Say Little Things

Your voice is like bells over roofs at dawn
When a bird flies
And the sky changes to a fresher color.

Speak, speak, Beloved.
Say little things
For my ears to catch
And run with them to my heart.

I do not care to talk to you although
       Your speech evokes a thousand sympathies,
       And all my being’s silent harmonies
Wake trembling into music. When you go
It is as if some sudden, dreadful blow
       Had severed all the strings with savage ease.
       No, do not talk; but let us rather seize
This intimate gift of silence which we know.
       Others may guess your thoughts from what you say,
As storms are guessed from clouds where darkness broods.
       To me the very essence of the day
Reveals its inner purpose and its moods;
       As poplars feel the rain and then straightway
Reverse their leaves and shimmer through the woods.

I learnt to write to you in happier days,
      And every letter was a piece I chipped
      From off my heart, a fragment newly clipped
From the mosaic of life; its blues and grays,
Its throbbing reds, I gave to earn your praise.
      To make a pavement for your feet I stripped
      My soul for you to walk upon, and slipped
Beneath your steps to soften all your ways.
      But now my letters are like blossoms pale
We strew upon a grave with hopeless tears.
      I ask no recompense, I shall not fail
Although you do not heed; the long, sad years
      Still pass, and still I scatter flowers frail,
And whisper words of love which no one hears.