H. L. Davis

From “Primapara”

IN the early spring, the fattening young weeds

Appear, all green, their veins stretched, amongst their dead.

And every sand-hill, with its bundle of willow

And young green riding the sand, is my pleasant walk.

The river, every rock there, and the wind

Molding cold waves, have seen a spirit by day

Which I would see; and now that my heart’s a poor hired one

Which owns no favor or love, but did awhile,

I walk my pleasant walks. Where the new dark red

Willows feather in sand against the sky,

I make out a spirit sitting by the new grass:

The sun shines yellow on the hair, and a wind blows

That would melt snow, but her face calls it on.

And her hands are quiet in her red sleeves all day.

“All my pleasure begins when you come to this place.”

“I am sorry for it, spirit, yet I most wished it;

Has my heart commanding shamed me to your eyes?”

“Never in life shall these eyes see you shamed.

I half live, like a stalk, but no girl orders me.”