The Weary Blues Read Online Free Page B

by
    We saw a line of fishing ships
        Etched against the sky.
    Off the coast of England
        As we rode the foam
    We saw an Indian merchantman
        Coming home.

NATCHA
    Natcha, offering love.
    For ten shillings offering love.
    Offering: A night with me, honey.
    A long, sweet night with me.
        Come, drink palm wine.
        Come, drink kisses.
    A long, dream night with me.

SEA CHARM
    Sea charm
    The sea’s own children
    Do not understand.
    They know
    But that the sea is strong
    Like God’s hand.
    They know
    But that sea wind is sweet
    Like God’s breath,
    And that the sea holds
    A wide, deep death.

DEATH OF AN OLD SEAMAN
    We buried him high on a windy hill,
    But his soul went out to sea.
    I know, for I heard, when all was still,
    His sea-soul say to me:
    Put no tombstone at my head,
    For here I do not make my bed.
    Strew no flowers on my grave,
    I’ve gone back to the wind and wave.
    Do not, do not weep for me,
    For I am happy with my sea.

SHADOWS IN THE SUN

BEGGAR BOY
    What is there within this beggar lad
    That I can neither hear nor feel nor see,
    That I can neither know nor understand
    And still it calls to me?
    Is not he but a shadow in the sun—
    A bit of clay, brown, ugly, given life?
    And yet he plays upon his flute a wild free tune
    As if Fate had not bled him with her knife!

TROUBLED WOMAN
    She stands
    In the quiet darkness,
    This troubled woman,
    Bowed by
    Weariness and pain,
    Like an
    Autumn flower
    In the frozen rain.
    Like a
    Wind-blown autumn flower
    That never lifts its head
    Again.

SUICIDE’S NOTE
    The calm,
    Cool face of the river
    Asked me for a kiss.

SICK ROOM
    How quiet
    It is in this sick room
    Where on the bed
    A silent woman lies between two lovers—
    Life and Death,
    And all three covered with a sheet of pain.

SOLEDAD
                             A Cuban Portrait
    The shadows
    Of too many nights of love
    Have fallen beneath your eyes.
    Your eyes,
    So full of pain and passion,
    So full of lies.
    So full of pain and passion,
    Soledad,
    So deeply scarred,
    So still with silent cries.

TO THE DARK MERCEDES OF “EL PALACIO DE AMOR”
    Mercedes is a jungle-lily in a death house.
    Mercedes is a doomed star.
    Mercedes is a charnel rose.
    Go where gold
    Will fall at the feet of your beauty,
    Mercedes.
    Go where they will pay you well
    For your loveliness.

MEXICAN MARKET WOMAN
    This ancient hag
    Who sits upon the ground
    Selling her scanty wares
    Day in, day round,
    Has known high wind-swept mountains,
    And the sun has made
    Her skin so brown.

AFTER MANY SPRINGS
    Now,
    In June,
    When the night is a vast softness
    Filled with blue stars,
    And broken shafts of moon-glimmer
    Fall upon the earth,
    Am I too old to see the fairies dance?
    I cannot find them any more.

YOUNG BRIDE
    They say she died,—
    Although I do not know,
    They say she died of grief
    And in the earth-dark arms of Death
    Sought calm relief,
    And rest from pain of love
    In loveless sleep.

THE DREAM KEEPER
    Bring me all of your dreams,
    You dreamers.
    Bring me all of your
    Heart melodies
    That I may wrap them
    In a blue cloud-cloth
    Away from the too rough fingers
    Of the world.

POEM
                             (To F. S.)
    I loved my friend.
    He went away from me.
    There’s nothing more to say.
    The poem ends,
    Soft as it began,—
    I loved my friend.

OUR LAND

OUR LAND
                             Poem for a Decorative Panel
    We should have a land of sun,
    Of gorgeous sun,
    And a land of fragrant water
    Where the twilight
    Is a soft bandanna handkerchief
    Of rose and gold,
    And not this land where life is cold.
    We should have a land of trees,
    Of tall thick trees
    Bowed down with chattering parrots
    Brilliant as the day,
    And not this land where birds are grey.
    Ah, we should have a land of joy,
    Of love and joy and wine and song,
    And not this land where joy is wrong.
    Oh, sweet, away!
    Ah, my beloved one, away!

LAMENT FOR DARK PEOPLES
    I