than a needlepoint of ice. The dexterous touch that shaped the soul of you, Mingled, to mix, and make you what you are, Magic between the sugar and the spice. 

    A PROUD LADY 

   Hate in the world's hand Can carve and set its seal Like the strong blast of sand Which cuts into steel. 

   I have seen how the finger of hate Can mar and mold Faces burned passionate And frozen cold. 

   Sorrowful faces worn As stone with rain, Faces writhing with scorn And sullen with pain. 

   But you have a proud face Which the world cannot harm, You have turned the pain to a grace And the scorn to a charm. 

   You have taken the arrows and slings Which prick and bruise And fashioned them into wings For the heels of your shoes. 

   From the world's hand which tries To tear you apart You have stolen the falcon's eyes And the lion's heart. 

   What has it done, this world, With hard finger tips, But sweetly chiseled and curled Your inscrutable lips? 

    THE TORTOISE IN ETERNITY 

   Within my house of patterned horn I sleep in such a bed As men may keep before they're born And after they are dead. 

   Sticks and stones may break their bones, And words may make them bleed; There is not one of them who owns An armor to his need. 

   Tougher than hide or lozenged bark, Snow-storm and thunder proof, And quick with sun, and thick with dark, Is this my darling roof. 

   Men's troubled dreams of death and birth Pulse mother-o'-pearl to black; I bear the rainbow bubble Earth Square on my scornful back. 

    INCANTATION 

   A white well In a black cave; A bright shell In a dark wave. 

   A white rose Black brambles hood; Smooth bright snows In a dark wood. 

   A flung white glove In a dark fight; A white dove On a wild black night. 

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