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I WAS NOT HE

I was not he - the man
Who used to pilgrim to your gate,
At whose smart step you grew elate,   
And rosed, as maidens can,      
For a brief span.

It was not I who sang
Beside the keys you touched so true
With note-bent eyes, as if with you   
It counted not whence sprang      
The voice that rang -
  
Yet though my destiny
It was to miss your early sweet,
You still, when turned to you my feet,   
Had sweet enough to be
A prize for me!

-o0o-

MORE LOVE LYRICS - 1967
(written in 1867)

In five-score summers! All new eyes,
New minds, new modes, new fools, new wise;
New woes to weep, new joys to prize;

With nothing left of me and you
In that live century's vivid view
Beyond a pinch of dust or two;

A century which, if not sublime,
Will show, I doubt not, at its prime,
A scope above this blinkered time.

- Yet what to me how far above?
For I would only ask thereof
That thy worm should be my worm, Love!

-o0o-

A BACKWARD SPRING

The trees are afraid to put forth buds,
And there is timidity in the grass;
The plots lie gray where gouged by spuds,   
And whether next week will pass
Free of sly sour winds is the fret of each bush   
Of barberry waiting to bloom.

Yet the snowdrop's face betrays no gloom,
And the primrose pants in its heedless push,
Though the myrtle asks if it's worth the fight   
This year with frost and rime   
To venture one more time
On delicate leaves and buttons of white
From the selfsame bough as at last year's prime,
And never to ruminate on or remember
What happened to it in mid-December.

-o0o-

WITHOUT CEREMONY

It was your way, my dear,
To be gone without a word
When callers, friends, or kin
Had left, and I hastened in
To rejoin you, as I inferred.

And when you'd a mind to career
Off anywhere - say to town -
You were all on a sudden gone
Before I had thought thereon,
Or noticed your trunks were down.

So, now that you disappear
For ever in that swift style,
Your meaning seems to me
Just as it used to be:
"Good-bye is not worth while!"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-