Now I am slow and placid, fond of sun, Like a sleek beast, or a worn one: No slim and languid girl – not glad With the windy trip I once had, But velvet-footed, musing of my own, Torpid, mellow, stupid as a stone. You cleft me with your beauty's pulse, and now Your pulse has taken body. Care not how The old grace goes, how heavy I am grown, Big with this loneliness, how you alone Ponder our love. Touch my feet and feel How earth tingles, teeming at my heel! Earth's urge, not mine, – my little death, not hers; And the pure beauty yearns and stirs. It does not heed our ecstacies, it turns With secrets of its own, its own concerns, Toward a windy world of its own, toward stark And solitary places. In the dark Defiant even now; it tugs and moans To be untangled from these mother's bones.
This poem is in the public domain.
Genevieve Taggard was born in Waitsburg, Washington, in 1894. She is best known as a biographer of Emily Dickinson, authoring The Life and Mind of Emily Dickinson (Alfred A. Knopf, 1930). She also wrote several poetry collections, including For Eager Lovers (Thomas Seltzer, 1922) and Not Mine to Finish: Poems 1928–1934 (Harper & Brothers, 1934). She died in New York City in 1948.
Date Published: 1921-01-01
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/child