Marie Under

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Marie Under Ecstasy Ah, earthly life burns in a myriad splendours Not even death’s dark hazard can destroy. I yield, a willing prisoner, to joy; I never sorted with discreet pretenders. And as the shaken glaucous wave engenders Spindrift, so my green falling silks deploy A froth, and all is stripped to the last toy, And, caught in ecstasy, my sense surrenders. Why does the blossom wanton in the light, The blue horizon lure me to its border? My body too is of their bent and order: My every nerve vibrates to rapt delight, And I distrain my life of its last treasure As if my mounting days had brimmed their measure. Summer Memory The door ajar, I stood at point of day, Tiptoe for you and with awakened eyes. The sun’s gold slipper trod the gravelled way, The grasses spilled their dews in glad surprise- And then you came out of a mist of flowers That clung and swayed like knots of butterflies! When afterwards we two, in softened hours, Walked through the fields of rye all red for reaping, I felt as if my heart obeyed new powers: The old in me seemed either dead or sleeping, And as I glimpsed the poppies’ fluttering fire, An eager pleasure set my pulses leaping. And you, these sang, could give me my desire.

Ecstasy

Ah, earthly life burns in a myriad splendours
Not even death’s dark hazard can destroy.
I yield, a willing prisoner, to joy;
I never sorted with discreet pretenders.

And as the shaken glaucous wave engenders
Spindrift, so my green falling silks deploy
A froth, and all is stripped to the last toy,
And, caught in ecstasy, my sense surrenders.

Why does the blossom wanton in the light,
The blue horizon lure me to its border?
My body too is of their bent and order:
My every nerve vibrates to rapt delight,
And I distrain my life of its last treasure
As if my mounting days had brimmed their measure.

Summer Memory

The door ajar, I stood at point of day,
Tiptoe for you and with awakened eyes.
The sun’s gold slipper trod the gravelled way,

The grasses spilled their dews in glad surprise-
And then you came out of a mist of flowers
That clung and swayed like knots of butterflies!

When afterwards we two, in softened hours,
Walked through the fields of rye all red for reaping,
I felt as if my heart obeyed new powers:

The old in me seemed either dead or sleeping,
And as I glimpsed the poppies’ fluttering fire,
An eager pleasure set my pulses leaping.

And you, these sang, could give me my desire.