She stands In the quiet darkness, This troubled woman, Bowed by Weariness and pain, Like an Autumn flower In the frozen rain. Like a Wind-blown autumn flower That never lifts its head Again. SUICIDE’S NOTE The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss. SICK ROOM How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lovers— Life and Death, And all three covered with a sheet of pain. SOLEDAD A Cuban Portrait The shadows Of too many nights of love Have fallen beneath your eyes. Your eyes, So full of pain and passion, So full of lies. So full of pain and passion, Soledad, So deeply scarred, So still with silent cries. TO THE DARK MERCEDES OF “EL PALACIO DE AMOR” Mercedes is a jungle-lily in a death house. Mercedes is a doomed star. Mercedes is a charnel rose. Go where gold Will fall at the feet of your beauty, Mercedes. Go where they will pay you well For your loveliness. MEXICAN MARKET WOMAN This ancient hag Who sits upon the ground Selling her scanty wares Day in, day round, Has known high wind-swept mountains, And the sun has made Her skin so brown. AFTER MANY SPRINGS Now, In June, When the night is a vast softness Filled with blue stars, And broken shafts of moon-glimmer Fall upon the earth, Am I too old to see the fairies dance? I cannot find them any more. YOUNG BRIDE They say she died,— Although I do not know, They say she died of grief And in the earth-dark arms of Death Sought calm relief, And rest from pain of love In loveless sleep. THE DREAM KEEPER Bring me all of your dreams, You dreamers. Bring me all of your Heart melodies That I may wrap them In a blue cloud-cloth Away from the too rough fingers Of the world. POEM (To F. S.) I loved my friend. He went away from me. There’s nothing more to say. The poem ends, Soft as it began,— I loved my friend. OUR LAND OUR LAND Poem for a Decorative Panel We should have a land of sun, Of gorgeous sun, And a land of fragrant water Where the twilight Is a soft bandanna handkerchief Of rose and gold, And not this land where life is cold. We should have a land of trees, Of tall thick trees Bowed down with chattering parrots Brilliant as the day, And not this land where birds are grey.