By John Gneisenau Neihardt
First anthology of poems released through John G. Neihardt; good obtained.
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Additional info for A Bundle of Myrrh
With burning hills for breasts, and for a face Dim features dazzled with an inward sun; A form of classic curves, voluptuous slope Of neck and shoulders downward to the breasts; Arms warm and languid as the soul of Love And scintillant as rockets of the dawn I 20 John G. Neihardt And at her feet I dreamed to lay my head, A pigmy worshiper, who could not reach Unto the ankles mountain-high, where blazed Circles of jewels like chained satellites, To touch which with the finger-tips were deathl And I would guess sweet guesses-how her hair Made sunlight upward where my eyes saw not j How sweet the thunder of her beating heart And terrible I I sought and found her not.
Let your hair fall upon me like night rain 37 A Bundle of Myrrh And shut me from myself, and make me blind I How can I deem this bondage aught but kind? And yet-I cannot sleep for some dumb care Here in your hair. John G. Neihardt XXIII THE LYRIC NIGHT GIRL, if you could die before the dawn Makes shoddy this the garment of our dream, Above your shapely form of chiseled ice I could weep tears of gladness, seeing how The bitter freeze of death had chastened you I O But Day will come a-knocking at the blinds, Flooding the secret nooks of our delight, And all the gaud and tinsel of this dream Which now seems gold, shall be a mockery I The night lamp's glow, conniving at our joy, Shall struggle vainly with the virile Dawn, Sending a loathsome odor from its grease!
And in the nights I feel the breath of giant women: I feel their coarse blonde hair about my face. Their strong hands caress me. Comforters of battling men are they, Breeders of fighting men, Sucklers of the big and unafraid! o ancient Mate of mine I o good blonde Giantess, Blown far to hitherward through the weird ways of my sleeping I Thou knowest the hidden beauty of my lusts I Touch me in my prison of the Present I Thine eyes are blue with the calm understanding of the old skies, And thine hempen hair exhales the breath of the forests of home.