Holy of holies Confessions of an anarchist [by J. E. Barlas] |
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6
II.
[Violet! what a fragrance in that name!]
Violet! what a fragrance in that name!A waft in autumn of the sweets of spring.
Is not the violet the loveliest thing
That the young season of the year can claim?
Are not the summer's roses red as shame,
And gold the sheaf of autumn's harvesting
As the false metals that false pleasures bring,
But fresh the violet as first boyhood's flame?
But yet, some other name should thine have been,
Whose step is like the ruffling of a storm
Across the dark green waters of the sea,—
Some breath of Babylon's Titanic queen,
Some hint of Artemis, a huntress form,
Or Rhea with Saturn's head upon her knee.
July 25th, 1885.
| Holy of holies | |