Poetry Archives

Why should we argue with the falling dust
Or tremble in the traffic of the days?
Our hearts are music-makers in the clouds,
Our feet are running on the heavenly ways.

We’ll go and find the honey of romance
Within the hollow of the sacred tree.
There is a spirit in the eastern sky,
Calling along the dawn to you and me.

She’ll lead us to the forest where she hides
The yellow wine that keeps the angels young—
We are the chosen lovers of the earth
For whom alone the golden comb was hung.