Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/46

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Far down a world wound-redAll unappalled she looks;Where I stare barrenly,She beauty plucksFrom an untrampled bed,Till suddenly I see.
Once more a star shall breakFor me the crocus' mould;The full year's end sleep inA marigold;And firs in the snow wind shakeLocks of genie and jinn.
Again over earth and meShall fall the coverletSpread by a godmother moon.Till we forgetNight's thin, gold ironyThat hid nor scar nor bone.
O, sweet with her to climbYouth's high, unguided trail!Along sky ledges haste,Palms to the galeThat showers song and rhymeAs petals blow and waste!
And when in mothy lightOf trees and listening dusk,I see her filmy goTo him, her knight,What sap of bloom shall flowInto dream's silvered husk!
What if, at her matron kneeIn some yet covered year,The bardling I never boreHas sound of the hidden seaThat calls till a heart, or a sphere,Is dumb or more?

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