The oak tarries long in the depth of the seed, But swift is the season of nettle and weed, Abide yet awhile in the mellowing shade, And rise with the hour for which you were made. The cycle of seasons, the tidals of man Revolve in the orb of an infinite plan, We move to the rhythm of ages long done, And each has his hour--to dwell in the sun! THE SUPPLIANT Long have I beat with timid hands upon life’s leaden door, Praying the patient, futile prayer my fathers prayed before, Yet I remain without the close, unheeded and unheard, And never to my listening ear is borne the waited word. Soft o’er the threshold of the years there comes this counsel cool: The strong demand, contend, prevail; the beggar is a fool! LITTLE SON The very acme of my woe, The pivot of my pride, My consolation, and my hope Deferred, but not denied. The substance of my every dream, The riddle of my plight, The very world epitomized In turmoil and delight. OLD BLACK MEN They have dreamed as young men dream Of glory, love and power; They have hoped as youth will hope Of life’s sun-minted hour. They have seen as others saw Their bubbles burst in air, And they have learned to live it down As though they did not care. LETHE I do not ask for love, ah! no, Nor friendship’s happiness, These were relinquished long ago; I search for something less. I seek a little tranquil bark In which to drift at ease Awhile, and then quite silently To sink in quiet seas. PROVING Were you a leper bathed in wounds And by the world denied; I’d share your fatal exile As a privilege and pride. You are to me the sun, the moon, The starlight of my soul, The sounding motif of my heart, The impetus and goal! I WANT TO DIE WHILE YOU LOVE ME I want to die while you love me, While yet you hold me fair, While laughter lies upon my lips And lights are in my hair. I want to die while you love me And bear to that still bed Your kisses turbulent, unspent To warm me when I’m dead. I want to die while you love me; Oh, who would care to live Till love has nothing more to ask And nothing more to give? I want to die while you love me, And never, never see The glory of this perfect day Grow dim, or cease to be! RECESSIONAL Consider me a memory, a dream that passed away; Or yet a flower that has blown and shattered in a day; For passion sleeps alas and keeps no vigil with the years And wakens to no conjuring of orisons or tears. Consider me a melody that served its simple turn, Or but the residue of fire that settles in the urn, For love defies pure reasoning and undeterred flows Within, without, the vassal heart--its reasoning who knows? MY LITTLE DREAMS I’m folding up my little dreams Within my heart tonight, And praying I may soon forget The torture of their sight. For time’s deft fingers scroll my brow With fell relentless art-- I’m folding up my little dreams Tonight, within my heart. WHAT NEED HAVE I FOR MEMORY?