It is not in gay banners
That flaunt a crimson sky,
Nor in a drum’s quick throbbing
Not bugle’s keen swift cry;
Nor in the pride of marching men
That war’s essentials lie;
But in the red fields where horror screams
And youth lies rotting with its dreams.
–written in November 1939, published first in ‘Window on Eternity’
If hearts could break in April,
I think that mine would now;
But no hearts break in April,
When bloom is on the bough.
The whole world laughs in April,
And any heats that break,
May only break for loveliness’
And apple blossoms’ sake.
No hearts break for sorrow
When April’s on the hill.
Oh, sing for joy in April,
And breaking heart be still.
–New York Times, April 1948 (written in April 1939)
That hilltop spoiled me for a smaller view.
I measure with uncompromising eye
All later landscapes by the one I knew
Before I knew that landscapes could deny
The ampleness of meadowland and wood
Sweeping to distant mountains with rhythmic grace
So that within a single glance I could
Encompass all varieties of space.
Oh, I was greatly fortunate in living
There halfway up the sky, with large extent
Of mountain heights and valleys always giving
Enrichment to my eyes; but young days spent
Immediate neighbor of immensity
Make any other view look small to me.
-title poem from Halfway Up the Sky