Nobody came to meet me
with a lantern,
Had to find my way up
the steps by weak moonlight
And there he was, under
the green lamp, and
With a corpse's smile
he whispered, 'Your voice
Is strange Cinderella…'
Fire dying in the hearth,
Cricket chirping. Ah!
someone's taken my shoe
As a souvenir, and with
lowered eyes given me
Three carnations.
Dear mementoes,
Where can I hide you?
And it's a bitter thought
That my little white shoe
will be tried by everyone.
****
Why is our century worse than any other?
Is it that in the stupor of fear and grief
It has plunged its fingers in the blackest ulcer,
Yet cannot bring relief?
Westward the sun is dropping,
And the roofs of town are shining in its light.
Already death is chalking doors with crosses
And calling the ravens and the ravens are in flight.
****
What's war? What's plague? We know that they will pass,
Judgement is passed, we see an end to them.
But which of us can cope with this fear, this--
The terror that is named the flight of time?
****
If all who have begged help
From me in this world,
All the holy innocents,
Broken wives, and cripples,
The imprisoned, the suicidal--
If they had sent me one kopeck
I should have become 'richer
Than all Egypt' …
But they did not send me kopecks,
Instead they shared with me their strength,
And so nothing in the world
Is stronger than I,
And I can bear anything, even this.
****
Could Beatrice write with Dante's passion,
Or Laura have glorified love's pain?
Women poets-I set the fashion …
Lord, how to shut them up again!
Celebration of Love
A Need for Love
World of Love
Poems of Love and Hope
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