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 very serpents bite their tails; the bees forget to sting, For a language so celestial setteth up a wondering. And the touch of absent mindedness is more than any line, Since direction counts for nothing when the gods set up a sign.
Nathalia CraneOh I'm in love with the janitor's boy, And the janitor's boy loves me; He's going to hunt for a desert isle In our geography.
Nathalia Crane