Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/83

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SUNLIGHT THROUGH A WINDOW
Beauty streamed into my handIn sunlight through a pane of glass;Now at last I understandWhy suns must pass.
I have held a shadow—coolReflection of a burning gold,And it has been more beautifulThan hands should hold.
To that delicate traceryOf light, a force my lips must nameIn whispers of uncertainty,Has answered through me in a flame.
Beauty is a core of fireTo reaching hands; even its farPassing leaves a hurt desireLike a scar.


TO A DOOR
Door, you stand in your darkened frameMindful of your wooden might,Flaunting relentlessly your claimAs guardian of sound and light.
Yet for all your vigil, Door,Shadows that slip on panting feetOver your threshold tinge the floorWith what was sunlight on the street.
And sounds fluttering in to die—(Door, you thought I should not know!)Were started by an echo's cryThat was a voice not long ago.

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