Jonathan David

If ever the sweet spring comes, I’ll put aside these dead books And try to feel the herbage freshen Along the withered boughs of old dry thoughts. I’ll walk out somewhere where a garden grows, And there I’ll stand some summer evening, Hat beside elbows on the gray stone wall, And the wind will stir, coming from behind the hill. Afterward I’ll walk home, hands behind me, And pause a moment before going in, Half fancying some one has called my name, Or been awakened to a flutter as I passed. Of course, I’ll enter, but leave the door ajar, For someone might come in, you know, Expectantly I’ll sit to fancy the long evening through That a pair of eyes in the summer night Might light a candle in the dull world, So softly that none might see to smile at, Yet ardently enough—like a vestal candle burning— For a little heat in a cold house.

When the hour is hushed and you lie still, So quiet is the room about me It seems perhaps that you are gone, Sunken to a marble sleep. I hear no sound; my quiet will, Passive as the lambs at rest, Stirs not the quaint forgetfulness But only murmurs, “Sleep is strange!” The low moon at the lattice going Rests no more quietly than you at peace. Hushed is the candle; the hour is late, And I, poor witness of extreme change, I think perhaps then heaven opens Like the unfolding of your hand in sleep— Your cold white hand—to close again— While I sit staring at the marble gate.

On such a day we put him in a box And carried him to that last house, the grave; All round the people walked upon the streets Without once thinking that he had gone. Their hard heels clacked upon the pavement stones. A voiceless change had muted all his thoughts To a deep significance we could not know; And yet we knew that he knew all at last. We heard with grave wonder the falling clods, And with grave wonder met the loud day. The night would come and day, but we had died. With new green sod the melancholy gate Was closed and locked, and we went pitiful. Our clacking heels upon the pavement stones Did knock and knock for Death to let us in.