A white door In a dark lane; A bright core To bitter black pain.
A white hand Waved from dark walls; In a burnt black land Bright waterfalls.
A bright spark Where black ashes are; In the smothering dark One white star.
SILVER FILIGREE
The icicles wreathing On trees in festoon Swing, swayed to our breathing: They're made of the moon.
She's a pale, waxen taper; And these seem to drip Transparent as paper From the flame of her tip.
Molten, smoking a little, Into crystal they pass; Falling, freezing, to brittle And delicate glass.
Each a sharp-pointed flower, Each a brief stalactite Which hangs for an hour In the blue cave of night.
THE FALCON
Why should my sleepy heart be taught To whistle mocking-bird replies? This is another bird you've caught, Soft-feathered, with a falcon's eyes.
The bird Imagination, That flies so far, that dies so soon; Her wings are colored like the sun, Her breast is colored like the moon.
Weave her a chain of silver twist, And a little hood of scarlet wool, And let her perch upon your wrist, And tell her she is beautiful.
BRONZE TRUMPETS AND SEA WATER-- ON TURNING LATIN INTO ENGLISH
Alembics turn to stranger things Strange things, but never while we live Shall magic turn this bronze that sings To singing water in a sieve.
The trumpeters of Caesar's guard Salute his rigorous bastions With ordered bruit; the bronze is hard Though there is silver in the bronze.
Our mutable tongue is like the sea, Curled wave and shattering thunder-fit; Dangle in strings of sand shall be Who smooths the ripples out of it.
SPRING PASTORAL
Liza, go steep your long white hands In the cool waters of that spring Which bubbles up through shiny sands The color of a wild-dove's wing.
Dabble your hands, and steep
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