Part 1 (1/2)
Anthology of Ma.s.sachusetts Poets.
by Various.
Editor: William Stanley Braithwaite.
HOME-BOUND
THE moon is a wavering rim where one fish slips, The water makes a quietness of sound; Night is an anchoring of many s.h.i.+ps Home-bound.
There are strange tunnelers in the dark, and whirs Of wings that die, and hairy spiders spin The silence into nets, and tenanters Move softly in.
I step on shadows riding through the gra.s.s, And feel the night lean cool against my face; And challenged by the sentinel of s.p.a.ce, I pa.s.s.
JOSEPH AUSLANDE
AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL
O BEAUTIFUL for s.p.a.cious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
G.o.d shed His grace on thee And crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to s.h.i.+ning sea!
O beautiful for pilgrim feet, Those stern, impa.s.sioned stress A thoroughfare for freedom beat Across the wilderness!
America! America!
G.o.d mend thine every flaw, Confirm thy soul in self-control, Thy liberty in law!
O beautiful for heroes proved In liberating strife Who more than self their country loved, And mercy more than life!
America! America!
May G.o.d thy gold refine, Till all success be n.o.bleness, And every gain divine.
O beautiful for patriot dream That sees beyond the years Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
G.o.d shed His grace on thee And crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to s.h.i.+ning sea!
KATHERINE LEE BATES
YELLOW CLOVER
MUST I, who walk alone, come on it still, This Puck of plants The wise would do away with, The suns.h.i.+ne slants To play with, Our wee, gold-dusty flower, the yellow clover, Which once in Parting for a time That then seemed long, Ere time for you was over, We sealed our own?
Do you remember yet, O Soul beyond the stars, Beyond the uttermost dim bars Of s.p.a.ce, Dear Soul, who found earth sweet, Remember by love's grace, In dreamy hushes of the heavenly song, How suddenly we halted in our climb, Lingering, reluctant, up that farthest hill, Stooped for the blossoms closest to our feet, And gave them as a token Each to Each, In lieu of speech, In lieu of words too grievous to be spoken, Those little, gypsy, wondering blossoms wet With a strange dew of tears?
So it began, This vagabond, unvalued yellow clover, To be our tenderest language. All the years It lent a new zest to the summer hours, As each of us went scheming to surprise The other with our homely, laureate flowers.
Sonnets and odes Fringing our daily roads.
Can amaranth and asphodel Bring merrier laughter to your eyes?
Oh, if the Blest, in their serene abodes, Keep any wistful consciousness of earth, Not grandeurs, but the childish ways of love, Simplicities of mirth, Must follow them above With touches of vague homesickness that pa.s.s Like shadows of swift birds across the gra.s.s.