THE LOOM
From my unsatisfied desire
I shape the radiance of a rose;
To twisted threads of golden fire,
The web that is a love-tale grows.
I pattern colours, ripe and rare,
On the grey ground of my despair.
I shape the radiance of a rose;
To twisted threads of golden fire,
The web that is a love-tale grows.
I pattern colours, ripe and rare,
On the grey ground of my despair.
Sometimes I note a trembling leaf
That stencils beauty on the tree,
A poinsiana's red relief
Against an ochre balcony—
A thin fine spire upon the blue,
I steal their brave design for you!
That stencils beauty on the tree,
A poinsiana's red relief
Against an ochre balcony—
A thin fine spire upon the blue,
I steal their brave design for you!
The soft monotonies of rain,
The sun's triumphant ambering:
I rifle these to spin again.
I blend the winter with the spring,
A prize for treasure-chest to prove
When placed upon the loom of love.
The sun's triumphant ambering:
I rifle these to spin again.
I blend the winter with the spring,
A prize for treasure-chest to prove
When placed upon the loom of love.
Men do not guess who see me dream,
And think me diffident or cold,
How in my heart the magics gleam
Of emerald, amethyst, or gold;
That these sly pixies of the brain
May take their choice from many a skein!
And think me diffident or cold,
How in my heart the magics gleam
Of emerald, amethyst, or gold;
That these sly pixies of the brain
May take their choice from many a skein!
