In the darkness, who would answer for the color of a rose, Or the vestments of the May moth and the pilgrimage it goes?
Nathalia CraneThe sun shall shine in ages yet to be, The musing moon illumine pastures dim, And afterwards a new nativity For all who slept the dreamless interim.
Nathalia CraneI linger on the flathouse roof, the moonlight is divine. But my heart is all aflutter like the washing on the line.
Nathalia CraneOnce a pallid Vestal Doubted truth in blue; Listed red in ruin, Harried every hue; Barricaded vision, Garbed herself in sighs; Ridiculed the birthmarks Of the butterflies.
Nathalia Crane