Page:Al Que Quiere.djvu/88

 Yourself old! birds are behind you. You are the wind coming that stills birds, Shakes the leaves in booming polyphony— Slow, winning high way amid the knocking Of boughs, evenly crescendo, The din and bellow of the male wind! Leap then from forest into foam! Lash about from low into high flames Tipping sound, the female chorus— Linking all lions, all twitterings To make them nothing! Behold yourself old!” As I made to answer she continued, A little wistfully yet in a voice clear cut: “Good is my over lip and evil My underlip to you henceforth: For I have taken your soul between my two hands And this shall be as it is spoken.”

ST. JAMES' GROVE And so it came to that last day When, she leading by the hand, we went out Early in the morning, I heavy of heart For I knew the novitiate was ended The ecstasy was over, the life begun.

In my woolen shirt and the pale blue necktie My grandmother gave me, there I went With the old queen right past the houses