spread across low slopes,

violets streaked black ridges

through the grass.

The house, too, was like this,

over painted, over lovely—

the world is like this.

Sleepless nights,

I remember the initiates,

their gesture, their calm glance.

I have heard how in rapt thought,

in vision, they speak

with another race,

more beautiful, more intense than this.

I could laugh—

more beautiful, more intense?

Perhaps that other life

is contrast always to this.

I reason:

I have lived as they

[16]

 Prev. P 23/64 next