 | The Complete Poems and Collected Letters of Adelaide Crapsey |  |
The Song of Choice.
The maiden sat enthroned on the throne of her maidenhood:
There were two lovers that came to her to win her,
And one lover brought gift of red poppies,
And the other carried a sheaf of white poppies in his arms.
There were two lovers that came to her to win her,
And one lover brought gift of red poppies,
And the other carried a sheaf of white poppies in his arms.
And one lover said:
I bring you gift of red poppies:
Your hair is golden and long,
Your hair is soft as cast shadows,
Your hair is as the path of the sun's light on the sea.
Make for yourself a wreath of red poppies
For the adorning of your golden hair.
And the other saith:
I bring you white poppies:
They are white as the still white thought of holiness
That stirred in your soul when you awoke alone at dawn.
I bring you gift of red poppies:
Your hair is golden and long,
Your hair is soft as cast shadows,
Your hair is as the path of the sun's light on the sea.
Make for yourself a wreath of red poppies
For the adorning of your golden hair.
And the other saith:
I bring you white poppies:
They are white as the still white thought of holiness
That stirred in your soul when you awoke alone at dawn.
And the maiden rejoiced in her hair that was golden.
And one lover said:
Your eyes are as wells of darkling light
And your mouth is as wine-stains:
Let the red of my poppies gladden your eyes,
Take my red poppies in your hands
And lift them up for the kisses of your red, red mouth.
And the other saith:
I bring you white poppies:
They are white as the still white thought of holiness
That stirred in your soul when you awoke alone at dawn.
Your eyes are as wells of darkling light
And your mouth is as wine-stains:
Let the red of my poppies gladden your eyes,
Take my red poppies in your hands
And lift them up for the kisses of your red, red mouth.
And the other saith:
I bring you white poppies:
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That stirred in your soul when you awoke alone at dawn.
And the maiden rejoiced that her eyes were as wells of light and her mouth as crimson wine-stains.
And one lover said:
Hold my red poppies between your breasts.
Your breasts are lovely and white
And colour against colour it shall be as blood upon snow;
Your breasts shall be rosily overcast
With the light of the poppies between them.
And the other saith:
I bring you white poppies:
They are white as the still white thought of holiness
That stirred in your soul when you awoke alone at dawn.
And the maiden rejoiced in her breasts that were lovely and white;
She longed for the red poppies to hold them between her breasts.
Hold my red poppies between your breasts.
Your breasts are lovely and white
And colour against colour it shall be as blood upon snow;
Your breasts shall be rosily overcast
With the light of the poppies between them.
And the other saith:
I bring you white poppies:
They are white as the still white thought of holiness
That stirred in your soul when you awoke alone at dawn.
And the maiden rejoiced in her breasts that were lovely and white;
She longed for the red poppies to hold them between her breasts.
And one lover said:
Your blood is red and your heart is red
And the poppies of my offering are a fine, keen scarlet.
Your blood is red and your heart is red
And the poppies of my offering are a fine, keen scarlet.
The maiden arose and stepped down from her throne.
She reached forth her hands to take the heart-red poppies,
She stretched out her hands for the poppies that were red as blood;
Whenas she felt as it were a great rending within her
And faltering she stood in trouble between her lovers.
She reached forth her hands to take the heart-red poppies,
She stretched out her hands for the poppies that were red as blood;
Whenas she felt as it were a great rending within her
And faltering she stood in trouble between her lovers.
And one lover said:
It is your pleasure that cries out in you to be accomplish'd.
And the other saith:
Oh, sweet, I know your pain.
It is your pleasure that cries out in you to be accomplish'd.
And the other saith:
Oh, sweet, I know your pain.
Behold the maiden hath chosen a lover:
She hath stepped down from her throne,
She hath found her a dwelling in the heart of her lover:
He holds her in his arms:
He stoops to kiss the sleeve of her garment that is white as the wings of white doves.
She hath stepped down from her throne,
She hath found her a dwelling in the heart of her lover:
He holds her in his arms:
He stoops to kiss the sleeve of her garment that is white as the wings of white doves.
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Behond the maiden hath chosen a lover:
She hath woven for herself a bride-wreath of white poppies,
She hath given herself into the arms of him that knows her,
And the maiden and her love are content.
She hath woven for herself a bride-wreath of white poppies,
She hath given herself into the arms of him that knows her,
And the maiden and her love are content.
| The Complete Poems and Collected Letters of Adelaide Crapsey | |