A Meditation before Falls the Night

O bells that shall not peal for me on death,

   O flags that shan't remember, peaceful lies

   the seas that know me not nor care. As flies

the dreaming cloud, serene upon a breath

of wind: you know me not nor care, like breath

   of winter's glacier that will seaward cry,

   or honeysuckle breeze that softly sighs

the scent of beauty on its tearless breadth.

Why should I cry? She cares, I know this now.

   Why should I mourn if sleep alone awaits

    beyond the iron gates that lead away,

if bell shan't peal, nor flag be brought thus low--

   her sorrow's memory enough to sate

    my dreams of vanity this fading day.

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         Song-boxes

Small metal box, round

   with a lid, buffed

   to a sheen, I whisper

in you my songs to her.

If she awakes early

   in the night before

   me, and goes away,

then all I need

is to silently open

   one and listen

   to the songs

pouring out.

This song is in one

   such, already heavy

   with so many songs

its well's already deep enough.

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