Poems
Wilkinson, Marguerite & Buehrle, Marie & Callaghan, Gertrude & Luhrs, Marie & Davies, Mary Carolyn & Parmenter, Catherine
132 THE COMMONWEAL December 9, 1925 POEMS Qonsort The lovely moon, who has the world to roam in, The world of sky without a trail or track. The lovely moon still finds herself at home,...
...Someone alive knew how to use paint And composed this house in leaves and sun...
...Time has blown Through many a clenched grip at His command...
...O moon, who puts aside the world's far splendor, O moon, who thrusts aside the heaven's charms...
...Dear God, what miracle is this...
...Gladioli stand in a red line And pink sweet-william behind the screen Of soldier poplars, of elms and pine That blur the house in a web of green...
...The grass is shaved and no paper clutters The path...
...I close no piteous fingers...
...Gertrude Callaghan...
...If sad-eyed, weary-footed throngs could know To touch the hem is peace amid the strife— The many colored hem of God's white robe...
...But it differs from death by the faint Stir of one leaf down the air—just one...
...It covers every birdling in its nest, Each babe asleep upon its mother's breast, Each kindly thought concealed from mortal sight...
...I hear the gentle voice...
...The great and starry worlds that would befriend her She waves away, to lie within the arms Of this, the humble mountain pool, unshining Save with her whiteness, as she runs to lay Her face against him, all her bright hair twining About his bosom, till the trump of day...
...Perhaps—but here, I think, he keeps the tryst: A little grey-robed figure on the hill...
...The wind is crying round about the eaves, Tugging at empty nests—the weather-vane Teeters, uncertain, and is still again...
...Old Youth There is a frantic radiance in leaves That quiver to the surge of drumming rain...
...I, only I, quite understand your smile...
...Marie Luhrs...
...Far down the valley in the shaded light Where violets hold the dewy tears of night...
...It moves upon the tides that never rest...
...Upon an Open Hand I hold my joy upon an open hand Resting as light as lovely thistledown, Lest He, in Whom all veering winds are known, Remember something very deeply planned And strive to make my spirit understand How every flying joy is still His own...
...Effulgent source where hidden well-springs flow— Full throbbing pulse close to the heart of life— The Seamless Garment circling all the globe...
...He need not wound me, tearing it away As from a stubborn child whose puny will Clings to the toy he knows...
...And to his heart beloved memories bring Of happy days beneath Italian skies...
...The Hem of a Garment It passes, and each white, sun-gazing height Reflects the glow that shone on Tabor's crest...
...San Francesco d" Assist I will move quietly within this place, Where God reveals His soul so wondrously In bird and flower and brook and wind and tree, In sun and sky, the glory of His face...
...The lovely moon still finds herself at home, in The little pool beside our cedar shack...
...The droop of trees make shadow and form On the gold grass and the shadows swing...
...0 moon, who gives the world, and gains, in losing, A shelter from your greatness for a while, 1 know, I know the reason for your choosing...
...Mary Carolyn Da vies...
...O robins, sing...
...England Town House Someone must move behind the green shutters, Someone must breathe within the white walls...
...I see Leaves, softly silver, from an olive tree...
...The hayricks sag beneath the weight of sheaves That robbed the stubbled meadows of their grain— Summer is over and the swallow grieves...
...Summer is over in the heart of me— Summer was love, but autumn broods despair...
...Catherine Parmenter...
...I will go silently, alone...
...Marie Buehrle...
...I know the healing hands, the brave, clear eyes...
...the three steps are scrubbed for calls...
...and still Not quite alone, for what is that—a mist...
...Marguerite Wilkinson...
...Autumn is old youth that defiantly Has braided garish ribbons in her hair— Rustling her gaudy charms with conscious mien, Knowing that winter hovers, white and lean...
...No motion here, no change and no storm, Save it be a robin spreading wing...
...I lift to Him The open hand that trembles to obey, The emptiness that He delights to fill...
...Take it, grave winds, according to His whim...
Vol. 3 • December 1925 • No. 5
