Elizabeth Jennings

Over the surging tides and the mountain kingdoms, Over the pastoral valleys and the meadows, Over the cities with their factory darkness,

Nature teaches us our tongue again And the swift sentences came pat. I came Into cool night rescued from rainy dawn.

I visited the place where we last met. Nothing was changed, the gardens were well-tended, The fountains sprayed their usual steady jet;

You are no longer young, Nor are you very old. There are homes where those belong.

I keep my answers small and keep them near; Big questions bruised my mind but still I let Small answers be a bulwark to my fear.

The radiance of the star that leans on me Was shining years ago. The light that now Glitters up there my eyes may never see,

We nailed the hands long ago, Wove the thorns, took up the scourge and shouted For excitement's sake, we stood at the dusty edge

When the gardener has gone this garden Looks wistful and seems waiting an event. It is so spruce, a metaphor of Eden

At this particular time I have no one Particular person to grieve for, though there must Be many, many unknown ones going to dust

Lying apart now, each in a separate bed, He with a book, keeping the light on late, She like a girl dreaming of childhood,

Last night they came across the river and Entered the city. Women were awake With lights and food. They entertained the band,