By John Gneisenau Neihardt

First anthology of poems released through John G. Neihardt; good bought.

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Sample text

O ancient Mate of mine I o good blonde Giantess, Blown far to hitherward through the weird ways of my sleeping I Thou knowest the hidden beauty of my lusts I Touch me in my prison of the Present I Thine eyes are blue with the calm understanding of the old skies, And thine hempen hair exhales the breath of the forests of home. Over our ancient camps are builded the cities of the AnlEIllic. The gods of our old believing are fled, And men of lesser dreams, hair-splitters and too wise, Have builded little walls about a shriveled-up divinity!

Close up the gates of gold I I go not in If this be sin. John G. Neihardt XXII LET DOWN YOUR HAIR U NBIND your hair and let its masses be Soft midnight on the weary eyes of me. I faint before the dazzle of your breast; Make shadow with your hair that I may rest, And I will cool my fevered temples there: Let down your hair. Ah-so I It falls like night upon a day Too bright for peace. It is a cruel way That leads to this, alas, which is but pain. I am athirst-your tresses fall like rain: Ab, wrap me close and bind me captive there Amid your hair I How much my soul has given that my flesh Might lie a thrall in this enchanted mesh I Something I grope for that I used to hold; Something it was bought dearly--cheaply sold; Something divine was strangled unaware Here in your hair I But no-I will not grieve-will not complain.

16 John G. Neihardt x IN AUTUMN D REAR, dull autumnal rain, Skies washed to gray; Winds sighing like an unfieshed ancient pain; Uncanny day 1 A time for tears and musings on the past, For vain regret; A time to dream of joys that could not last But mock us yet. A time to dream of winter and to mourn; To hear sad tunes; To yearn unto the far and shadowed bourne Of perished Junes. Yet not for me this drear autumnal mood, This winter fear; I view from no dull mental solitude The aging Year. For me-the memory of sun-shot days, Nights kind and warm; 17 A Bundle of Myrrh Moons purpling the weird star-enchanted haze; The April storm I The rain's drone on the roof, the wind's lament Among the trees; These make me hear through days of warm content The hum of bees.

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