Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A CHILD'S WISDOM, by ALICE CARY Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: When the cares of day are ended Last Line: But I know he is not dead. Subject(s): Children; Poetry & Poets; Love | ||||||||
WHEN the cares of day are ended, And I take my evening rest, Of the windows of my chamber This is that I love the best; This one facing to the hill-tops And the orchards of the west. All the woodlands, dim and dusky, All the fields of waving grain, All the valleys sprinkled over With the drops of sunlit rain, I can see them through the twilight, Sitting here beside my pane. I can see the hilly places, With the sheep-paths trod across; See the fountains by the waysides, Each one in her house of moss, Holding up the mist above her Like a skein of silken floss. Garden corners bright with roses, Garden borders set with mint, Garden beds, wherein the maidens Sow their seeds, as love doth hint, To some rhyme of mystic charming That shall come back all in print. Ah! with what a world of blushes Then they read it through and through, Weeding out the tangled sentence From the commas of the dew: Little ladies, choose ye wisely, Lest some day the choice ye rue. I can see a troop of children, Merry-hearted boys and girls, Eyes of light and eyes of darkness, Feet of coral, legs of pearls, Racing toward the morning school-house Half a head before their curls. One from all the rest I single, Not for brighter mouth or eyes, Not for being sweet and simple, Not for being sage and wise: With my whole full heart I loved him, And therein my secret lies. Cheeks as brown as sun could kiss them, All in careless homespun dressed, Eager for the romp or wrestle, Just a rustic with the rest: Who shall say what love is made of? 'T is enough I loved him best. Haply, Effie loved me better -- She with arms so lily fair, In her sadness, in her gladness, Stealing round me unaware; Dusky shadows of the cairngorms All among her golden hair. Haply, so did willful Annie, With the tender eyes and mouth, And the languors and the angers Of her birth-land of the South: Still my darling was my darling -- "I can love," I said, "for both." So I left the pleasure-places, Gayest, gladdest, best of all -- Hedge-row mazes, lanes of daisies, Bluebirds' twitter, blackbirds' call -- For the robbing of the crow's nest, For the games of race and ball. So I left my book of poems Lying in the hawthorn's shade, Milky flowers sometimes for hours Drifting down the page unread. "He was found a better poet; I will read with him," I said. Thus he led me, hither, thither, To his young heart's wild content, Where so surly and so curly, With his black horns round him bent, Fed the ram that ruled the meadow -- For where'er he called I went: Where the old oak, black and blasted, Trembled on his knotty knees, Where the nettle teased the cattle, Where the wild crab-apple trees Blushed with bitter fruit to mock us; 'T was not I that was to please: Where the ox, with horn for pushing, Chafed within his prison stall; Where the long-leaved poison-ivy Clambered up the broken wall: Ah! no matter, still I loved him First and last and best of all. When before the frowning master Late and lagging in we came, I would stand up straight before him, And would take my even blame: Ah! my darling was my darling; Good or bad 't was all the same. One day, when the lowering storm-cloud South and east began to frown, Flat along the waves of grasses, Like a swimmer, he lay down, With his head propped up and resting On his two arms strong and brown. On the sloping ridge behind us Shone the yet ungarnered sheaves; Round about us ran the shadows Of the overhanging leaves, Rustling in the wind as softly As a lady's silken sleeves. Where a sudden notch before us Made a gateway in the hill, And a sense of desolation Seemed the very air to fill, There beneath the weeping willows Lay the grave-yard, hushed and still. Pointing over to the shoulders Of the head-stones, white and high, Said I, in his bright face looking, "Think you you shall ever lie In among those weeping willows?" "No!" he said, "I cannot die!" "Cannot die? my little darling, 'T is the way we all must go!" Then the bold bright spirit in him Setting all his cheek aglow, He repeated still the answer, "I shall never die, I know!" "Wait and think. On yonder hillside There are graves as short as you. Death is strong." -- "But He who made Death Is as strong, and stronger too. Death may take me, God will wake me, And will make me live anew." Since we sat within the elm shade Talking as the storm came on, Many a blessed hope has vanished, Many a year has come and gone; But that simple, sweet believing Is the staff I lean upon. From my arms, so closely clasping, Long ago my darling fled; Morning brightness makes no lightness In the darkness where I tread: He is lost, and I am lonely, But I know he is not dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE INVENTION OF LOVE by MATTHEA HARVEY TWO VIEWS OF BUSON by ROBERT HASS A LOVE FOR FOUR VOICES: HOMAGE TO FRANZ JOSEPH HAYDN by ANTHONY HECHT AN OFFERING FOR PATRICIA by ANTHONY HECHT LATE AFTERNOON: THE ONSLAUGHT OF LOVE by ANTHONY HECHT A SWEETENING ALL AROUND ME AS IT FALLS by JANE HIRSHFIELD A SPINSTER'S STINT by ALICE CARY |
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