Ticked off upon a clock which never stays,
Shredding our portion of Eternity,
We break away at last, and steal the key
Which hides a world empty of hours; ways
Of space unroll, and Heaven overlays
The leafy, sun-lit earth of Fantasy.
Beyond the ilex shadow glares the sun,
Scorching against the blue flame of the sky.
Brown lily-pads lie heavy and supine
Within a granite basin, under one
The bronze-gold glimmer of a carp; and I
Reach out my hand and pluck a nectarine.
In granite-lipped basins,Where iris dabble their feetAnd rustle to a passing wind,The water fills the garden with its rushing,In the midst of the quiet of close-clipped lawns.Damp smell the ferns in tunnels of stone,Where trickle and plash the fountains,Marble fountains, yellowed with much water.Splashing down moss-tarnished stepsIt falls, the water;And the air is throbbing with…
A straw poke bonnet which hid the frownShe pluckered her little brows intoAs she picked her dainty passage throughThe dusty street. ‘Ah, Mademoiselle,A dirty pathway, we need rain,My poor fruits suffer, and the shellOf this nut’s too big for its kernel, lainHere in the sun it has shrunk again.The baker down at the corner saysWe…
For you to take and put upon a shelf.Their shapes are quaint and beautiful,And they have many pleasant colours and lustresTo recommend them.Also the scent from them fills the roomWith sweetness of flowers and crushed grasses.When I shall have given you the last one,You will have the whole of me,But I shall be dead.
Of bartering booths spread out their tempting showsOf globed and golden fruit, the morning airSmells sweet with ripeness, on the pavement thereA wicker basket gapes and overflowsSpilling out cool, blue plums. The market glows,And flaunts, and clatters in its busy care.A stately minster at the northern sideLifts its twin spires to the distant sky,Pinnacled, carved…
He makes the forest trees rustle and sing,He twirls my kite till it breaks its string.Laughing, dancing, sunny wind,Whistling, howling, rainy wind,North, South, East and West,Each is the wind I like the best.He calls up the fog and hides the hills,He whirls the wings of the great windmills,The weathercocks love him and turn to discoverHis…
There is no wind;Even the little twigs at the ends of the branches do not move,And the needles of the pines are solidBands of inarticulated blacknessAgainst the blue-white sky.Still, but alert;And my heart is still and alert,Passive with sunshine,Avid of adventure.I would experience new emotions,Submit to strange enchantments,Bend to influencesBizarre, exotic,Fresh with burgeoning.I would climb…
