My place is a field Open to the blanket Of the sky. It is the high, golden grass Where the bones gleam white. It is the stand of trees Where the hawk lives, And the owl, And the heron, And the buzzards that play. It is the darkness That lives below the pines Where the trees are noble. It is the hidden entrance To the greenlands Where the cat follows. It is the secret clearing Where I’ve seen the nests Of deer. It is the high path Where I look over the forest And the tree roots Exposed by the creek. It is the bridge and the bencyh Where I revel in the glory And exult in the silence And the sound. My place is too wide To be told of in words, And too small to be seen By mortal eyes.
My heart expands to fill the sky That lies before my open eye And open soul and open hand As I watch the skies and land. The sky is such a widened blue, I feel my soul could tear in two. My heart jumps high within my core Tho I be weary and footsore From the life I live outside The heart’s great rift and soul’s divide. Beyond the hidden gate of grass, My sorrows dwell and all joys pass. Within this sacred, open field The bones gleam white and all hurts heal. The field and stream and noble wood Are my heart’s house and my soul’s food. I live on them, I breath them in, I dwell in them and call them kin.
Just Over the Rise
I found my way to field and stream Like a sleeper in a dream; I found an ancient, friendly tree Who stands and listens long to me; I founda quiet bench up high Where parks are wild and fountains dry; I found a path that spoke of fall And an eye that saw them all. I kept a lonely stand of trees Who creak and cry out in the breeze; I kept a patch of thorny ground That greeted me the whole year ‘round; I keept a wood of wild pines More dignified than planted lines; I kept a singing waterfall In my hand that held them all. I sang a joyful little march That stirred the pine and spurred the larch; I sang a plaintive, sweet lament At which sobbed earth’s firmament; I sang a fanfare to the sky That stretched my soul out by and by; I sang a song that made me sing As ringing stirs a bell to ring. My joys, I found them one by one: The moon, the stars, the shining sun, The tree that stands upon the hill, The hawk’s sweet cry and sparrow’s trill, The creek that laughed when I could not: Yet, of all the gems I sought, I found in them the riches choice: My eyes, my hands and my own voice.
The Gentle Virtue by Michael Whelan
O world, I cannot hold thee close enough! Thy winds, thy wide grey skies! Thy mists, that roll and rise! Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff! World, World, I cannot get thee close enough! Long have I known a glory in it all, But never knew I this; Here such a passion is As stretcheth me apart,--Lord, I do fear Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year; My soul is all but out of me,--let fall No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.
I will be the gladdest thing Under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers And not pick one. I will look at cliffs and clouds With quiet eyes, Watch the wind bow down the grass, And the grass rise. And when lights begin to show Up from the town, I will mark which must be mine, And then start down!
I'll keep a little tavern Below the high hill's crest, Wherein all grey-eyed people May set them down and rest. There shall be plates a-plenty, And mugs to melt the chill Of all the grey-eyed people Who happen up the hill. There sound will sleep the traveller, And dream his journey's end, But I will rouse at midnight The falling fire to tend. Aye, 'tis a curious fancy-- But all the good I know Was taught me out of two grey eyes A long time ago.
I knew her for a little ghost That in my garden walked; The wall is high--higher than most-- And the green gate was locked. And yet I did not think of that Till after she was gone-- I knew her by the broad white hat, All ruffled, she had on. By the dear ruffles round her feet, By her small hands that hung In their lace mitts, austere and sweet, Her gown's white folds among. I watched to see if she would stay, What she would do--and oh! She looked as if she liked the way I let my garden grow! She bent above my favourite mint With conscious garden grace, She smiled and smiled--there was no hint Of sadness in her face. She held her gown on either side To let her slippers show, And up the walk she went with pride, The way great ladies go. And where the wall is built in new And is of ivy bare She paused--then opened and passed through A gate that once was there.
When I Dream
All I could see from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood; I turned and looked another way, And saw three islands in a bay. So with my eyes I traced the line Of the horizon, thin and fine, Straight around till I was come Back to where I'd started from; And all I saw from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood. Over these things I could not see; These were the things that bounded me; And I could touch them with my hand, Almost, I thought, from where I stand. And all at once things seemed so small My breath came short, and scarce at all. But, sure, the sky is big, I said; Miles and miles above my head; So here upon my back I'll lie And look my fill into the sky. And so I looked, and, after all, The sky was not so very tall. The sky, I said, must somewhere stop, And--sure enough!--I see the top! The sky, I thought, is not so grand; I 'most could touch it with my hand And reaching up my hand to try, I screamed to feel it touch the sky. I screamed, and--lo!--Infinity Came down and settled over me; Forced back my scream into my chest, Bent back my arm upon my breast, And, pressing of the Undefined The definition on my mind, Held up before my eyes a glass Through which my shrinking sight did pass Until it seemed I must behold Immensity made manifold; Whispered to me a word whose sound Deafened the air for worlds around, And brought unmuffled to my ears The gossiping of friendly spheres, The creaking of the tented sky, The ticking of Eternity. I saw and heard, and knew at last The How and Why of all things, past, And present, and forevermore. The Universe, cleft to the core, Lay open to my probing sense That, sick'ning, I would fain pluck thence But could not,--nay! But needs must suck At the great wound, and could not pluck My lips away till I had drawn All venom out.--Ah, fearful pawn! For my omniscience paid I toll In infinite remorse of soul. All sin was of my sinning, all Atoning mine, and mine the gall Of all regret. Mine was the weight Of every brooded wrong, the hate That stood behind each envious thrust, Mine every greed, mine every lust. And all the while for every grief, Each suffering, I craved relief With individual desire,-- Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire About a thousand people crawl; Perished with each,--then mourned for all A man was starving in Capri; He moved his eyes and looked at me; I felt his gaze, I heard his moan, And knew his hunger as my own. I saw at sea a great fog bank Between two ships that struck and sank; A thousand screams the heavens smote; And every scream tore through my throat. No hurt I did not feel, no death That was not mine; mine each last breath That, crying, met an answering cry From the compassion that was I. All suffering mine, and mine its rod; Mine, pity like the pity of God. Ah, awful weight! Infinity Pressed down upon the finite Me My anguished spirit, like a bird, Beating against my lips I heard; Yet lay the weight so close about There was no room for it without. And so beneath the weight lay I And suffered death, but could not die. Long had I lain thus, craving death, When quietly the earth beneath Gave way, and inch by inch, so great At last had grown the crushing weight, Into the earth I sank till I Full six feet under ground did lie, And sank no more,--there is no weight Can follow here, however great. From off my breast I felt it roll, And as it went my tortured soul Burst forth and fled in such a gust That all about me swirled the dust. Deep in the earth I rested now; Cool is its hand upon the brow And soft its breast beneath the head Of one who is so gladly dead. And all at once, and over all The pitying rain began to fall; I lay and heard each pattering hoof Upon my lowly, thatched roof, And seemed to love the sound far more Than ever I had done before. For rain it hath a friendly sound To one who's six feet underground; And scarce the friendly voice or face: A grave is such a quiet place. The rain, I said, is kind to come And speak to me in my new home. I would I were alive again To kiss the fingers of the rain, To drink into my eyes the shine Of every slanting silver line, To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze From drenched and dripping apple-trees. For soon the shower will be done, And then the broad face of the sun Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth Until the world with answering mirth Shakes joyously, and each round drop Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top. How can I bear it; buried here, While overhead the sky grows clear And blue again after the storm? O, multi-colored, multiform, Beloved beauty over me, That I shall never, never see Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold, That I shall never more behold! Sleeping your myriad magics through, Close-sepulchred away from you! O God, I cried, give me new birth, And put me back upon the earth! Upset each clouds gigantic gourd And let the heavy rain, down-poured In one big torrent, set me free, Washing my grave away from me! I ceased; and through the breathless hush That answered me, the far-off rush Of herald wings came whispering Like music down the vibrant string Of my ascending prayer, and--crash! Before the wild wind's whistling lash The startled storm-clouds reared on high And plunged in terror down the sky, And the big rain in one black wave Fell from the sky and struck my grave. I know not how such things can be; I only know there came to me A fragrance such as never clings To aught save happy living things; A sound as of some joyous elf Singing sweet songs to please himself, And, through and over everything, A sense of glad awakening. The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear, Whispering to me I could hear; I felt the rain's cool finger-tips Brushed tenderly across my lips, Laid gently on my sealed sight, And all at once the heavy night Fell from my eyes and I could see,-- A drenched and dripping apple-tree, A last long line of silver rain, A sky grown clear and blue again. And as I looked a quickening gust Of wind blew up to me and thrust Into my face a miracle Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,-- I know not how such things can be!-- I breathed my soul back into me. Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I And hailed the earth with such a cry As is not heard save from a man Who has been dead, and lives again. About the trees my arms I wound; Like one gone mad I hugged the ground; I raised my quivering arms on high; I laughed and laughed into the sky, Till at my throat a strangling sob Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb Sent instant tears into my eyes; O God, I cried, no dark disguise Can e'er hereafter hide from me Thy radiant identity! Thou canst not move across the grass But my quick eyes will see Thee pass, Nor speak, however silently, But my hushed voice will answer Thee. I know the path that tells Thy way Through the cool eve of every day; God, I can push the grass apart And lay my finger on Thy heart! The world stands out on either side No wider than the heart is wide; Above the world is stretched the sky,-- No higher than the soul is high. The heart can push the sea and land Farther away on either hand; The soul can split the sky in two, And let the face of God shine through. But East and West will pinch the heart That can not keep them pushed apart; And he whose soul is flat--the sky Will cave in on him by and by.
