Children

I am a Day . . .

My sky is grey,

My wind is wild,

My sea high-piled:

In year of days the first

In misery . . .

Oh pity me!

I am a Day
Accurst.

"Sweet Day, not curst but blest:

Behold upon my breast

My baby born

Your early morn.

Safe in my arms alway . . .

Oh precious Day,

let tempest be,

You are to me

In heart of mine
Divine."

* * * * * * *

I am a Day . . .

From dawn's pure ray

Like to a peerless gem

In summer's diadem,

My sky so softly dreams,

my breeze is bland:

My sea is blue and creams

Upon the sand,

Behold! Of days the Queen
I reign serene.

"Oh Day, not blest but curst!

Let savage storm-rack burst,

i will not care . . .

For Lo! I bear

My baby's coffin to the height.

Ah! Would it were the foulest night

To match my mood''s

Ingratitude.

I cannot not pray . . .

Go your fell way,
Accursed Day!"

(For A. K. K.)
What distant mountains thrill and glow
Beneath our Lady Folly's tread?
Why has she left us, wise in woe,
Shrewd, practical, uncomforted?
We cannot love or dream or sing,
We are too cynical to pray,
There is no joy in anything
Since Lady Folly went away.
Many a knight and gentle maid,
Whose glory shines from years gone by,
Through ignorance was unafraid
And as a fool knew how to die.
Saint Folly rode beside Jehanne
And broke the ranks of Hell with her,
And Folly's smile shone brightly on
Christ's plaything, Brother Juniper.
Our minds are troubled and defiled
By study in a weary school.
O for the folly of the child!
The ready courage of the fool!
Lord, crush our knowledge utterly
And make us humble, simple men;
And cleansed of wisdom, let us see
Our Lady Folly's face again.

For Morn, my dome of blue,
For Meadows, green and gay,
And Birds who love the twilight of the leaves,
Let Jesus keep me joyful when I pray.
For the big Bees that hum
And hide in bells of flowers;
For the winding roads that come
To Evening’s holy door,
May Jesus bring me grateful to his arms,
And guard my innocence for evermore.