Poems (Forrest)/The loom
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.
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!
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 proveWhen 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 brainMay take their choice from many a skein!
And all for you, my Secret Love, The colours on the frame are setWith scarlets, leaping blood to prove, And passionate tones of violet,While mind and sense and soul competeTo weave a carpet for your feet.