Come, let us to the sunways of the west,
Hasten, while crystal dews the rose-cups fill,
Let us dream dreams again in our blithe quest
O'er whispering wold and hill.
Castles of air yon wimpling valleys keep
Where milk-white mist steals from the purpling sea,
They shall be ours in the moon's wizardry,
While the fates, wearied, sleep.

The viewless spirit of the wind will sing
In the soft starshine by the reedy mere,
The elfin harps of hemlock boughs will ring
Fitfully far and near;
The fields will yield their trove of spice and musk,
And balsam from the glens of pine will fall,
Till twilight weaves its tangled shadows all
In one dim web of dusk.

Let us put tears and memories away,
While the fates sleep time stops for revelry;
Let us look, speak, and kiss as if no day
Has been or yet will be;
Let us make friends with laughter 'neath the moon,
With music on the immemorial shore,
Yea, let us dance as lovers danced of yore­
The fates will waken soon!

foam floral caps, work of wet hydrangea,        

                          or pulse of caucasian lilacs in a sky-relieved frieze.        

                                   cambric pennons swag reconsidering      

                                          margins of wimpling burn,      

                                        wherein the stars…twiring stars,    

                                    the declining stars, moon and planets        

                                                            tur­ned--



                                      purchase light with morning-hands:        

                                         ­         green-bedizened;      

                                              amber trammeling bud.      

                                          absolve qualm suffusing tyre,      

                                             violet’s violent leniency--        

                                            a­nd feel, o’bask! in velvet      

                                                   ­ flume of veins,        

                                          as beams of conspiracy raise      

                                                  to­ post and lintel,      

                                         crutching a young god’s legs--



                                      and feel, o’supplicate!  bathe in      

                                                day’s anatomies,      

                                   til greave deposit in lacunary sleeves,    

                                   and a genuflecting sun bow eternally--