- Say When
- Say when she asks the summer sun
- or olden oak its' heavy limbs,
- When trilling morning song is heard
- through cotton fog and linen air.
Say to her fields of lavender,
- inchoate colour sketches spread
- and raining bathos in the vale
- or huddled leaden on a hill.
Say when the winterwoods bedeck
- her bridal white habiliment
- and aging winds reach to the floor,
- where spreads a shimmering, crusted pall.
Say as her loins are thrust with sap
- on threshold of her atelier,
- her flood of wonder and verdure
- and nought but brief, quixotic aire.
Say when the arbours of thy breast
- hold nothing from her fervent reach -
- not all the longing of thy day,
- nor frolic of thy brilliant nights.
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