The Princess: Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font. . . .
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Prison Song
The skin ripples over my body like moon-wooed water,
rearing to escape me. Where could it find another
animal as naked as the one it hates to cover?
. . .
Prisoners
Though the road turn at last
to death’s ordinary door,
and we knock there, ready . . .
The Promise
Stay, I said
to the cut flowers.
They bowed . . .
The Properly Scholarly Attitude
The poet pursues his beautiful theme;
The preacher his golden beatitude;
And I run after a vanishing dream—
. . .
Psalm
In the small beauty of the forest
The wild deer bedding down—
That they are there! . . .
The Pull Toy
You squeezed its leash in your fist,
It followed where you led:
Tick, tock, tick, tock, . . .
The Pulley
When God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by,
“Let us,” said he, “pour on him all we can.
. . .
