Poems
Walsh, Thomas
672 THE COMMONWEAL October 30, 1929 POEMS BY THOMAS WALSH The editors of The Gommonweal, wishing to remember the death, one year ago, of their friend and associate, Thomas 14Zalsh,...
...The slaves in darkness found him, robed in state Moaning "Alone--alone"--while rockets burst From up the alleys through the lattices...
...Tis then shall the far white cloisters hearken That murmur dread as the alteys darken, Where hands uplifted shall cry for pity On hearts that faint in the stricken city...
...Wouldst thou in this singing, poet, Love's reward not miss...
...672 THE COMMONWEAL October 30, 1929 POEMS BY THOMAS WALSH The editors of The Gommonweal, wishing to remember the death, one year ago, of their friend and associate, Thomas 14Zalsh, believe it can be done most fittingly by offering the following selection [rom his unpublished poems...
...Naught else is heard o'er the ruined walls Save the canons' chant from their shadowy stalls, As over the bridge in the dusty sun The mules go pattering one by one...
...And when the slaves had left the mitred shah Alone before the gorgeous board laid out With plate and lamps of gold and precious wines, He raised his goblet to each seat and quaffed: "Hail to thee, Abbas, thou art ne'er forgot"To thee, my Zabor, faithful memorry...
...As the moon comes flooding the cloudless marshes, Blanching the mosque and the roofs and arches, While the starlit waves are as censers shaken At the feet of the Mother of All Forsaken...
...The mountain pines and scarlet valleys fail Of some wild magic that they lately knew-O mighty Anders, they are lorn of you, Who walked the ancient gods' remembered trail...
...To Anders Zorn Beyond Siljan there is no silver sail...
...The gulls wing low in old Dalarna's blue...
...When thy song is over, Hearken, breathless lover, Hearken unto this: Love is ever speechless waiting In the soft eyes hesitating 'Twixt a frown and kiss...
...There till the dust claims the rose once more That Nina at morn in her dark hair wore...
...I.J.ity Amid his globes and telescopes and charts Grave Don Henrique heard the ocean beat From all its myriad unrequited heart's Gigantic whispering at Sagres' feet...
...While pale above his microscope bent down Fra Bartol, peering at a grain of sand Above the alleys of his sleeping town Seeing infinitude elude his hand...
...Cease thy prelude then, and know it Silent in a kiss...
...He smashed the lamp to darkness in its turn...
...The Shah Remembers (From The Fair Companions) The skies were blazing with a million lights...
...Many an eve shall the starlight gleam, As tonight, on the brow of the ancient stream, When the clink of the goat-bells dies away And the winds from their hidden rose-haunts stray, And the fever of life glows more and more In the lamps that wake on the plain and shore, As the glooms of the p~itio-grilles are stirred By the soft guitar unto wild vows heard, And the whispers of love inflame the breeze Like the voice of a garden full of bees...
...7"o a Poet Hesitating Out of song comes silence, Out of silence, bliss...
...In turn he smashed his goblet 'gainst the lamp That burned before their places: "Hail, Mihrab, My best beloved, thou didst die for me That I might live---O ye that died in vain...
...There does she wait until Juan goes past Broken and stained with the years at last...
...Then rising cast his own lamp to the ground...
...Spills the cup of joy in laughter, And is rapture more intense Than what music can prolong...
...Madre de Dios" they hail her there, Steeling their bosoms against despair, While out of the ages their dust-trail blows On her sword-pierced breast and face of woes...
...On the Bridge of Cordoba Over the river that loiters down By the sun-baked walls of mosque and town There sounds from the shrine and cloister spire The passing bell of the Hours of Fire...
...Rebecks and flutes and drums made gay the world...
...Let build your tomb a lonely rock amid The white sea-women's breasts that heaving play Their pearl and gold of morn where you lie hid: High 8weden's royal mantle let them bid, In folds of ermine wrapping you, to say, "Last of the Vikings, endless is your sway...
...So is silence unto singing As the nest unto the winging: Sweet beyond all eloquence Is the solace that comes after Love's decisive song...
...The isled rocks are more empurpled through A night that falls with a majestic wail...
...Out on its archway, which forever Speaks of the Moor to the Guadalquiver, Midmost stands o'er the stream unshaken The shrine of the Mother of All Forsaken...
Vol. 10 • October 1929 • No. 26
