Yes, my brother, I know,— The rest might not, but I have treasured every note, Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds. and sights after their sorts, The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing, Listened to keep, to sing, now translating the notes, Soothe! soothe! soothe! Close on its wave soothes the wave behind, And again another behind embracing and lapping, every one close, But my love soothes not me, not me. Low hangs the moon, it rose late, It is lagging-O I think it is heavy with love, with love. O madly the sea pushes upon the land, With love, with love. O night! do I not see my love fluttering out among the breakers? What is that little black thing I see there in the white? Loud! loud! loud! Loud I call to you, my love! High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves, Surely you must know who is here, is here, Low-hanging moon! What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow? O moon, do not keep her from me any longer. Land! land! O land! Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my mate back again if you only would, For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look. O rising stars! Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some of you. O throat! O trembling throat! Sound clearer through the atmosphere! Pierce the woods, the earth, Somewhere listening to catch you must be the one I want. Shake out carols! Solitary here, the night's carols! Carols of lonesome love! death's carols! Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon! O under that moon where she droops almost down into the sea! O reckless despairing carols! But soft! sink low! Soft! let me just murmur, And do you wait a moment, you husky-noised sea, to me, So faint, I must be still, be still to listen, But not altogether still, for then she might not come immediately to me. Hither, my love! Here I am! here! With this just-sustained note I announce myself to you, This gentle call is for you my love, for you. Do not be decoyed elsewhere: That is the whistle of the wind, it is not my voice, O darkness! O in vain! O I am very sick and sorrowful. O brown halo in the sky near the moon, drooping upon the sea! O troubled reflection in the sea! O throat! O throbbing heart! And I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night. O past! O happy life! O songs of joy! In the air, in the woods, over fields, But my mate no more, no more with me! We two together no more. The aria sinking. All else continuing, the stars shining, The winds blowing, the notes of the bird continuous echoing, With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly moaning, On the sands of Paumanok's shore gray and rustling, The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping, the face of the sea almost touching, The boy ecstatic, with his bare feet the waves, with his hair the atmosphere dallying, The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last tumultuously bursting, The aria's meaning, the ears, the soul, swiftly depositing, The strange tears down the cheeks coursing, The colloquy there, the trio, each uttering, The undertone, the savage old mother incessantly crying, To the boy's soul's questions sullenly timing, some drowned secret hissing, To the outsetting bard. Demon or bird (said the boy's soul) Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it really to me? For I, that was a child, my tongue's use sleeping, now I have heard you, Now in a moment I know what I am for, I awake, And already a thousand singers, a thousand songs, clearer, louder and more sorrowful than yours, A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within me, never to die. you singer solitary, singing by yourself, projecting me, O solitary me listening, never more shall I cease perpetuating you, Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations, Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me, Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there in the night, By the sea under the yellow and sagging moon, The messenger there aroused, the fire, the sweet hell within, The unknown want, the destiny of me. O give me the clew! (it lurks in the night here somewhere) O if I am to have so much, let me have more! A word then, (for I will conquer it) The word final, superior to all, Subtle, sent up-what is it?—I listen; Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves? Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands? Whereto answering, the sea, Delaying not, hurrying not, Whispered me through the night, and very plainly be fore daybreak, Lisped to me the low and delicious word death, Hissing melodious, neither like the bird nor like my aroused child's heart, But edging near as privately for me, rustling at my feet, Creeping thence steadily up to my ears and laving me softly all over, Death, death, death, death, death. Which I do not forget, But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother, gray beach, With the thousand responsive songs at random, My own songs awaked from that hour, And with them the key, the word up from the waves, That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my feet, (Or like some old crone rocking the cradle, swathed in sweet garments, bending aside) The sea whispered me. WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOMED I WHEN lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed, And the great star early drooped in the western sky at night, I mourned, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, And thought of him I love. II O powerful western fallen star! O shades of night-O moody, tearful night! |