The Secret Way. Zona Gale

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      I pass the bush that I saw burning

       With wild black flame at full of moon.

       That was a sight to set one learning

      What things one merely doubts at noon.

       A-well, I know not what I learned.

       God send that you may learn it soon.

      Windows for walls, thoughts that have turned

       Back into folk, gateways of horn,

       And the wild hearts that men have burned,

      These things I see. And ay, one morn

       I saw the little people bear

       Away my little child new-born.

      They gave her food yielded in air,

       Honey and rose-down.

       I looked and she was very fair.

      So when the people of the town

       (Who did not know) believed her dead

       And wrapped her in a cloudy gown

      I did not mourn. I only said:

       “She is the daughter of the Day

       And with the Night she has been wed.

      “I am the mother of that one

       Born for two worlds. And I am she

       Who sees more things than moon and sun

       And little stars will ever see.”

      * * *

      Old Eyelot sees what never is.

       She says: “Green lights move on the leas,

       Deep in the air are treasuries.”

       I wonder what old Eyelot sees?

      II: Magic

      An ancient wildwood showed its heart to me.

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

       I went within its great nave reverently.

      There dwelt the silence ever lightly wed

       With winged sound. There the persuading green

       Took ancient citadels with soundless tread.

      Was not the opening blue of buds between

       Soft solitary leaves a lyric set

       To music of the things that lift and lean?

      My hands were mother-tender of the net

       Of silk they found. My feet were light

       To loose no dew from the 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.

BALLADES OF THREE SENSES

       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.

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