A hint of gold where the moon will be; Through the flocking clouds just a star or two; Leaf sounds, soft and wet and hushed, And oh! the crying want of you. EL BESO Twilight--and you, Quiet--the stars; Snare of the shine of your teeth, Your provocative laughter, The gloom of your hair; Lure of you, eye and lip; Yearning, yearning, Languor, surrender; Your mouth, And madness, madness, Tremulous, breathless, flaming, The space of a sigh; Then awakening--remembrance, Pain, regret--your sobbing; And again quiet--the stars, Twilight--and you. AT THE SPRING DAWN I watched the dawn come, Watched the spring dawn come. And the red sun shouldered his way up Through the grey, through the blue, Through the lilac mists. The quiet of it! The goodness of it! And one bird awoke, sang, whirred A blur of moving black against the sun, Sang again--afar off. And I stretched my arms to the redness of the sun, Stretched to my finger tips, And I laughed. Ah! It is good to be alive, good to love, At the dawn, At the spring dawn. TO KEEP THE MEMORY OF CHARLOTTE FORTEN GRIMKÉ Still are there wonders of the dark and day; The muted shrilling of shy things at night, So small beneath the stars and moon; The peace, dream-frail, but perfect while the light Lies softly on the leaves at noon. These are, and these will be Until Eternity; But she who loved them well has gone away. Each dawn, while yet the east is veiled gray, The birds about her window wake and sing; And far away each day some lark I know is singing where the grasses swing; Some robin calls and calls at dark. These are, and these will be Until Eternity; But she who loved them well has gone away. The wild flowers that she loved down green ways stray; Her roses lift their wistful buds at dawn, But not for eyes that loved them best; Only her little pansies are all gone, Some lying softly on her breast. And flowers will bud and be Until Eternity; But she who loved them well has gone away. Where has she gone? And who is there to say? But this we know: her gentle spirit moves And is where beauty never wanes, Perchance by other streams, ’mid other groves; And to us here, ah! she remains A lovely memory Until Eternity. She came, she loved, and then she went away. The subject of these beautiful memorial verses was not simply in feeling but in expression also a poet herself. From “A June Song” written by her I will take a stanza in evidence: