      The way that shadow fell along the floor!

       I too have waited for a shadow.

      Hokku

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