Campus Sonnets:
1. Before an Examination
The little letters dance across the page,Flaunt and retire, and trick the tired eyes;Sick of the strain, the glaring light, I riseYawning and stretching, full of empty rageAt the dull maunderings of a long dead sage,Fling up the windows, fling aside his lies;Choosing to breathe, not stifle and be wise,And let the air pour in upon my cage.
The breeze blows cool and there are stars and starsBeyond the dark, soft masses of the elmsThat whisper things in windy tones and light.They seem to wheel for dim, celestial wars;And I—I hear the clash of silver helmsRing icy-clear from the far deeps of night.
2. Talk
Tobacco smoke drifts up to the dim ceilingFrom half a dozen pipes and cigarettes,Curling in endless shapes, in blue rings wheeling,As formless as our talk. Phil, drawling, betsCornell will win the relay in a walk,While Bob and Mac discuss the Giants’ chances;Deep in a morris-chair, Bill scowls at “Falk”,John gives large views about the last few dances.
And so it goes—an idle speech and aimless,A few chance phrases; yet I see behindThe empty words the gleam of a beauty tameless,Friendship and peace and fire to strike men blind,Till the whole world seems small and bright to hold—Of all our youth this hour is pure gold.
3. May Morning
I lie stretched out upon the window-seatAnd doze, and read a page or two, and doze,And feel the air like water on me close,Great waves of sunny air that lip and beatWith a small noise, monotonous and sweet,Against the window—and the scent of cool,Frail flowers by some brown and dew-drenched poolPossesses me from drowsy head to feet.
This is the time of all-sufficing laughterAt idiotic things some one has done,And there is neither past nor vague hereafter.And all your body stretches in the sunAnd drinks the light in like a liquid thing;Filled with the divine languor of late spring.
4. Return—1917
“The College will reopen Sept.—.” `Catalogue’.
I was just aiming at the jagged holeTorn in the yellow sandbags of their trench,When something threw me sideways with a wrench,And the skies seemed to shrivel like a scrollAnd disappear… and propped against the boleOf a big elm I lay, and watched the cloudsFloat through the blue, deep sky in speckless crowds,And I was clean again, and young, and whole.
Lord, what a dream that was! And what a dozeWaiting for Bill to come along to class!I’ve cut it now—and he—Oh, hello, Fred!Why, what’s the matter?—here—don’t be an ass,Sit down and tell me!—What do you suppose?I dreamed I… AM I… wounded? “YOU ARE DEAD.”