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Words: 7403 in 5 pages
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earing at meat; Fun Is the mastodon Vanished complete . . .
And I am the stag with the golden horn Waiting till my day is born.
CANDLE, candle, Flicker and flow-- I knew you once-- But it was not long ago, it was
Last night. And you spoiled my otherwise bright evening.
THREE little creatures gloomed across the floor And stood profound in front of me, And one was Faith, and one was Hope, And one was Charity.
Faith looked for what it could not find, Hope looked for what was lost, , Charity's eyes were crossed.
Then with a leap a single shape, With beauty on its chin, Brandished a little screaming ape . . . And each one, like a pin,
Fell to a pattern on the rug As flat as they could be-- And died there comfortable and snug, Faith, Hope and Charity.
That shape, it was my shining soul Bludgeoning every sham . . . O little ape, be glad that I Can be the thing I am!
I AM weary of salmon dawns And of cinnamon sunsets; Silver-grey and iron-grey Of winter dusk and morn Torture me; and in the amethystine shadows Of snow, and in the mauve of curving clouds Some poison has dwelling.
Ivory on a fan of Venice, Black-pearl of a bowl of Japan, Prismatic lustres of Phoenician glass, Fawn-tinged embroideries from looms of Bagdad, The green of ancient bronze, cinereous tinge Of iron gods,-- These, and the saffron of old cerements, Violet wine, Zebra-striped onyx, Are to me like the narrow walls of home To the land-locked sailor.
I must have fire-brands! I must have leaves! I must have sea-deeps!
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