The Wind in the Hemlock1
Steely stars and moon of brass2, How mockingly you watch me pass! You know as well as I how soon I shall be blind to stars and moon, Deaf to the wind in the hemlock tree, Dumb when the brown earth weighs on me.
With envious3 dark rage I bear, Stars, your cold complacent4 stare; Heart-broken in my hate look up, Moon, at your clear immortal5 cup, Changing to gold from dusky red —— Age after age when I am dead To be filled up with light, and then Emptied, to be refilled again.
What has man done that only he Is slave to death —— so brutally6 Beaten back into the earth Impatient for him since his birth?
Oh let me shut my eyes, close out The sight of stars and earth and be Sheltered a minute by this tree. Hemlock, through your fragrant7 boughs8 There moves no anger and no doubt, No envy of immortal things. The night-wind murmurs9 of the sea With veiled music ceaselessly, That to my shaken spirit sings. From their frail10 nest the robins11 rouse, In your pungent12 darkness stirred, Twittering a low drowsy13 word —— And me you shelter, even me. In your quietness you house The wind, the woman and the bird. You speak to me and I have heard:
If I am peaceful, I shall see Beauty's face continually; Feeding on her wine and bread I shall be wholly comforted, For she can make one day for me Rich as my lost eternity14.