Little Words

When you are gone, there is nor bloom nor leaf,
   Nor singing sea at night, nor silver birds;
And I can only stare, and shape my grief
   In little words.

I cannot conjure loveliness, to drown
   The bitter woe that racks my cords apart.
The weary pen that sets my sorrow down
   Feeds at my heart.

There is no mercy in the shifting year,
   No beauty wraps me tenderly about.
I turn to little words -- so you, my dear,
   Can spell them out.

And one more:

After Spanish Proverb

Oh, mercifullest one of all,
   Oh, generous as dear,
None lived so slowly, none so small,
   Thou couldst withhold they tear:

How swift, in pure compassion,
   How meek in charity,
To offer freindship to the one
   Who begged but love of thee!

Oh, gentle word, and sweetest said!
   Oh, tender hand, and first
To hold the warm, delicious bread
   To lips burned black of thirst.