May Swenson

The Chatelaine

I have built one, so have you;

Paved with marble, domed with blue,

Battlement and ladies’ bower,

Donjon keep and watchman’s tower.

I have climbed, as you have done,

To the tower at set of sun –

Crying from its parlous height,

‘Watchman, tell us of the night.’

I have stolen at midnight bell,

Like you, to the secret cell,

Shuddering at its charnel breath –

Left lockfast the spectre, Death.

I have used your lure to call

Choice guests to my golden hall:

Rarely welcome, rarely free

To my hospitality.

In a glow of rosy light

Hours, like minutes, take their flight –

As from you they fled away,

When, like you, I bade them stay.

Ah! the pretty flow of wit,

And the good hearts under it;

While the wheels of life go round

With a most melodious sound.

Not a vestige anywhere

Of our grim familiar, Care –

Roses! from the trees of yore

Blooming by the rivers four.

Not a jar, and not a fret;

Ecstasy and longing met.

But why should I thus define –

Is not your chateau like mine?

Scarcely were it strange to meet

In that magic realm so sweet,

So! I’ll take this dreamland train

Bound for my chateau in Spain.

May Sinclair

Roads

I know a country laced with roads,

They join the hills and they span the brooks,

They weave like a shuttle between broad fields,

And slide discreetly through hidden nooks.

They are canopied like a Persian dome

And carpeted with orient dyes.

They are myriad-voiced, and musical,

And scented with happiest memories.

O Winding roads that I know so well,

Every twist and turn, every hollow and hill!

They are set in my heart to a pulsing tune

Gay as a honey-bee humming in June.

’T is the rhythmic beat of a horse’s feet

And the pattering paws of a sheep-dog bitch;

’T is the creaking trees, and the singing breeze,

And the rustle of leaves in the road-side ditch.

A cow in a meadow shakes her bell

And the notes cut sharp through the autumn air,

Each chattering brook bears a fleet of leaves

Their cargo the rainbow, and just now where

The sun splashed bright on the road ahead

A startled rabbit quivered and fled.

O Uphill roads and roads that dip down!

You curl your sun-spattered length along,

And your march is beaten into a song

By the softly ringing hoofs of a horse

And the panting breath of the dogs I love.

The pageant of Autumn follows its course

And the blue sky of Autumn laughs above.

And the song and the country become as one,

I see it as music, I hear it as light;

Prismatic and shimmering, trembling to tone,

The land of desire, my soul’s delight.

And always it beats in my listening ears

With the gentle thud of a horse’s stride,

With the swift-falling steps of many dogs,

Following, following at my side.

O Roads that journey to fairyland!