 Section 1 of Honour Grey Thread by Elsa Gidlough, this is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Honour Grey Thread by Elsa Gidlough, The Grey Thread, read by Newgate Novelist. My life is a grey thread, a thin grey stretched out thread, and when I trace its course I moan. How dull, how dead, but I have gay beads, a pale one to begin, a blue one for my painted dreams, and one for sin gold with coiled marks like a snake's skin, for love an odd bead with a deep purple glow, a green bead for a secret thing that few shall know, and yellow for my thoughts that melt like snow, a red bead for my strength, and crimson for my hate, silver for the songs I sing when I am desolate, and white for my laughter that mocks dull fate. My life is a grey thread stretching through time's day, but I have slipped gay beads on it to hide the grey. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Youth by Elsa Gidlough, read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. I must go down, down, down below the crusts of things, under the shadows, into thought haunted places where few go, where the road is broken and travelled by monsters, truths with hard sphinx faces. I must go down into the caves of life, into the darknesses deep, deep below the good of things, below the evil of things, where the calm roots of wisdom creep. I must tunnel under the bloom of dreams, under the framework of fancies, tunnel alone. What if I shatter frail things, break delicate flowers of myth, timorous dreamers have sown? I must go down, below narrow roads men have made, below bridging lies men have built, into the caverns of truth. I know pain is waiting there, eager to break me, but I am strong. I have faith in my youth. Living is crusted with lies. I want life naked, laughing and young. Not fettered, not tamed, but life unashamed, with the cry of desire on her tongue. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. World Cry by Elsa Gidlow, read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. There are gods in the marketplace. Did you know there were gods there? Oh yes, gods, gods, there are gods everywhere. I think the many like gods. I think they like to pray and mourn. For a joy song their prophets sing, a new god will soon be born. For a joy song I would sing, let every god be downtorn. But what is the world muttering? Has she whispered it since life began? I want none of your gods. Look to yourself, man. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Hope by Elsa Gidlow, read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. You would win me, woo me, win me, to be your lover hope. You would leer me, charm me, leer me, with all your deathless youth. You would have me worship, adore you, build my life for you, mold my moments into hours out of your careless smile. How you pursue me, woo me, follow like a light-headed girl. All the world is your willing lover. What do you want with me? You are a wanton, lovely, perfect, a dazzling thing like day, draped with silk things, tassled, jeweled, hung about with veils, painted with sweet lies. Men have blended of folly and dreams and fear. You are a wanton, all men's mistress. What do you want with me? What are your gifts worth, light bestower? All lips know your kiss. What is your word worth, soft-tongued liar? You have deceived all men. Why do you follow, woo me, follow like a light-headed girl? What can I give you? What can you give me? What do you want with me? Painted wanton, tassled hoary, gay in your dress of shame. You are all men's willing mistress. What do I want with you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Life's Leaders by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist They're clouded wine, they're whited bread, we cannot take and call it good. Yet sorry of fair life grudges us, who have no taste for common food. We must go hungry long life through, aching and hungry to the end, Betrayed by pity into chains, reason tries vainly to transcend. Are we not sadly prodigal? We spend ourselves without restraint. Yay, we let beauty break our hearts and bleed for love until we faint. Yet it is not the thorns, the shame, not the hurt body's weak distress. Our bitterest crucifixion lies in man's abject unworthiness. From life's rough cloth and flying threads, from dust, from passion, dreams and pain, From the dear madness men call love, from faith that lies beyond the brain, We shape the only deathless soul that mortal man will ever know. Behold his gratitude, these stones, they say, it is by the heart we grow. Still we build quietly and wait. The heart may break, the heart is frail, But a stone's strange ecstasy befriends us, and we dare not fail. The hand that points the solemn way may be a wanton hand at best, The great word echoing in our souls may be a bored god's casual jest. We cannot guess, we only know, tis written by some awful pen, We must be torches sacrificed to light the way for lesser men. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Faces. Faces. Restless faces and restless hands, not the divine restlessness of seeking, singing spirits, Not the impatient restlessness of a creature mad for wings, but a feeble thing, A futile thing, the restlessness of the marketplace, the fever of buying and selling. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Grain and Grapes by Elsa Gidlow, read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. This word came to me from one whose wisdom shapes the destiny of many. Let your thought be fruitful. Men like grain and grapes. I'll not be loved of men for my gifts, if men want grain and grapes alone. My thoughts are gnarled fantastic trees, grown up untended, Barely pruned, from ancient seed I have not sown. Their snake-malved roots are in my heart, I feel them hungrily intense, Drawing the seething love sap out. Prodigally I feed them all my being's vivid affluence. But thus far they have only borne veined blue buds, That bloom to be scarred flowers of inhuman pain, And little-opening leaves, like eyes full of a grave futility. Strange flowers foretell strange fruit, And gods stay breathless while they grow. Men call and look for grain and grapes, Their homely, humble, earth-warm fruits. But heaven is silent. The gods may know. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Oversoul by Elsa Gidlow, read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. My laughter rings in the highest mountains, My mockery echoes vividly over the peaks, My laughter and my mockery dance lightly together, Like derisive imps, But my soul never speaks. My wisdom sits on a promontory, And remotely overwatches the world. My pain stays forever, In that cave where the ragged ends of life come unfurled. My love cuts downward between mountains, Like a torrential cataract to the deeps, For love like life is a down-going, But my soul is like a thing that sleeps. It knows the remorseless depths, The thinnest ether of the farthest height. There are no lights or darknesses for its discovering. It has crawled on the earth, And it knows the joy of flight. It is speechless because it knows all speeches, Future and present, And what has gone before. It waits, swings like, And I myself cannot guess what it is waiting for. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Come and lie with me by Elsa Gidlow, Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. Come and lie with me and love me bitterness, Touch me with your hands a little, Kiss me as you lean above me With your cold, sadistic kisses. Wind your hair close, close around me, Pain might dissipate this blankness. Hurt me even, even wound me, I have need of love that stings. Come and lie with me and love me bitterness, So that I may laugh at things. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Futility by Elsa Gidlow, Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. Under all beauty that I know, All vital dreams, sharp loveliness, Under the hair, the lips of laughter, The dusk-dim eyes of pain, Lurks the single thing I fear, Hard-malved, implacable-eyed, The monster, the satter thing, futility. I cannot look on loveliness, Or burn the flame of ecstasy, Or even dream for very long, Without the annihilating fear That it will suddenly tear, some veil, And bear its dreadful face. When I am light with the exultation Mysteriously born of worship, Filled like a cup with the wine of wonder, At some great cloudy bloom of colour, Or learning the infinite secrets of rapture, With bared heart held to love's lips, Light's eyes are suddenly blinded, Life gropes in empty twilight, And the mocking mouth of the satter thing Lears at me from a veil of dust. Shuddering I crouch to earth, Trembling lest it come more near, Trembling lest it stretch a hand and touch me, Choked by an agony of horror lest its deadly eyes Should shrivel my flaming heart of dream, Sometimes I think the universe, Mind, passion, beauty, wisdom, Light, all fathomless life-wonders, Serve only for its cloak. It lurks like death in everything That has a singing heart, In all exultant voices, In all desires burning eyes, In youth's true soul, In love's slim hands, Sometimes I think it is life's core, This mocking-mouthed, implacable ghost, Sometimes I think it is life's core, Sometimes I think it must be God. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Roots by Elsa Gidlow, read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. Oh, heavily weighing earth, Oh, grim travail, In sunless silence with no hope of light, Oh, impotent wine, Oh, bracken food of pain, I accept you all, I accept the timeless blight Of crawling like a worm with unclean things, Of being forever a yearning, voiceless root, Bedded in this unworned oblivion, So that the great sun mellow, My ultimate fruit. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. I must be far by Elsa Gidlow, read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. I must be far from men and women To love their ways. I must be on a mountain, Breathing greatly, like a tree, If my heart would yearn a little For the peopled placid valley. I must be in a bare place And lonely as a moon To find the graceless ways Of people worthful as a flower's ways. A flower that lives for loveliness And dies when beauty dies. I cannot find music on the tongues of men and women Unless I hear their voices like echoes, Silence softened, There many words mean little. Their mouths are blatant sparrows. I must be far from men and women As God is far away. To keep my faith with beauty, My heart sweet towards them, And love them with a God's tranquility. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Ecstasy by Elsa Gidlow, read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. Stars turn from your courses, Stars, stars I want you, Spill into my hands, I have found a new loneliness, A new strong loneliness that no one understands. I know a new joy, stars, A joy of the still peak, The wonder of air's knife-sharp. Stars, I have learned to know them, I have learned the tongue they speak. Stars, I can understand them, All the words they say, all the subtle things. They teach me exaltation, A new intoxication, Find drawn as the music of harp strings. Alone, alone, Alas, stars, I can hear my skin breathe, Hear my blood beat, How can flesh be so light, Feet walk and touch nothing, Thought become so fleet? Time is a rhymeless poem without any end, Written in space, Here at the world's summit, Where life-giving winds sharply whip one's face. Life is the one reality, Life intensely realised, Life wildly felt, Death is an ungrasped dream, A vague monstrous fable, A puzzle still unspelt. Alone, alone, No other thing that breathes in this keen place. Oh, my new joy, Joy of singing summits of endless, vibrant space. Stars, stars, stoop down, Stars, turn from your courses, Spill into my hands. Stars, you are my kindred, I am strong with a new loneliness, That no one understands. End of poem This recording is in the public domain. Youth Insatiate by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist If I have wished for skies Unscarred by storm Shrunk from the grievous bitterness of things, The day's perplexities, The night's unrest, The cruel, fruitless beating With clipped wings Against the windows of the infinite, And weary with the conflicts, Purile stress, Cried out against it all, Cried out for peace, Even what peace the rotting dead possess. May life forgive me, I am stronger now, The play bewilders, but I know my part, And I have learned that beauty is salt blood, Pain rung from the unconquerable heart. Let there be laughter then, Love's wine and bread, The many mouths of passion, Their joys, their grief, These are but soil and seed, For what grave growths? I plant and wait, And pray the time be brief, Lean wisdom this, To pause and taste and pause Like a scared virgin who must stop for breath, Take the cup simply, Drain it to the leaves, Then, smiling, Fling the empty cup to death. End of poem This recording is in the public domain. Disillusionment by Elsa Gidlow by Newgate Novelist The agonies of disillusionment are the growing pains of truth. I am done with ineffectual dreams, Kindly play toys of the unsure years, And unencumbered, Proud and free and light, With even pulses and a lifting heart, I mount the future's twisting stairs. A week ago I thought that I must die, Or hang for ever, bitter as frost-killed fruit, Scard and broken from the tree of life, Because I suddenly came into my sight, And men walked as trees, And dreams went mute. Tis no small thing to lose a dear, sure world, To stumble, desolate, through hideous space, Down unfamiliar and unfriendly roads, That bruise your feet. And then to suddenly feel a great light, Newly shining in your face. End of poem This recording is in the public domain. The Hole in My Curtain by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist It is because of the hole in my curtain. I have stared through the torn space Into life's tortured face, As she leaned low and treadled her loom, Watching, watching for the inevitable doom, And I have seen the haggard shadows Flit over the tapestries she wove, Bit by bit, feverishly, Her lips, shrieking gay lies, And always the tired song In her endless eyes. I have watched the form with his weary, cynical face, His pale smile, his definite, measured pace, Gliding forward and gliding back, Like a thing condemned, And calmly slitting life's woven cloths From end to end. And they have wondered that I should laugh, Marvelled at the potent wines I quaff, Marvelled that I should dance on their god's dried flesh, Shape a lute from a bone of his, Weave a mesh of mirthless melody, That I should find sin fair, Circle her body and sleep in her odorous hair. They have marveled that I should mock the day, Throw my veil over the sun, And smile at fate's old play, Lead my soul down the ribald, flowered path. They have marveled. They have wondered that I should laugh, I have looked too long through the hole in my curtain. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Despair by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. I can laugh now. Have you not heard my laughter? It leads the winds, they come tumbling and bubbling after. I have learned to laugh. I have learned to laugh with my spirit and with my soul. Listen, do you not hear it? I shall quench the world, I shall sear the stars with my laughter, Shrivel the moon and the sun, And make new ones after. For life's skeleton, I shall make flesh from desires. Then of my mounting laughter, Build it a temple with mocking spires. I shall laugh to heaven, I shall laugh below hell and above. I shall laugh forever. It was laughter God died of. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Declaration by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. I am a seed in the dust, A live root bedded in night, And I am filled with a lust for something The worms call light. From what seed pod I was blown, Matters little to me, Why and by whom I was sown, Or what the reaping may be. I only wait for my hour When I shall be done with night, When I shall thrill into flower And drink till I die of light, End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Poet by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. We are given pain to balance every joy, We tragic-eyed divinities in dust. Many the heart's life bleeds with little wounds, The souls bewildered between God and lust, We know the way of pity and pity's pain, We know the unlit, endless street-called doubt, And few but walk a black way at the end, The piteous, hopeless candles dead, Burned out. Yet these are mortal wounds, Of mortal thorns. What of the few who suffer deadlier scars, They are worse wounded than any in the world, Who bruise their lifted heads against the stars? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Love, Zachalite, by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. Many have loved you with lips and fingers, And lain with you till the moon went out. Many have brought you lovers' gifts, And some have left their dreams on your doorstep, But I, who am youth among your lovers, Come like an acolyte to worship, My thirsting blood restrained by reverence, My heart a wordless prayer, The candles of desire are lighted, I bow my head afraid before you, A mendicant who craves your bounty, A shamed of what small gifts he brings. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. From the Top of the World by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. Come to me at the top of the world, oh mine, Before the years spill our rare love into Time's cup, And give our will to Time's will. My wide basin is full of starlight, My moon is lighted with new fire, I have lit every sun in the firmament With the hurting flame of my desire, The worms there in the valley die to forget death, But here at the top of the world I laugh under my breath. There is pain here and tears, bitter, terrible tears, But the joys have worn mouths, And madness dances downwards with the years. Come to me at the top of the world, oh mine, The valley is deep, the valley is full of the dying, And with those that sleep, But here wonderful winds blow, And the pines sing one song. Come to me at the top of the world, come soon, I have waited too long. End of poem. Recording is in the public domain. Episode by Elsa Gidlow. Read for LibraVox.org by Newgate Novelist. I have robbed the garrulous streets, Thieved a fair girl from their blight. I have stolen her for a sacrifice That I shall make to this mysteryed night. I have brought her laughing to my quietly sinister garden. For what will be done there, I ask no man's pardon. I brush the rouge from her cheeks, Clean the black coal from the rims of her eyes, Loose her hair, uncover the glimmering, shy limbs. I break wild roses, scatter them over her. The thorns between us sting like love's pain. Her flesh, bitter and salt to my tongue, I taste with endless kisses and taste again. At dawn I leave her asleep in my wakening garden. For what was done there, I ask no man's pardon. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Experience by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibraVox.org by Newgate Novelist. Now you are gone. I kiss your dented pillow And wonder if it hungers like my breast, For the dear head we both have held in rest. I said once, Love alone cannot assuage my thirst, my hunger. Love has no reply for that wild questioning, For this fierce cry. I said, There is no kiss can feed me now. Perhaps love is life's flower. I seek the root. Yay, I have loved, And love is dead sea fruit. Yet I lie here And kiss your dented pillow. A trembling girl who loves you over much. A harp in anguish For the player's touch. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. This is not love by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibraVox.org by Newgate Novelist. This is not love. We cannot call it love. Love would make me aware of infinite things. Drive me down the spirit's vast abyss And through the narrow fastnesses of pain. This is not love. Yet it holds loveliness beyond mere pleasure. Peace and passion both grow from the kiss With which I paint drab hours. It is not love. Love is for the gods and our more godlike moments. Yet when stars withhold their splendour Why should we not light candles To warm with kindly mortal flames The all-enfolding cold, immortal night? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A happy song by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibraVox.org by Newgate Novelist. Heaped sweets and a treasure For a new sin to play with To pass a night and a day with Heaped sweets for a pleasure. Who and who will win them? Who will carry virtue's pole? Of what use are sins at all If someone does not sin them? Who will take the treasure? Run and run on light-winged feet? Who will buy my sweetest sweet With a newfound pleasure? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. As usual by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibraVox.org by Newgate Novelist. You say you will not think of me. You shut me out and count your beads. The chaplet of your rules and doubts. But lovers never think of creeds. You'll fill your mind with serious things. You'll think of God or infinity. Of a lover whose last charm is gone Of anything in the world but me. Yet every thought will lead you back. Infinity grow far and dim. And God, with his sense of irony, Will never let you think of him. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Artist by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibraVox.org by Newgate Novelist. Let us leave off loving Madonna. You have kissed me gray and still I have no peace. We thought we could make the night A tapestry of passion. Dear love, what a vain caprice. Where is the immortal design? We thought we had splashed on the indigo cloth. And where is the cloth? Dawn is forever the cynic. He shows us love is the flame. Our flesh the eternal moth. Madonna. Loose me and rise. We are brief as apple blossom And I am heart weary with thought of the end. Creation is all. The hours are thieves, time a beggar And we have little to spend. I ache for the brush in my hand. The thrall of the compliant pigment governs my blood. I will paint you Madonna. The after-love glow in your face. I would deify you if I could with enchantments of colour. Bind you with fetters of terrible beauty. Fast to my canvas forever. Give you the eternality God has denied you. Bind you to life with art's sacred chains That death cannot sever. Love has betrayed us enough with its treacherous wonder. Let us go now while we ache with the magic Or what is the gain? Art is our one immortality. All we may win from the gods in exchange For our labour and pain. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sudden Friendship by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist Yesterday we walked apart Separate and cold and mortal Now the mystic kiss has joined us Now we stand inside the portal That permits of no returning And my heart is strangely burning I know not what the wood may be Or what the charm or what the token That has filled us with this glory But never let the charm be broken Let it stay a mystery For all time to be Yesterday with lighter joys We wantoned at the outer portal Now with love's old alchemy We have made ourselves immortal. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Love Song by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist My love, you destroy me. You rend. You tear me apart. You are a wild swan I have caught And housed in my heart. My sister, my love, I am shattered, broken, dismayed. The live wings, the wild wings, are beating. They make me afraid. Fold your wings, brood like a dove. Be a dove I can cherish, more calmly, my dear. My tempestuous love. Or I perish. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Late Autumn Afternoon by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist Gray Fingered with flickering threads of light Silence broken by rustless quavers of music Grayness Music A playing thought of slumber And on my lips faintly disturbing fingers And at my heart loves hand like a child's hand Stirring me whole for wake End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Philosophy by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist Since we must soon be fed as honey and new bread To ever hungry death Love me very sweet and kiss me very long And let us use our breath for song Nothing else endures over long End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. You Are Not She by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist You Are Not She I Loved You cannot be my wild white dove My tempest driven dove that I gave house You cannot be my love She died I used to hold her all night long Come awake at dawn beside her Try to ease with loving a thirst too deep to slake Oh, it was pain to keep her shut against me Honey and bitterness to taste her with sharp kisses And hold her after in brief duress You cold woman You stranger with her ways smiling cruelly You tear my heart as never her wild wings beating wounded me End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Love Sleep by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist Watch my love in sleep Is she not beautiful as a young flower at night Weary and glad with dew Pale curved body that I have kissed too much Warm with slumber's flush Breasts like mounded snow too small for children's mouths Lips a red spring bud My love will bring to bloom How restlessly she moves She no more than a child Sturs like a woman troubled with guilt of secret sins Twin furtive tears glide from the shadows Her eyes shadowed blue Her dreaming must be sad What grief to watching love that it is impotent For all its reckless strength When the sleep gates close End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. When Love Becomes a Stranger by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist When Love Becomes a Stranger In the temple he has built Of remembered nights and days When he sighs and turns away From the altar in the temple With on returning feet When the candles flicker out And the magical sweet incense vanishes Do you think there is grief born In any god's heart? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Of A Certain Friendship by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist Odd how you entered my house quietly Quietly left again While you stayed you ate at my table Slept in my bed There was much sweetness Yet little was done Little said After you left there was pain Now there is no more pain But the door of a certain room in my house Will be always shut Your fork, your plate The glass you drank from The music you played Are in that room with the pillow Where last your head was laid And there is one place in my garden Where it's best that I set no foot. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Constancy by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist You're jealous if I kiss this girl and that You think I should be constant to one mouth Little you know of my too quenchless drowth My sister, I keep faith with love, not lovers Life laid a flaming finger on my heart Gave me an electric golden thread Pointed to a pile of beads and said Link me one more perfect than the rest Loves the thread, my sister, you a bead An ivory one, you are so delicate These first-burned ash grey Far too passionate Farther on the colours mount and sing When the last beads painted with the last Design and slipped upon the thread I'll tie it so, then smiling quietly I'll turn and go, while vain life boasts Her latest ornament. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Nacidica by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist I shall not harm you at all Nor ask you for anything you need have no fear I am only very tired and would like to rest a while With my head here and play with the long strands Of your loose hair or touch your skin Feel your cool breath on my eyes Watch it stir those rising hills Where your breasts begin And listen to your voice whispering tender words Until, perhaps, I fall asleep Or feel you kiss my forehead To comfort me a little if I should weep That is all, just to lie so beside you Till dawn's lamp is lit You need not fear me I have given too much of love Ever to ask for it End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Friend Departs by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist It is not alone that you have gone from me All the hungry, fragile roots of hope Are blasted by a thing I cannot name And I am desolate remembering the rare kiss The intimate, silent climbing from passion To a breathless comprehension Even my peace of heart, born of long pain, dies Drowned in a turbulence of passion Life today is like a glass reflecting nothing more Than my own grieving eyes Or like a goblet that I sit and stare at Empty of all but stains of last night's wine End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. I Love Her by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist I shall never have any fear of love Not of its depth nor its uttermost height Its exquisite pain and its terrible delight I shall never have any fear of love I shall never hesitate to go down Into the fastness of its abyss Nor shrink from the cruelty of its awful kiss I shall never have any fear of love Never shall I dread love's strength Nor any pain it might give Through all the years I may live I shall never have any fear of love I shall never draw back from love Through fear of its vast pain But build joy of it and count it again I shall never have any fear of love I shall never tremble nor flinch From love's moulding touch I have loved too terribly and too much Ever to have any fear of love End of poem This recording is in the public domain Relinquishment by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist Go her way A quiet, quiet way Her way is best for one so wistful tired My three months lover Go with your world-sick heart Your love bruised flesh I am no sanctuary This hot mouth, these ardent, outreaching arms This hollow between my breasts These hungry limbs They are a cradle, a cradle of living flame No haven for you Saddening after peace I am not certain, no Nor soothing safe Mine is the shifting, perilous way of life Pitiless, ever-changing, hazardous My love insatiate and mutable Go her way Her quiet, well-paved way Sit by her hearthfire Let her keep you safe Mine, the unharbored heart The uncharted passions Mine, at the end, a more than common peace End of poem This recording is in the public domain The Face in the Rain by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist Form, oh face, elfin face in the crowd Form, face, white throat, pale throat Wound with a scarf, poppy red, blood-like, red Pale throat, wound with a poppy scarf Gleaming out of the crowd Background of grey, a rain-wet street Shuffling, shambling, beating feet Past the corner where four ways meet Oh face, oh throat Crimson and white, splashed on grey I have thought of nothing else all day Misted streets, a scarf wound throat Fae-like face that seemed to float Through the crowd like a wisp of song I have thought of them all day long End of poem This recording is in the public domain Grey Skies by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist I like grey skies At least they tell the truth Grey skies Reflective skies that do not laugh at all Nor weep vain tears Unpromising, unhoping Cold, grey skies No fear in them, nor any joy No tragedy, all grey I like grey skies Unweeping, smile-less skies They do not lie End of poem This recording is in the public domain Chant of Spring by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist Like an unhappy woman Earth frees herself from the arms of winter Surely winter, her indifferent lord Whose touch is death to her passionate body And weeping yields to spring The wooing maiden The slim girl who kisses her with awakening kisses Burning her lips and eyelids With flaming mouth loosed upon them Renewing her body with wildness of young caresses Holding her close while the reckless hours Dance to death One passion flowers growing in hidden places Memories Kisses given by the slim maiden One passion flowers All that is left to earth of her maddest lover End of poem This recording is in the public domain Dawn by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist Dawn opens like a great gold flower Petal by monstrous petal Quivering minute by minute, hour by hour Stretches great live leaves over hundreds of hills Scatters flakes of pollen dust into a few valleys Drops a loose petal down where a slender waterfall spills Morning opens like a gold flower Sturs and quivers singingly at the feet of day Shoots transparent light into a moving mist That twists spirally like a butterfly at play In the heart of the mist Morning opens a gold flower Superbly like a dawning passion Can night be the consummation of this expectant white hour? End of poem This recording is in the public domain Poppy song by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist Love in a garden of poppies Playing at living life Love with smiles in her speech Love dancing at dawn In a garden of flushed pink poppies Love unsmiling now At noon in the garden of poppies With a laugh under her eyelids Fear deep in her eyes And tangled with her hair Size and a struggling joy Love with a dim, strained face At night in the garden of poppies Her lips crushing the bloom From the fairest flower there Love drunk with the wine she has drawn From the poppie's heart Love with death at her breasts Love at the end of night Shaded by drooping poppies Love with scattered hair And strange stains on her lips Love with death at her breasts End of poem This recording is in the public domain To a young dancing girl By Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist Golden-eyed girl Do you see what I see? Do you see behind the veil That life laughs through? Golden-eyed girl I would like to laugh with you But my veil is torn And I see things pass like shadows In the depths of a crystal glass Golden-eyed girl You are young as springtime Your great eyes are dreamful Your rare lips sweet Shadows matter little to youth With dancing feet All of life's skeletons Wear gay dresses And youth is deceived By even death's caresses Golden-eyed girl You have years to dance and wonder Before your life's curtain Will wear into holes And let you see the hopelessness Hidden in souls You have many moons of laughter Many years to go Before you'll learn how heavy Dancing feet can grow End of poem This recording is in the public domain Chance by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist Strange that a single white iris Given carelessly One slumbering spring midnight Should be the first of love Yet life is written so If it had been a rose I might have smiled And pinned it to my dress We should have said good night Indifferently and never met again But the white iris It looked so infinitely pure In the thin green moonlight A thousand little purple things That had trembled about me Through the young years Painted into a shape I seem always to have known That I suddenly called love The faint touch of your long fingers on mine Wakened me I saw that your tumbled hair Was bright with flame That your eyes were sapphire souls With hungry stars in them And your lips were too near Not to be kissed Life crouches at the knees of chance And takes what falls to her End of poem This recording is in the public domain Loneliness by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist This loneliness encaged in me That has no curious heart for life No ribald blood, no treacherous flesh Nor golden wickedness of song This loneliness that prays in me Is it not somewhat like a nun? See the clasped hands, the secret eyes The lips pressed close for fear of love What if I make her drunk one day with wine Or some unholy need Then leave the cell door open wide Think you she might be tempted out End of poem This recording is in the public domain Before sleep by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist There is an autumn sadness upon me A sadness of buried trees And mist and delicate death of flowers There is an autumn sadness upon me A falling of leaves in my soul There is an autumn sadness upon me A dreamfulness in my heart And a wistful sense of longing There is faint moaning music Like cries of departing birds There are trembling hands on my eyelids A dim foreknowledge of tears and dreams Patterning ultimate slumber There is an autumn sadness upon me A falling of leaves in my soul End of poem This recording is in the public domain A thought by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist There are more songs in the far corners of my soul Than I shall ever be able to sing I shall go away long before they are all expressed And they will wait for another life For more suffering to give them birth Another life and many more tears and love To make them open their eyes to the light It will take many lives to express All the songs I hear singing to themselves Day and night End of poem This recording is in the public domain Epilogue by Elsa Gidlow Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist Why are you laughing, poet? I much prefer your size I myself have just read one of your songs And tears are biting my eyes And why should I not laugh? I cleaned my heart of its dust Swept my spirit clear of its cobwebs Gathered them up and thrust them from me And then men passing found the hole Called them songs and sang them and exalted They thought they had found my soul End of poem This recording is in the public domain And End of On a Gray Thread by Elsa Gidlow