Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Two Songs of Conn the FoolFannie Stearns Davis
I
She is caught in a dead fir-tree.
Like a great pale apple of silver and pearl,
Like a great pale apple is she.
And carry her home in my sack.
I will set her down safe on the oaken bench
That stands at the chimney-back.
And then I will sit by the fire all night,
And sit by the fire all day.
I will gnaw at the Moon to my heart’s delight,
Till I gnaw her slowly away.
The World may beat on my door,
Crying “Come out!” and crying “Make haste!
And give us the Moon once more!”
But I will not answer them ever at all;
I will laugh, as I count and hide
The great black beautiful seeds of the Moon
In a flower-pot deep and wide.
Then I will lie down and go fast asleep,
Drunken with flame and aswoon.
But the seeds will sprout, and the seeds will leap:
The subtle swift seeds of the Moon.
And cries at my door, shall see
A thousand moon-leaves sprout from my thatch
On a marvellous white Moon-tree!
Then each shall have moons to his heart’s desire:
Apples of silver and pearl:
Apples of orange and copper fire,
Setting his five wits aswirl.
And then they will thank me, who mock me now:
“Wanting the Moon is he!”
Oh, I’m off to the mountain after the Moon,
Ere she falls from the dead fir-tree!
Y
Or cruel-lipped or low;
For I am Conn the Fool,
And Conn the Fool will know.
When Patrick Joyce looked out.
He did not wish for me
Or any one about.
The fat bag in his hand.
But Conn heard clinking gold,
And Conn could understand.
Where Michael Kane lay dead.
I saw his Mary tie
A red shawl round her head.
Across her garden-wall.
They did not know that Conn
Walked by at late dusk-fall.
Or hate or steal or kill,
For I shall tell the wind
That leaps along the hill;
That sing and never lie;
And they will shout your sin
In God’s face, bye and bye.
For all He loves you so.—
He made me Conn the Fool,
And bade me always know!