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Poem

O burgeoning soul of sweet things 
   mellowed to summer's surge,
   with autumn's dim appraisal
   loitered to a final song of ditties,
       the oozes of eve ferment 
       my fewest keen-felt purges;
 
Apollo upon his throne spinning rhyme 
   wild and weary in his gilded city,
   shall he sing thy posy prims 
   in deep delved halls 
       with lamenting love on his lips ----
       stars his eyes,
       moons his garland,
       and zephyr, his breath
       honeyed in Elven tongues?

How I faint to find my words
   whistled in wind,
   some blacker beauty in light,
   some arrayed longing 
       begging from dark, 
       Mountain to moe-hill
       in the shades of vales,
       the swell of seas 
       soothed in tinge;
Mother Earth my palette ----
She of rainbow hues
     and Bright Stars!

How kingdoms fall harsh,
   lidless in forest dim
   darkness! darkness!
   too barren, too ravished....
       naked without even shadow;
       shall I clothe thee with wisdom?
     Sprinkle thy skin 
     with the canvas of the heavens?

Steep in the silts of rills 
   and the leavened soils 
   of bubbling brooks
   drink thy vintage feverish
        for the nectar of nightingales 
        soaked in song
        the gods shall push thy pen 
      prancing, dark winged
      as smooth-perched rooks 

O wan child fettered and foiled!
   thou needed a swifter love all along;
   thou canst express with bitter deeds ----
       idle words too sober without melody,
       a better posy than Shakespeare's?

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