When I have said, “This tragic farce I play in Has neither dignity, delight nor end,” The holy night draws all its stars around me, I am ashamed, I have betrayed my Friend. VI THE CRYSTAL GAZER _The Crystal Gazer_ I shall gather myself into myself again, I shall take my scattered selves and make them one, Fusing them into a polished crystal ball Where I can see the moon and the flashing sun. I shall sit like a sibyl, hour after hour intent, Watching the future come and the present go, And the little shifting pictures of people rushing In restless self-importance to and fro. _The Solitary_ My heart has grown rich with the passing of years, I have less need now than when I was young To share myself with every comer Or shape my thoughts into words with my tongue. It is one to me that they come or go If I have myself and the drive of my will, And strength to climb on a summer night And watch the stars swarm over the hill. Let them think I love them more than I do, Let them think I care, though I go alone; If it lifts their pride, what is it to me Who am self-complete as a flower or a stone. _Day’s Ending_ (Tucson) Aloof as aged kings, Wearing like them the purple, The mountains ring the mesa Crowned with a dusky light; Many a time I watched That coming-on of darkness Till stars burned through the heavens Intolerably bright. It was not long I lived there But I became a woman Under those vehement stars. For it was there I heard For the first time my spirit Forging an iron rule for me, As though with slow cold hammers Beating out word by word: “Only yourself can heal you, Only yourself can lead you, The road is heavy going And ends where no man knows; Take love when love is given, But never think to find it A sure escape from sorrow Or a complete repose.” _A Reply_ Four people knew the very me, Four is enough, so let it be; For the rest I make no chart, There are no highroads to my heart; The gates are locked, they will not stir For any ardent traveller. I have not been misunderstood, And on the whole, I think life good-- So waste no sympathy on me Or any well-meant gallantry; I have enough to do to muse On memories I would not lose. _Leisure_ If I should make no poems any more There would be rest at least, so let it be; Time to read books in other tongues and listen To the long mellow thunder of the sea. The year will turn for me, I shall delight in All animals, and some of my own kind, Sharing with no one but myself the frosty And half ironic musings of my mind.