The Song Spinner
Their leaves fold round me like soft wings,
Their colours soothe as the caress
Of cool slim hands, and, like a knife
Too sharp to hurt, their keen fresh scent
Stabs through my senses to the pent
And passionate soul beyond that sings
Of mortal and immortal things . . .
Their colours soothe as the caress
Of cool slim hands, and, like a knife
Too sharp to hurt, their keen fresh scent
Stabs through my senses to the pent
And passionate soul beyond that sings
Of mortal and immortal things . . .
Frail mystic perfume men call "praise"!
Star-sandaled memories moving slow . . .
Angels of hope with shimmerous hair . . .
Pale dreams that waver to and fro:
By such as these are aureoled days
Of song encompassed from rose-dawn
To languorous drift of light out-worn . . .
The while I strive with fervid care . . .
Slow spinning the poem fabric fair!
Star-sandaled memories moving slow . . .
Angels of hope with shimmerous hair . . .
Pale dreams that waver to and fro:
By such as these are aureoled days
Of song encompassed from rose-dawn
To languorous drift of light out-worn . . .
The while I strive with fervid care . . .
Slow spinning the poem fabric fair!
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