The Gardener X: Let Your Work Be, Bride
Let your work be, bride. Listen, the
Guest has come.
Do you hear, he is gently shaking
The chain which fastens the door?
See that your anklets make no loud
Noise, and that your step is not over-
Hurried at meeting him.
Let your work be, bride, the guest
Had come in the evening.
No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
Do not be frightened.
It is the full moon on a night of
April; shadows are pale in the court-
Yard; the sky overhead is bright.
Draw your veil over your face if
You must, carry the lamp to the door
If you fear.
No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
Do not be frightened.
Have no word with him if you are
Shy; stand aside by the door when you
Meet him.
If he asks you questions, and if
You wish to, you can lower you eyes
In silence.
Do not let your bracelets jingle
When, lamp in hand, you lead him in.
Have no words with him if your are
Shy.
Have you not finished you work yet,
Bride? Listen, the guest has come.
Have you not lit the lamp in the
Cowshed?
Have you not got ready the offering
Basket for the evening service?
Have you not put the red lucky
Mark at the parting of your hair, and
Done your toilet for the night?
O bride, do you hear, the guest has
Come?
Let your work be!
Related poetry:
- The Gardener LXIV: I Spent My Day I spent my day on the scorching Hot dust of the road. Now, in the cool of the evening, I Knock at the door of the inn. It is Deserted and in ruins. A grim ashath tree spreads its Hungry clutching roots through the Gaping fissures of the walls. Days have been when wayfarers Came […]...
- The Gardener IX: When I Go Alone at Night When I go alone at night to my Love-tryst, birds do not sing, the wind Does not stir, the houses on both sides Of the street stand silent. It is my own anklets that grow loud At every step and I am ashamed. When I sit on my balcony and listen For his footsteps, leaves […]...
- The Gardener IV: Ah Me Ah me, why did they build my House by the road to the market Town? They moor their laden boats near My trees. They come and go and wander at Their will. I sit and watch them; my time Wears on. Turn them away I cannot. And Thus my days pass by. Night and day […]...
- The Gardener XXI: Why Did He Choose Why did he choose to come to my Door, the wandering youth, when the Day dawned? As I come in and out I pass by him Every time, and my eyes are caught by His face. I know not if I should speak to him Or keep silent. Why did he choose to Come to […]...
- No Beer, No Work The shades of night was fallin’ slow As through New York a guy did go And nail on ev’ry barroom door A card that this here motter bore: “No beer, no work.” His brow was sad, his mouth was dry; It was the first day of July, And where, all parched and scorched it hung, […]...
- THE BRIDE-CAKE This day, my Julia, thou must make For Mistress Bride the wedding-cake: Knead but the dough, and it will be To paste of almonds turn’d by thee; Or kiss it thou but once or twice, And for the bride-cake there’ll be spice....
- Work When twenty-one I loved to dream, And was to loafing well inclined; Somehow I couldn’t get up steam To welcome work of any kind. While students burned the midnight lamp, With dour ambition as their goad, I longed to be a gayful tramp And greet adventure on the road. But now that sixty years have […]...
- THE BRIDE OF CORINTH [First published in Schiller’s Horen, in connection With a Friendly contest in the art of ballad-writing between the two Great poets, to which many of their finest works are owing.] ONCE a stranger youth to Corinth came, Who in Athens lived, but hoped that he From a certain townsman there might claim, As his father’s […]...
- The Gardener LXXXIII: She Dwelt on the Hillside She dwelt on the hillside by edge Of a maize-field, near the spring that Flows in laughing rills through the Solemn shadows of ancient trees. The Women came there to fill their jars, And travellers would sit there to rest And talk. She worked and dreamed Daily to the tune of the bubbling Stream. One […]...
- The Alligator Bride The clock of my days winds down. The cat eats sparrows outside my window. Once, she brought me a small rabbit Which we devoured together, under The Empire Table While the men shrieked Repossessing the gold umbrella. Now the beard on my clock turns white. My cat stares into dark corners Missing her gold umbrella. […]...
- The Gardener LXXXI: Why Do You Whisper So Faintly Why do you whisper so faintly in My ears, O Death, my Death? When the flowers droop in the Evening and cattle come back to their Stalls, you stealthily come to my side And speak words that I do not Understand. Is this how you must woo and win Me with the opiate of drowsy […]...
- The Gardener LXI: Peace, My Heart Peace, my heart, let the time for The parting be sweet. Let it not be a death but completeness. Let love melt into memory and pain Into songs. Let the flight through the sky end In the folding of the wings over the Nest. Let the last touch of your hands be Gentle like the […]...
- Work chapter VII Then a ploughman said, “Speak to us of Work.” And he answered, saying: You work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth. For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of life’s procession, that marches in majesty and proud submission […]...
- The Bride My love looks like a girl to-night, But she is old. The plaits that lie along her pillow Are not gold, But threaded with filigree silver, And uncanny cold. She looks like a young maiden, since her brow Is smooth and fair, Her cheeks are very smooth, her eyes are closed. She sleeps a rare […]...
- Work Let me but do my work from day to day, In field or forest, at the desk or loom, In roaring market-place or tranquil room; Let me but find it in my heart to say, When vagrant wishes beckon me astray, “This is my work; my blessing, not my doom; “Of all who live, I […]...
- What Work Is We stand in the rain in a long line Waiting at Ford Highland Park. For work. You know what work is if you’re Old enough to read this you know what Work is, although you may not do it. Forget you. This is about waiting, Shifting from one foot to another. Feeling the light rain […]...
- Work And Joy Each day I live I thank the Lord I do the work I love; And in it find a rich reward, All price and praise above. For few may do the work they love, The fond unique employ, That fits them as a hand a glove, And gives them joy. Oh gentlefolk, do you and […]...
- Work Gangs BOX cars run by a mile long. And I wonder what they say to each other When they stop a mile long on a sidetrack. Maybe their chatter goes: I came from Fargo with a load of wheat up to the danger line. I came from Omaha with a load of shorthorns and they splintered […]...
- Eddi's Service Eddi, priest of St. Wilfrid In his chapel at Manhood End, Ordered a midnight service For such as cared to attend. But the Saxons were keeping Christmas, And the night was stormy as well. Nobody came to service, Though Eddi rang the bell. “‘Wicked weather for walking,” Said Eddi of Manhood End. “But I must […]...
- The Gardener XIX: You Walked You walked by the riverside path With the full pitcher upon your hip. Why did you swiftly turn your face And peep at me through your fluttering Veil? That gleaming look from the dark Came upon me like a breeze that sends A shiver through the rippling water And sweeps away to the shadowy Shore. […]...
- The Way Things Work is by admitting Or opening away. This is the simplest form Of current: Blue Moving through blue; Blue through purple; The objects of desire Opening upon themselves Without us; the objects of faith. The way things work Is by solution, Resistance lessened or Increased and taken Advantage of. The way things work Is that we […]...
- It is easy to work when the soul is at play It is easy to work when the soul is at play But when the soul is in pain The hearing him put his playthings up Makes work difficult then It is simple, to ache in the Bone, or the Rind But Gimlets among the nerve Mangle daintier terribler Like a Panter in the Glove...
- BRIDE OF THE WIND for Brenda Both had come with no gardener but the soul; I had myself expressed them in weariness, Like the last drop of milk from your tired breast. The red rose was no rose for me. My black rose shone in a silver dawn In the throat of the wind. On the tongue of the […]...
- Bride Song From ‘The Prince’s Progress’ TOO late for love, too late for joy, Too late, too late! You loiter’d on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch Died without a mate; The enchanted princess in her tower Slept, died, behind the grate; Her heart was starving all this […]...
- The Gardener LXXVI: The Fair Was On The fair was on before the temple. It had rained from the early morning And the day came to its end. Brighter than all the gladness of The crowd was the bright smile of A girl who bought for a farthing a Whistle of palm leaf. The shrill joy of that whistle floated Above all […]...
- The Gardener XXIV: Do Not Keep to Yourself Do not keep to yourself the secret of Your heart, my friend! Say it to me, only to me, in secret. You who smile so gently, softly Whisper, my heart will hear it, not my Ears. The night is deep, the house is Silent, the birds’ nests are shrouded With sleep. Speak to me through […]...
- The Mad Gardener's Song He thought he saw an Elephant, That practised on a fife: He looked again, and found it was A letter from his wife. ‘At length I realise,’ he said, The bitterness of Life!’ He thought he saw a Buffalo Upon the chimney-piece: He looked again, and found it was His Sister’s Husband’s Niece. ‘Unless you […]...
- The Gardener XIV: I Was Walking by the Road I was walking by the road, I do not Know why, when the noonday was past And bamboo branches rustled in the Wind. The prone shadows with their out- Stretched arms clung to the feet of The hurrying light. The koels were weary of their Songs. I was walking by the road, I do not […]...
- On No Work Of Words On no work of words now for three lean months in the bloody Belly of the rich year and the big purse of my body I bitterly take to task my poverty and craft: To take to give is all, return what is hungrily given Puffing the pounds of manna up through the dew to […]...
- Work Without Hope All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair- The bees are stirring-birds are on the wing- And Winter slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring! And I the while, the sole unbusy thing, Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing. Yet well I ken the […]...
- Bride of Abydos, The “Had we never loved so kindly, Had we never loved so blindly, Never met or never parted, We had ne’er been broken-hearted.” – Burns TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD HOLLAND, THIS TALE IS INSCRIBED, WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF REGARD AND RESPECT, BY HIS GRATEFULLY OBLIGED AND SINCERE FRIEND, BYRON. THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS CANTO THE […]...
- The Gardener LXXXIV: Over the Green Over the green and yellow rice-fields Sweep the shadows of the autumn Clouds followed by the swift-chasing Sun. The bees forget to sip their honey; Drunken with light they foolishly hover And hum. The ducks in the islands of the river Clamour in joy for mere nothing. Let none go back home, brothers, This morning, […]...
- Work I caught rumours of some internal hearing Then you appeared with tears squeezing your eyes, Hands scrunched up like a child’s, rice paper skin. That work mates complained was a big surprise As you were office sunshine, shafted no-one, And turned your quick mind to the broadest cause. But there you were, a whisper finished…gone, […]...
- The Bride of Abydos “Had we never loved so kindly, Had we never loved so blindly, Never met or never parted, We had ne’er been broken-hearted.” – Burns TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD HOLLAND, THIS TALE IS INSCRIBED, WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF REGARD AND RESPECT, BY HIS GRATEFULLY OBLIGED AND SINCERE FRIEND, BYRON. THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS CANTO THE […]...
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 118. Contemplate all this work of Tim Contemplate all this work of Time, The giant labouring in his youth; Nor dream of human love and truth, As dying Nature’s earth and lime; But trust that those we call the dead Are breathers of an ampler day For ever nobler ends. They say, The solid earth whereon we tread In tracts of fluent […]...
- A Message from my Lodge at Wangchuan to Pei Di The mountains are cold and blue now And the autumn waters have run all day. By my thatch door, leaning on my staff, I listen to cicadas in the evening wind. Sunset lingers at the ferry, Supper-smoke floats up from the houses. …Oh, when shall I pledge the great Hermit again And sing a wild […]...
- The Gardener LI: Then Finish the Last Song Then finish the last song and let us Leave. Forget this night when the night is No more. Whom do I try to clasp in my Arms? Dreams can never be made captive. My eager hands press emptiness to My heart and it bruises my breast....
- The Gardener LV: It Was Mid-Day It was mid-day when you went Away. The sun was strong in the sky. I had done my work and sat alone On my balcony when you went away. Fitful gusts came winnowing Through the smells of may distant Fields. The doves cooed tireless in the shade, And a bee strayed in my room hum- […]...
- GONE THE last, late guest To the gate we followed; Goodbye and the rest The night-wind swallowed. House, garden, street, Lay tenfold gloomy, Where accents sweet Had made music to me. It was but a feast With the dark coming on; She was but a guest And now, she is gone....
- The Gardener XLIII: No, My Friends No, my friends, I shall never be an Ascetic, whatever you may say. I shall never be and ascetic if she Does not take the vow with me. It is my firm resolve that if I Cannot find a shady shelter and a Companion for my penance, I shall Never turn ascetic. No, my friends, […]...