Janet Loxley Lewis

Lullee, lullay, I could not love thee more If thou wast Christ the King. Now tell me, how did Mary know That in her womb should sleep and grow The Lord of everything? Lullee, lullay, An angel stood with her Who said: “That which doth stir Like summer in thy side Shall save the world from sin. Then stable, hall, and inn Shall cherish Christmas-tide.” Lullee, lullay, And so it was that Day. And did she love Him more Because an angel came To prophesy His name? Ah no, not so, She could not love Him more, But loved Him just the same. Lullee, lullay. Originally appeared in the December 1938 issue of Poetry magazine.

Azure, ’tis I, come from Elysian shores To hear the waves break on sonorous steps, And see again the sunrise full of ships Rising from darkness upon golden oars. My solitary arms call on the kings Whose salty beards amused my silver hands. I wept; they sang of triumphs in far lands, And gulfs fled backward upon watery wings. I hear the trumpet and the martial horn That wield the rhythm of the beating blade, The song of rowers binding the tumult. And the gods! exalting on the prow with scorn Their ancient smile that the slow waves insult, Hold out their sculptured arms to my sad shade. From the French of Paul Valéry

Swift and subtle The flying shuttle Crosses the web And fills the loom, Leaving for range Of choice or change No room, no room.

Below the gardens and the darkening pines The living water sinks among the stones, Sinking yet foaming till the snowy tones Merge with the fog drawn landward in dim lines. The cloud dissolves among the flowering vines, And now the definite mountain-side disowns The fluid world, the immeasurable zones. Then white oblivion swallows all designs. But still the rich confusion of the sea, Unceasing voice, sombre and solacing, Rises through veils of silence past the trees; In restless repetition bound, yet free, Wave after wave in deluge fresh releasing An ancient speech, hushed in tremendous ease.