Poetry Archives

Tender and tremulous green of leaves
Turned up by the wind,
Twanging among the vines—
Wind in the grass
Blowing a clear path
For the new-stripped soul to pass…

The naked soul in the sunlight…
Like a wisp of smoke in the sunlight
On the hill-side shimmering.

Dance light on the wind, little soul,
Like a thistle-down floating
Over the butterflies
And the lumbering bees…

Come away from that tree
And its shadow grey as a stone…

Bathe in the pools of light
On the hillside shimmering—
Shining and wetted and warm in the sun-spray falling like golden rain—

But do not linger and look
At that bleak thing under the tree.