And this morning I woke As a leaf might wake in its sheltered place Under the rock Stirred by a breath of April. And I lived again the last time I saw you-- The last visit! You were almost ninety then. But there was the old zest in your heart To do all things and have all things Unchanged, as I had known them As a boy. You gave me the same room, Nothing was changed, Not a chair, a curtain, a picture. And you came up-stairs before it was day And lighted a fire in the little stove To have the room warm for me to dress in-- There never was love like yours! And I went down to the kitchen and found you Frying batter cakes, and laughing, And bringing back my boyhood days With the old stories. And how you kissed me, and hugged me With your withered arms! And then you sat down with me, And ate with me as of old, And brought out priceless jars of things Which you had made and saved for me! The breath of memory stirs me Under the rock. I must have the madness of life to drive me, To toss me Into forgetfulness of my loss of you-- For I shall never see you again! ELIZABETH TO MONSIEUR D---- I pace the rooms and wait for John’s return. My heart beats all too fast, I feel a pain Around my heart, my hands grow cold, I burn Through neck and cheeks. And thus I live in vain. John comes at last and says, “There is no mail, No letter for you.” And with whirling brain I turn away in silence, growing pale, And whisper to myself: to be resigned To wretchedness perhaps is to prevail O’er wretchedness and win a peace of mind. To love you so, to thirst for you, to pay For outward calm with inner storms confined, To lie awake by night and spend the day In restless thoughts, is life too hard to bear. I see you in my troubled dreams alway, You face me with a grave and haughty air, Serene, incensed against me who intrude An interest which you have no heart to share. Forgive me then my sorrow’s servitude, To write to you my suffering will ease, And fill the aching of my solitude. I have gone forth to Nature to find peace: The woods are filled with purple lupine now, Small yellow asters, phlox, and cramoisies Of columbine and roses, vine and bough. The wild grape and the cherry haunt the dunes With odors sweet as love. To cool my brow I walk the heights upon these afternoons And watch the blue waste of the sky’s descent. And yesterday where golden light festoons With flickering sorcery the way we went ’Twixt sprays of beech and sassafras I stole Till once again at the hill’s top half-spent I saw the shore dunes and the waters roll. We climbed it once together--it was there The Bacchic madness came into your soul To take me in your arms. And now I bear