I have old women’s secrets now
That had those of the young;
Madge tells me what I dared not think
When my blood was strong,
And what had drowned a lover once
Sounds like an old song.

Though Marg’ry is stricken dumb
If thrown in Madge’s way,
We three make up a solitude;
For none alive today
Can know the stories that we know
Or say the things we say:

How such a man pleased women most
Of all that are gone,
How such a pair loved many years
And such a pair but one,
Stories of the bed of straw
Or the bed of down.

First published in London Mercury, May 1927 as one of “Two Songs from the Old Countryside”, then included as one of “The Old Countryman” in October Blast (1927), then included as one of “A Man Young and Old” in The Tower

A, – Very Pleasant

We’re sitting in the opera house;
We’re waiting for the curtain to arise
With wonders for our eyes;
We’re feeling pretty gay,
And well we may,
“O, Jimmy, look!” I say,
“The band is tuning up
And soon will start to play.”
We whistle and we hum,
Beat time with the drum.

We’re sitting in the opera house;
We’re waiting for the curtain to arise
With wonders for our eyes,
A feeling of expectancy,
A certain kind of ecstasy,
Expectancy and ecstasy… Shhhhh.

B, – Rather Sad

From the street a strain on my ear doth fall,
A tune as threadbare as that “old red shawl,”
It is tattered, it is torn,
It shows signs of being worn,
It’s the tune my Uncle hummed from early morn,
’Twas a common little thing and kind ’a sweet,
But ’twas sad and seemed to slow up both his feet;
I can see him shuffling down
To the barn or to the town,
A humming.

I.
In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan;
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.

IV.
Angels and Archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air;
But only His Mother
In her maiden bliss
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

V.
What can I give Him,
Poor as I am? —
If I were a Shepherd
I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man
I would do my part, —
Yet what I can I give Him, —
Give my heart.

Love is like dew
On lilacs at dawn:
Comes the swift sun
And the dew is gone.

Love is like star-light
In the sky at morn:
Star-light that dies
When day is born.

Love is like perfume
In the heart of a rose:
The flower withers,
The perfume goes–

Love is no more
Than the breath of a rose,
No more
Than the breath of a rose.

I have desired to go
Where springs not fail,
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail
And a few lilies blow.

And I have asked to be
Where no storms come,
Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,
And out of the swing of the sea.

A tender child of summers three,
at night, while seeking her little bed,
Paused on the dark stair timidly,
Oh, mother take my hand, said she,
And then the dark will be light…
We older children grope our way
from dark behind to dark before;
And only when our hands we lay
in Thine, O God! the night is day,
and there is darkness never more.

Love can lace leaves together
And make them proof against the world,
Or strengthen whatever insubstantial roof houses a family.
Sometimes at night all mothers waken
And with the littlest light, and greatest quiet,
Tour the rooms to see that all sleep, covered well, and peacefully;
To chase out dreams and let in more fresh air,
And just be glad that each is sleeping there.
Love can lace even leaves
And make them proof against peril,
Or strengthen whatever insubstantial roof.

From “The Reflective Rib,” 1955

Raindrops, soft from the mist,
Disturb the stillness of my thoughts.
Raindrops, soft from the mist, beat down.
No birdnote breaks the all pervading hush,
No ray of moonlight cuts the darkness.
No footstep comes along the graveled pathway,
Nor the sound of a stone displaced.
Soft raindrops, fresh from the mist,
Dull the pain of loneliness.
Soft raindrops, fresh from the mist, beat down.
Raindrops, unceasing:
They bring again the breath of a presence.
Raindrops, insistent:
They bring again a long lost dream.
Raindrops, unending:
They fall into my soul, into my heart,
And mingle with my tears.

Sure on this shining night
Of star made shadows round,
Kindness must watch for me
This side the ground.
The late year lies down the north.
All is healed, all is health.
High summer holds the earth.
Hearts all whole.
Sure on this shining night
I weep for wonder wand’ring far alone
Of shadows on the stars.

From a longer poem, “Description of Elysium” published in Agee’s singular volume of poetry, Permit Me Voyage, 1934

Close my darling both your eyes,
Let your arms lie still at last.
Calm the lake of falsehood lies
And the wind of lust has passed,
Waves across these hopeless sands
Fill my heart and end my day,
Underneath your moving hands
All my aching flows away.

Even the human pyramids
Blaze with such a longing now:
Close, my love, your trembling lids,
Let the midnight heal your brow,
Northward flames Orion’s horn,
Westward th’ Egyptian light.
None to watch us, none to warn
But the blind eternal night.

From The Carnival, 1938

Little star of Bethlehem!
Do we see Thee now?
Do we see Thee shining
O’er the tall trees?
Little Child of Bethlehem!
Do we hear thee in our hearts?
Hear the Angels singing:
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Noel!

O’er the cradle of a King,
Hear the Angels sing:
In Excelsis Gloria, Gloria!
From his Father’s home on high,
Lo! for us He came to die;
Hear the Angels sing:
Venite adoremus Dominum.