Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 7 (October 1915-March 1916).djvu/369

Spring Sorrow Weary is earth of the empty tumult of winter,
 * Weary of the new weight

That presses against her heart for large release,
 * Weary of futile freight.

These buds will blow away in the autumn twilight,
 * Borne on the wind's cold breath.

These flowers will add the shining of their petals
 * To the mould of death.

The vast gray tragedy of life lies bare;
 * No spring flowers cover it.

No network of blossoms hides it from the eyes,
 * No light lies over it.

A sadness, a spring sadness, touches the world—
 * The sorrow that blindly knows

The futility of all unfolding, and the fading
 * Of every flower that grows.

These statutesstatues [sic]. On their lips is vocal silence. They frighten me with the depth of their unspoken wisdom,