I see a mocking earth, a sun distraught, I lose the buoying instant of relief And sink again as wearying soul and thought Drown in the sick amazement of my grief. VII I tilt my hollowed life and look within: The wine it held has left a purple trace-- Behold, a stain where happiness had been. If I should shatter down this empty vase, Through what abysses would my soul be tossed To meet its judge in undiscovered lands? What sentence meted me, alone and lost, Before him with the fragments in my hands? Better the patient earth that loves me still Should drip her clearness on this purple stain; Better my life upheld to her should fill With limpid dew, and gradual gift of rain. VIII Some whim of Marta’s shields me from the night, And fretted that my curtain should be kept Close drawn, and wakeful candles over bright, I welcomed in the quiet moon and slept; Then woke again in fear--the night was old, The witching tide of silver shut away, And Marta’s shaking hand on mine was cold, Her bending face above me strange and grey. “Who sleeps beneath the moon,” she whispered low, “Must pale with her, nor wind nor noon-day sky Be his again whose pulses beat more slow, More faint, till with the waning moon ... they die.” THE END THE GARDEN OF DOLORES The garden of Dolores! Here she walked When fretted in the twilight’s pallid space The trees were black and delicate as lace, And palms were etchings, sharp and slender-stalked. Now riots summer in these magic closes, And life is rounded in the frailest spray.... Dolores, cold and buried yesterday, Is it thy spirit here among the roses? For restless murmurs through the garden seek; To shadowy caress the flowers unclose; A blossom in the dark magnolia glows-- Or leaning pallor of an oval cheek? Upon the dusk is borne a strange long cry, And one quick sob of wind the air has moved. Ah, perfect garden that Dolores loved, Her soul has called to thee ... a far goodbye. INDIFFERENCE There is a thread from you to me? I know, I feel it drawing still, A cobweb on my careless thought-- Old habit-likeness--what you will. Because it once was strong as Fate To bind a life to your desire,-- Because its knots about my heart Could burn me like a witch’s wire, You will not think it loosed. And I (Ah, woman soul that prayed “Destroy!”) Free from the fretting of my pain, Have killed the fitful strength of joy. AFTER-KNOWLEDGE You found my soul an untried instrument. I closed it fast and bade you take the key, Serene in my unquestioning content That you alone could wake the harmony.