A Reed by the River/To a Poet

by Virginia Woodward Cloud

TO A PORT

The pipe of one undying river reed
Borne down on myriad summers' magic breath
Wakes to thy playing, the immortal seed
Of Eden's rose, through gates of life and death,
Blooms in thy song; to make thy fragile mood
The loves of gods were slain and mortals died;
A thousand dawns are thrilling in thy blood,
A thousand darks are blackly multiplied
In thy despair; a thousand souls their tears,
Their passions pour through time to thine;
Thy heart is heritage of all the years
That fed upon Elysian oil and wine;—
Then with no lesser fare of love keep tryst,
Lest the lips starve where gods have warmly kist.