NEW POEMS
And shadowy places fresh with flowers,
This green and quiet world of ours.
Where, as the grass in Springtime heals
The furrow of the winter's wheels,
Serene maturity conceals
All memory on the perfect earth
Of the bygone tempestuous birth.
CXCI
MY brain swims empty and light
Like a nut on a sea of oil;
And an atmosphere of quiet
Wraps me about from the turmoil and clamour of life.
I stand apart from living,
Apart and holy I stand,
In my new-gained growth of idleness, I stand,
As stood the Shekinah of yore in the holy of holies.
I walk the streets smoking my pipe
And I love the dallying shop-girl
That leans with rounded stern to look at the fashions;
And I hate the bustling citizen,
The eager and hurrying man of affairs I hate,
Because he bears his intolerance writ on his face
And every movement and word of him tells me how much he hates me.
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