
When I am old, and young mouths
say that spring
Has ceased to work her alchemy with me:
That white thorn boughs and apple trees
in bloom
Stir me no more… that I no longer see
The courage of a fledgling taking wing…
And soft nights cause no ache in
my old breast,
They will not know that laughter at a gate
Will break my heart with memories—oh! lest
I make some commonplace remark and go
Where scent of spring and footsteps
on the grass
Are shut outside… and where there is
no room
For shadows of a gay young man to pass…
And never will they guess my feeble pulse
Still throbs at beauty and exhausts me quite,
Who, though I sit at dusk alone and still,
Have sent my venturing soul far in the night.
— “Captive”
Sanora Babb (1907-2005) lived out a rich legacy of the twentieth century. Born in a homesteader’s cabin in Oklahoma, she covered the news for the Associated Press, wrote short stories for literary magazines, and was a radio scriptwriter.
She reported on the Spanish Civil War and worked for Tom Collins, manager of the Farm Security Administration in California, during the 1930s. Later she married the celebrated film director James Wong Howe and continued to reside in Hollywood after his death.