Facsimile
Transcription
date: 1931-09-10
names-on-the-page: Mrs. Young, Mr. Young, Patience
transcription: Page 2.
September 10, 1931.
Mrs. Young asked for something on Autumn:
AUTUMN.
Let him who would sing behold one golden leaf descending,
Dwell on the sod, the seed, its spurting,
The many winds and snows, the many suns,
Moons and stars of its tending,
The majesty of its light drift earthward,
The whisper at its surrender:
Let him who would sing behold one leaf in its downward flight,
And if he be singer let his heart flood at the wonderment,
And his mute lips sing despite them.
Mr. Young said: "Let her sing by herself"
Patience: "A lone lay, eh?"
Hath thy throat e'er ached at its muteness,
Thy tung swollen with its utterance,
Thy heart bursted with its desire,
Thy soul agonized at its conception?
Then thee kennest what it be to sing.
Mr. Young: "Thank you, Patience."
Patience: "Thank be a crumb, I would not of it;
Lend it thy love, egad, and dang thy thank."
Mr. Young: "If you want to quarrel, go ahead, Patience."
Patience: "Weel, I ha' ne'er swaggered on a bulging sea and struggled
in the sand, nor danged the cockswain, nor spat vitriol at the
cap'n; nor spliced my midship to hold my belly taut, but
gad! I deal of a man, and with a keener blade than thine,
sirrah; I haed the swaggerin', swearin' strut and the slim
tung of a wench so fetch thy broadsward."
-------
Of the mystery of the sea,
Great lolling tongue, never silent,
Licking at creation, taking toll,
Never to repay -- Say I, never to repay.
Hast thee e'er beheld the sea in the early morning'
Veiled of mist, as a young bridge coyly whispering, elusive?
Or in the noon stretched as a molten bowl
Quivering, leaping, joyous-flung?
Or at night, weary, loath-lipped, laggardly
Pressing at the sand, scribing its litany?
-------
Mr. Young said: "Patience, do you know what a cutty sark is?"
atience: "It be nae thing for a swain to bring for a wench, and ye ken it.
Egad, nay wench would whist it e'en; and should it creep and
peep it o'er her bodice, egad, the sacrilege to chastity!
Aye, and wi' a toppin', it be like to the lord's underlinin'.
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