 | The poems of Trumbull Stickney |  |
192
[XXIV
Spirits that might have been]
Spirits that might have been,
Ye birds and butterflies
Under the showers!
Why will ye ever lean
Your weft of music and of irises
On my plain flowers?
Ye birds and butterflies
Under the showers!
Why will ye ever lean
Your weft of music and of irises
On my plain flowers?
Come here, I pray, no more,
Or for a little while
Let me alone.
More honey 's at the core
Of the blue thyme and little camomile
There further on.
Or for a little while
Let me alone.
More honey 's at the core
Of the blue thyme and little camomile
There further on.
The sky is still and blue,
But changing in your flight
Flushes and sings.
Then do I crimson too
And humming gladly, suffer all the night
Your absent wings.
But changing in your flight
Flushes and sings.
Then do I crimson too
And humming gladly, suffer all the night
Your absent wings.
| The poems of Trumbull Stickney | |