Chapters 41
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1 01 - Pegasus 1:25
Pegasus Once in a saffron twilight, rich with the sound of bells, In a dim meadow straying, high on the lonely fells, I saw Pegasus, winged Pegasus, cropping the asphodels. His neck was clothed with thunder, His feet with strength were shod. Terrible in his beauty, he grazed on the starry sod. A white, untamable beauty, a stallion fit for a god. Meekly he ranged unfettered, his wings were wet with dew, and where he trailed in the blotomy grass a misty rainbow grew, those strong exultant pinions that trample the windy blue. Then suddenly he raised his head. I felt the pulsing beat of his valiant hoofs. He sprang on the track of the stars' unleashed and fleet. I was alone, but deep in the grass was the print of his deathless feet.
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2 02 - In October 0:54
In October by Maria Letitia Stockett. Read for LibriVox.org by Kessie.
In a shower of ruddy gold from a thinning tree, Jove comes down. Naked, brown, the earth lies done-ay. Still she lies with hushed breath. Through each dreaming clod runs the fire of desire. Passion of a god. Danaï lies in her dark tower. On a march hillside springs the wheat. There the feet of young Perseus stride.
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3 03 - Sleep 1:36
Sleep by Maria Letitia Stockett.
Last night I slid into the sea of sleep, translucent, cool, and deep. I left my dusty self upon the sand, like an old garment. Naked, free, I felt the waves close over me. The curious eager water pressed against the white curve of my breast. Then deep, deep through the green depths I sank into the sea of sleep. This morning I rose out of the dark tide. I rose through darkness, and there was no light, no radiance to illumine the dusk, only the pallid gloom of sleep, first green, then blue. Then the thin water parted, and the sun shone through. There lay my body. Strangely, it was I. What did I bring back from the soundless deep, from that gray ancient sea of sleep? The glint of sunken gold, the plaintive knell of some drowned bell, remembrance vague and dim of ghostly argosies, the misty shores of far Hesperides, the wraith of mermaids beckoning white and slim, the faint sea music of a curved shell.
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4 04 - Free 1:09
Free by Maria Letitia Stockett. Read for LibriVox.org by Cassie.
I am a beggar maiden. I sleep beneath a thorn. At night my tree is thick with stars. I see the slender horn of the young moon. I see the clean, essential light of morn.
The King Cofetua and his Queen ride by disdainfully. He glitters like a dragonfly. A scornful mouth has she. A curled red leaf. Yet she was once a beggar maid like me. The spearmen ride before them. My path no mortal knows. A ruby smolders on her brow. My thicket yields a rose. Dance, dusty feet. I'm glad I'm not the maid Cofetua chose.
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5 05 - Our Lady of Understanding 1:37
Our Lady of Understanding Our Lady understands, though prayerful are her folded hands. Her face is pale within the azure shadow of her veil. Here in this shrine she seems remote, apart, for the dim centuries have quenched her fire. The slow years molded her to their desire. Ah, still she knows the ecstasy that glows in my wild heart. Once not submissive, meek, with pensive brow and duteous cheek, there came a cry exultant, strong. My soul doth magnify the Lord. Clear as a ringing sword I hear her song. In high humility she knew herself to be the chosen of God, the gate of the divine. I kneel before her shrine, I gaze upon her tranquil face. Hail Mary, full of grace! I, too, know love, and I am humble, proud, and wise.
Our Lady understands all joy, all woe. The Son of God she laid to rest upon her breast. She knew the wounded hands, and there is nothing else to know.
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6 06 - At Eventide 0:57
At Evening Tide by Maria Letitia Stockett. Read for LibriVox.org. I shall light the candle. You will play for me in the winter twilight a quiet melody. Let there be no sorrow in your song or tears. Let all grief be ended. All the iron years set our love to music like a rose in June, all the summer's beauty in one slender tune.
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7 07 - Sacrament 1:16
Sacrament by Maria Letitia Stockett.
As up and down the fields I went, the fields of trembling wheat under the high blue heavens of June, in summer's poppied heat. I worked at homely common tasks, a sharp stubble neath my feet. But I was not alone. I knew a comradeship most sweet. For as I gathered up the sheaves and bound the heavy grain, one whispered, "'Yea, the world needs food. Hungry it goes, and fain am I to be its bread, and give my body for its pain. For this I lay in the dark earth, through sun and singing rain. Into the vineyard I was sent. There one was keeping tryst. I cut the grapes, how beautiful their bloomy amethyst!' He said, This is my blood, The wine poured for the world, ye wist, In wheat and grape ye work with me, To make my Eucharist.
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8 08 - Truth In a Well 0:48
Truth in a Well by Maria Letitia Stockett.
I peered into a well and saw the blue, blue eye of God look into mine far from the sun, far from the friendly sod, and suddenly I was afraid. The old wives' tales are true. God is the truth hid in a well. How dread his gaze, how blue.
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9 09 - Silence 0:43
Silence by Maria Latita Stockett. Read for liberox.org by Blueberry Bear. We are still. There are no words. Across the sky, a wedge of birds flies northward, brown and thinned. A brittle leaf wraps in the wind. The sun creeps on from tree to tree. We are still. Where a word spoken, like a troubled pool, is silence broken.
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10 10 - Jewels 1:25
Emerald, ruby, amethyst, sardius, beryl, topaz, jade, all the ramparts round high heaven of these shining stones are made. But to beggars who must stretch parched roads with weary feet, God has flung his jewels down in the very city street. In this meager dusty square, linden spot in emerald mist, lilacs burdened with perfume, bloom in heavenly amethyst. Here is water crystal clear, virgin jade is not more green. At the pool's edge Judah's trees. Start with ruby blossoms lean. Emerald, topaz, amethyst, glittering unearthly bright. Scattered by the hand of God. Beryl, sardis, chrysolite.
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11 11 - The Pool 1:06
The Pool by Maria Letitia Stockett.
There is a pool, silent, dark, and still. It holds the patterns of the trees, the polished lacquered traceries, until a whimpering breeze breaks the design at will. And through those waters dart Isla's fish and blind, Some silver-colored as a star, or crimson as a bloody scar. Sinister their beauties are, like mad thoughts in the mind. Stranger than scaly thing or imagined leaf, I see myself a shadow there. The fish are gliding through my hair. My dull eyes have a fixed stare, drowned in the pool of grief.
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12 12 - Larkspur 0:50
Larkspur.
Out in the garden, as you played, a breeze moved to and fro, Across my bed of larkspur, in grave adagio, The wind with touch most delicate Went up and down the scale, Wine-dark frail amethyst and blue, Blue as our lady's veil. You played softly to yourself, your brown hands on the keys, and God with larkspur, you with sound, were making harmonies.
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13 13 - Sounds 1:09
Sounds by Maria Letitia Stockett.
I shut my eyes, and all around, the room is murmurous with sound. Small lovely sounds without within, faint as a muted violin. On the low roof the quiet rain falls hushingly in wistful strain. It makes soft music in the leaves, and drifts staccato from the eaves. A gray moth flutters her frail wings. Against the glass the kettle sings. Some one is reading, low and clear, of Ronces Falls and Oliver. And with this voice all sounds are blent, in pensive slow accompaniment, a melody made up of rain, young leaves, A gray moth on the pane.
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14 14 - To Salari’s Madonna 0:49
How deep a mystery, the very source of life thou art, And yet thou liest on my heart. O little sun, joy pierceth me, Is thus fulfilled the old man's prophecy? Sweet, sweet thy lips, nay, little son. A sword, a sword, said Simeon.
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15 15 - The Bathers 1:10
Or by and B. Sweet Thirteen.
All in the misty weather, when clouds were hanging low, I trod a leafy wooden path long, long ago. The cold green light of morning shivered among the trees. The little leaves were tremulous, stirred by an eerie breeze. And then to me was given a sight that one might dream, three maidens, white and glistening, bathing in a stream. One floated, eddily drifting. One shook her wet locks free. One stood as slender as a boy, as white as ivory. Naked, unshamed, untrambled—ah, never did they know. I saw three maidens bathing, long. Long ago.
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16 16 - At the Symphony 1:12
At the Symphony The lights grow dim, there comes a hush, then swiftly in a mighty rush, as of great waters over me, break the slow surges of the symphony. With a vast sweep a gesticle, like emerald waves that toppling fall, In foam far off and faint begins the swelling beauty of the violins. Silent! On some far beach I've heard the high sweet keening of a bird. Now all the instruments are mute, but the rich music of a lonely flute. Once more the wave is poised to break. Once more the windswept waters shake my soul, and in this harmony I know the splendor of the trampling sea.
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17 17 - Wedding Song 1:06
Wedding Song by Maria Letitia Stockett. Read for LibriVox.org. This is her room. The sunlight lies in squares upon the floor. Here are her books. The ivory god she brought from Singapore. Here she stood in shining white. Her hands were kind and cool. Her eyes were very still that day, serene and beautiful. Out in the sun, the garden glowed, and I remember this, the fragrance of the grapes, a shower of starry clematis.
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18 18 - February 1:01
February by Maria Letitia Stockett. Read for LibriVox.org by Andrew Gantz.
All the rhythms of life are slow. All the streams are choked with snow. Evening skies are pale. The very stars are still. On the long slope of the hill, wood smoke weaves a pattern frail. No cloak, no pretense here. The earth is clean as a naked spear. Beauty is stripped bare. But she will stoop as winter lingers, to pluck our beautus with expectant fingers, and weave the cold sweet blossoms in her hair.
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19 19 - To the Four Archangels 1:10
Though you with scaly dragons fight, you would not be afraid. If Gabriel should stoop to you, a rainbow in his wings, What luminous secrets you would know, what wise and simple things. If Raphael with you should strive until the stars grew dim, Angelic vigor would be yours, the strength of seraphim. If on your sight great Uriel burned, whose feet with fire are shod, He'd touch your earthly song of praise into a flame for God. Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Holy Uriel, guard you well.
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20 20 - A Prisoner 2:20
A Prisoner by Maria Letitia Stockett. Read for LibriVox.org by Kessie. A prisoner am I. In fivefold gives and strong I shall be captive, bound my whole life long. But fettered, I shall make my bonds into a shining song. For if it were not for the chains I bear, I should be unaware. Of the frail splendor of a peacock pacing slow. Rich, opalescent dyes. Blue. Green. Bronze-burnished, lustrous, argent eyes. A fanfarade of lapis, azure, emerald, and jade. A glory of spread plumes where shattered rainbows played.
And never should I know the sound of running water, soft and low. The hushed gray music of a summer rain, a plain-song cadence, beautiful and strange, old wistful chants scarred with lost Eden's pain. Nor should I mark the rough austerity of surf, the rude caress of waves that buffet me, or find delight in the cool touch of smoothed ivory. And always I should lack the scent of burning leaves, the poignant smack of box, or heliotrope in the hot sun, primroses opening their pale stars one by one. Then, too, I should forgo the savor of fresh bread, clear-dripping honey thick with the perfume of the red clover bloom. And never should I cool my parched mouth with luscious apricots. Warm, tinctured of the South.
God, when my body must return to dust, oh, let me be not utterly set free from these my friendly bonds. Oh, let me use them there, as here, for thee, with deeper rapture, keener ecstasy.
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21 21 - Afterward 0:39
Afterward by Maria Latita Stockett. Read for LibraRocks.org by Blueberry Bear.
Now I remember very plain. A sumac leaf was red. The bloom of grape was on the hills. The river was a twisted thread. That day I marked not leaf, nor hill, nor rivers to the sea. I was my lover's garden closed. I was his tower of ivory.
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22 22 - The Ascent of Ishtar 2:00
The Ascent of Ishtar At the first gate they gave the veil to Ishtar. On earth a pear-tree trembles into bloom. The poplar weaves a web of changeful green and silver. Lord Tammuz comes back from his dusty tomb. At the second gate they sped her on the journey. They gave her bracelets for her hands and slender feet. Through the reeds the wind goes piping piping, the flutes of Tammuz are piping shrill and sweet. And the jeweled circlet they bound about her waist. Can a ruby make the daughter of the moon more fair? Like bright spears in battle are the young men. And the maidens braid the pomegranate blossoms in their hair. About the breasts of Ishtar they bound the sumptuous ornaments, the necklace they surrendered and caused her to depart.
And the cedar knows the lady's strength and her dominions, for the dweller in the morning star makes strong the cedar's heart. At the sixth gate they brought to Lady Ishtar The earrings lovely as the silver-threaded rain. On the housetops there is the pleasant sound of showers, and on the slopes the green swords of grain. At the seventh gate they crown the queen of heaven. She has brought back Tammuz from the house of death. The winter is past, the rain is gone and over, and sweet is the vineyard in the south wind's breath.
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23 23 - Discovery 0:49
A bird to me was just a bird, A feathered thing one often heard piping in the early dawn, In the lilacs on the lawn. But from you I learned to see All the beauty there can be in the birds, The deep wood note throbbing in the veary's throat. A cardinal adventuring by, as if a poppy tried to fly. God speaks indeed from bush and tree, since you discovered birds for me.
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24 24 - Pomegranates 1:26
flash Extra! Ship sunk! The newsboys cry Before a little shop I pause where Pietro sells strange precious fruit, great globes of scarlet, heaps of gold, barbaric as a pirate's loot. I see pomegranates glowing there, and I forget the street at night. I hear the song of Solomon, Return, return, O Sholomite. Thy leaves are like a scarlet thread. O princess daughter, thou art fair. Thy garments are perfumed with myrrh. With aloes drips thy braided hair. Dim fragrant gardens close me in. The city as a dream has gone. And from the south I feel the winds blow soft from cedered Lebanon.
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25 25 - To Botticelli’s Venus 1:36
To Botticelli's Venus In the early dawning before the sun had risen, the wind piped mournfully along the lonely sand. The sea lay desolate, sunless desolate. There was no light upon the deep, or light upon the land. Before the sun had risen in the cold green twilight came a lady from the foam, a lady wistful-eyed. The crinkled waves beneath her feet ran eagerly before her. She drifted in from alien seas at the turn of the tide. Light came into the world with her. I knelt before her beauty, her pure and awful nakedness, unaware of shame. Her slender fingers hiding, the apple of her bosom, her red-gold hair unfilleted, blown like a windy flame. Softly blew the winds about her, softly fell the blossoms.
In her face was sorrow, for the long years to be, the kiss beneath the olives, the anguish of betrayal. Her grief was for the wounds of love, our lady of the sea.
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26 26 - Hagar 1:13
Hagar by Maria Letitia Stockett. Read for LibriVox.org by Mabusi.
The desert trembles in the heat. The water pools are bitter. Boy, we follow the camel track. Sarah rides in a scarlet litter. Here is the water, Ishmael, the bread your father gave. Sarah crumbles a wheaten cake. Her cup is filled by an eager slave. Tonight our tent is hung with stars. In comfort, Sarah rests. Abram dreams of the bondwoman, of Hagar's brown breasts. Lord Osiris, hear me. Isis, heavenly one. All men's hands are against me, but mine was the firstborn son.
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27 27 - The Piper 1:01
Lee You laid your slender fingers, your fingers long and brown, upon the pipes and lured me, far from the stolid town. You piped me to the greenwood, and there, when grace was said, we break and ate together the fairy's secret. Oh, then my ears were opened, and magically I heard the small leaves talk together, the gossip of a bird. Bewitched, there is no telling, but always till I'm dead, I'll hear your silver piping and eat your fairy bread.
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28 28 - The Judas Tree 0:48
The Judas Tree by Maria Letitia Stockett. Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson. Winter to my tree has lent beauty clean and innocent. Here no purple flowers blow, but crystal blossoms of the snow. Every crooked bough is set with starry petals delicate. Judas flung the silver down and hanged himself beyond the town. Spring returns. The traitor blood quickens in each scarlet bud. Frost and snow remember not. Mercy on Iscariot.
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29 29 - Waiting 0:51
Waiting by Maria Letitia Stockett. Read for LibriVox.org. I will be silent, but in the hush my heart will sing like a hermit thrush. I will be silent, I'll say no word. My love shall burn like a flame unstirred. I will be silent. My joy I'll hide, and wait as the sand for the turn of tide.
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30 30 - The Last Furrow 1:31
The Last Furrow by Maria Letitia Stockett. Read for LibriVox.org by Moisi. And suddenly my field was heaven. I saw a shepherd stand on the edge of my ploughed land, and every dusty furrow shun with gold, and every leaf and blade of grass, whose common loveliness I had let pass, now did unfold new beauties to my sight. God was that shepherd, garmented in light. And there was singing. In a beech and wood three maidens stood, and with their music praised God in a sweet and pleasant hymn. They danced, three maidens, white and slim. A measure delicately trod. He loves no sad austerities. God is well praised by nymphs beneath the trees. My field was heaven. An angel sped with a bright bolt and pierced the serpent's head.
Satan is on the heel. Good beasts enthralled. Velvet mole and leathern wing, worm with fiery sting, and every noisome slug that crawled are all set free. God is not in some alien place. In my ploughed field I saw the brightness of his face.
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31 31 - Horse Chestnuts 0:41
Horse Chestnuts by Maria Letitia Stockett. Read for LibriVox.org by Andrew Gontz.
In April my horse chestnuts were beautiful to see. Tapers set on every bough like candles on a tree. But now in late October, with frosty nights and cold, there is more poignant beauty. In their dim, tarnished gold.
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32 32 - The Unknown Soldier 1:28
The Unknown Soldier by Maria Letitia Stockett. Read for LibriVox.org by M. Lee. Then Jesus said, I thirst, and there was one who filled a sponge and put it to his mouth. An unknown Roman soldier, his the joy, in the three hours to quench that sacred drought. They had been dicing and the seamless coat. Had fallen to him. Now the thick darkness came over the land. He watched the crucified, wondering, in doubt, this soldier without name. Bacchus, the Jew, knew how to die. The nails were blunt. He neither railed nor cursed. Even the sturdy thief had called him Lord. At the ninth hour there came the cry. I thirst. The Roman held the vinegar to his lips, and looked with pity on his dying face. O unknown soldier, pray for me to give my love's poor wine, and give it with such grace.
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33 33 - The Fallow Fields 0:57
Let the fields lie fallow, bare and brown. Let the great winds stride over them, and the snow come down. Let them lie open to the sun, to the patient rain, and the dews whiten them ere they yield again. Plough in the sturdy weed, The common flower let their wild vigour yield a lusty dower. Then, after sun and snow, after dew and sleet, from the earth will spring the green flame of the wheat.
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34 34 - The Patteran 1:10
I'm married to a proper wife. My home is clean and neat, but I hear the gypsies calling me. I love the dancing feet. I long to up and follow them over the rolling moor. I sicken of my own hearth-fire, the lilacs by the door. I long to see the sweep of stars wheel nightly overhead. I want the four strong winds to be the four posts of my bed. I long to wake at dawn, when all the world is grey and cool, and slip into the lonely depth of a mountain pool. Three meals my wife sets for me, enough for any man, but on her freshly sanded floor, I see the Pateran.
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35 35 - To a Musician 1:31
To a Musician by Maria Letitia Stockett.
I thought that only God could make the rain. But when you laid your hands upon the keys, the room was full of gentle harmonies, an eager shower pattering on the pane, the hushed and wistful tread of rain at night that marches overhead. The kind gray rain that stills the windy trees. I thought that only God could make a star, but I have heard your fingers build the sky, have watched the yellow dusk of autumn die, and night creep up the east, immense and far. Then, glittering and bright, I've seen the hunter girt with silver light, Orion with his shining hounds sweep by. I thought that only God could make the sea, but in your music the unbounded deep is gathered up as in a treasure heap. Calm spaces, rocks where singing tides run free, the cloudy emerald foam, ships on the world-dim verge, far, far from home, and pools unrippled where the hushed winds sleep.
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36 36 - Tempo 0:59
Tempo by Maria Letitia Stockett. Read for LibriVox.org by Andrew Gantz.
My body could play delicate tunes, music exquisite and thin, but I must keep it in its case like a violin. A scherzo prances in my blood, mercurial and quick. I pirouette. The box snaps tight with a malicious click. A ceruband is not for me. It makes the varnish crack. I must play a grave, grave tune, slow and elegiac.
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37 37 - To Scriabine: L’Extase 0:59
To Scriabin, L'Extacee, not with the drums, the throbbing scarlet drums, not with the voice of a silver flute, not with the brazen clangor of cymbals, nor the trumpet slitting the silence, not with the maelstrom of sound, Monstrous, prodigious, comes ecstasy, but with stillness, as when a flame burns unflickering in far empty places, with the quiet of a leaf falling in the forest, with the hush of the elevation of the host.
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38 38 - Adam Asleep 1:32
Adam sleeps in Eden in this still place I lie within his circling arm and look upon his face.
God walks in the garden when the day is cool, but the face of Adam is far more beautiful. He is like the splendour of the sun at noon, and the slope of his body like the white young moon.
Of what is he dreaming as he lies at rest? Of God in the garden, or Lilith's breast?
Adam sleeps in Eden, but down in the break, I watch the cool glitter of a painted snake.
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39 39 - An Old House 0:44
I love an old house. It is like an aged face, the worn lines, the strange, defeated grace. Sorrow looks through these windows, through the crooked glass, and the sill is hollow where death's feet pass. But there is yet a beauty, a triumph, a haughty thrust, the meek defiance of ancient loveliness.
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40 40 - Moonrise 1:00
Moonrise by Maria Laetitia Stockett. Like a white lotus flower, the moon unfolds her luminous petals, and the stars grow pale. Vague mists withdraw, gray shadows o'er the water, shadows of twilight, tremulous and frail. The flutes of dusk are still, new worlds unveil. God for such moments made the nightingale. And yet, O Philomel, thou couldst not chant from the cool shadow of a cedar tree, so high a lay as this I hear in rapture. The song his utter silence sings to me. Of the brown earth is thy winged melody. But God is in this wordless ecstasy.
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41 41 - Caged 1:03
I have a caged bird. He beats the bars. Wild and bright his eyes. On his breast scars. An oriole whistles. My bird has not a note. Though I can see the song trembling in his throat. Other birds fly south to the green pompous floor, but in the blue air mine spreads his wings no more. I have a caged bird. He neither flies nor sings, but when the house is still, I hear the beat of wings.
End of the Hoofs of Pegasus. by Maria Letitia Stockett.