She Walks in Beauty: A Woman's Journey Through Poems by Caroline Kennedy Page A

bottom so always the load can be slung between two
    walkers on the same path.

Delight in Disorder
    ROBERT HERRICK
    A sweet disorder in the dress
    Kindles in clothes a wantonness:
    A lawn about the shoulders thrown
    Into a fine distraction:
    An erring lace, which here and there
    Enthrals the crimson stomacher:
    A cuff neglectful, and thereby
    Ribbons to flow confusedly:
    A winning wave, deserving note,
    In the tempestuous petticoat:
    A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
    I see a wild civility:
    Do more bewitch me than when art
    Is too precise in every part.

The Rhodora
    On Being Asked, Whence Is the Flower?
    RALPH WALDO EMERSON
    In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
    I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
    Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
    To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
    The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
    Made the black water with their beauty gay;
    Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
    And court the flower that cheapens his array.
    Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
    This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
    Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
    Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:
    Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
    I never thought to ask, I never knew:
    But, in my simple ignorance, suppose
    The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.

Roses Only
    MARIANNE MOORE
    You do not seem to realize that beauty is a liability rather than
    an asset—that in view of the fact that spirit creates form we are
    Â Â Â Â justified in supposing
    Â Â Â Â that you must have brains. For you, a symbol of the unit, stiff
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â and sharp,
    conscious of surpassing by dint of native superiority and liking
    Â Â Â Â for everything
    self-dependent, anything an
    ambitious civilization might produce: for you, unaided, to attempt
    Â Â Â Â through sheer
    reserve to confute presumptions resulting from observation is
    Â Â Â Â idle. You cannot make us
    Â Â Â Â think you a delightful happen-so. But rose, if you are brilliant,
    Â Â Â Â it
    is not because your petals are the without-which-nothing of pre-
    Â Â Â Â eminence. You would look, minus
    thorns—like a what-is-this, a mere
    peculiarity. They are not proof against a storm, the elements, or
    Â Â Â Â mildew
    but what about the predatory hand? What is brilliance without
    Â Â Â Â coordination? Guarding the
    Â Â Â Â infinitesimal pieces of your mind, compelling audience to
    the remark that it is better to be forgotten than to be
    Â Â Â Â remembered too violently,
    your thorns are the best part of you.

Eagle Poem
    JOY HARJO
    To pray you open your whole self
    To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
    To one whole voice that is you.
    And know there is more
    That you can’t see, can’t hear;
    Can’t know except in moments
    Steadly growing, and in languages
    That aren’t always sound but other
    Circles of motion.
    Like eagle that Sunday morning
    Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky
    In wind, swept our hearts clean
    With sacred wings.
    We see you, see ourselves and know
    That we must take the utmost care
    And kindness in all things.
    Breathe in, knowing we are made of
    All this, and breathe, knowing
    We are truly blessed because we
    Were born, and die soon within a
    True circle of motion,
    Like eagle rounding out the morning
    Inside us.
    We pray that it will be done
    In beauty.
    In beauty.

MOTHERHOOD
    M Y CHILDREN ARE too wonderful and too old for me to write about them without getting into trouble. But I can certainly say, like everyone does, that becoming a mother is the best thing that ever happened to me. Having a child defines us for the rest of our lives. No matter what else we do, we will always be that person’s mother. We give our children the gift of ourselves, and they give us so much more in return—especially when they are teenagers! Each mother-child relationship