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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  Max Michelson

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

The Tired Woman

Max Michelson

A present-day myth-play

  • The Woman
  • Messengers of Rest
  • Messengers of Light
  • Messengers of Beauty
  • The Apparition


  • Scene: A street of ugly red-brick rooming-houses. It is sunny but clouds are visible. The Woman is walking slowly. Messengers of Rest, clad in dark-grey and carrying a flowered carpet, appear.

    First Messenger, spreading the carpet:
    Bend, grains of wool,

    Keep the blows

    Of the sharp earth

    From her tired feet.

    Second and third Messengers:
    Curl under,

    Bend halfway,

    Lift them gently,

    Push them softly.

    First Messenger:
    As the sea-children at play

    Carry a ship,

    As the delicate grass-spirits a bird.

    [They disappear. Messengers of Light, dressed in gleaming greyish white, and riding on silver horses with gold reins, appear. They carry tall urns.]

    Messengers of Light, pointing to the cloudy sky:
    Odd-shaped monsters,

    Some with tails and some with wings,

    Pursued us,

    But our gleaming silver horses

    Outran them.

    We see them—

    Hurry—hurry!

    [They pour from the urns something which makes the pieces of wood and stone shine, and then disappear. Messengers of Beauty, clad like wall-painters, and carrying long brushes, appear.]

    First and second Messengers of Beauty, painting the walls and sprinkling through the open windows:
    Sorrow and squalor

    Fly, fly away!

    Third and fourth Messengers of Beauty:
    Spirit of beauty,

    Spirit of youth,

    Blow on tired hearts,

    Breathe on tired eyes.

    Fifth, sixth and seventh:
    Pop up from your corners,

    Delicate little joys—

    Peeping joys,

    Sleeping joys.

    Wake up—sleeping lights,

    Sleeping colors!

    [The woman sits down on a bench in a little park which is near. The Apparition comes slowly and sits down on the edge of the bench.]

    The Apparition:
    Did I frighten you?

    Shall I go away?

    The Woman—in a low voice as if to herself:
    Have I—seen you before?

    Yes … years ago … Where?

    The Apparition:
    Years ago…. Yes.

    You were young …

    The Woman—dreamily:
    Odorous grasses,

    Trees molten in darkness,

    A mild little wind

    Bounding like a willow,

    Like a playful dog …

    The Apparition:
    You were—

    The Woman—as before:
    I loved him.

    I was not I—I was a spirit.

    I was borne, borne …

    The Apparition:
    I know. I knew.

    I knew all.

    The Woman:
    I think I can remember

    A glimpse of your face

    In the distance … always …

    The Apparition—enigmatically:
    Half of your kisses

    Were for me.

    The Woman:
    For you?[As if from a trance.]

    I climbed a mountain,

    I waded a thick wood,

    Your face always shone before me.

    The butterfly

    I could not catch …

    The Apparition:
    And later—in later years—

    The Woman:
    Yes,

    In later years—

    The Apparition:
    Even when you were with Whiteley

    That night in New York—

    [The Woman screams and hides her face.]

    The Apparition:
    Even then

    Your hands reached out to me,

    Clutched at me.

    The Woman, raising her tear-stained face a little:
    Its wings shone

    Even in the dark…. It was

    Made of light.

    The Apparition:
    I kept each thorn

    From going too deep

    In your soul.

    Each shame

    I washed.

    And the pain

    I soothed,

    Soothed …

    [The Woman sits long with lowered head softly crying. Then she raises her face, and it beams with a strange proud light. The Apparition walks slowly away.]