Once 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 CraneIn 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 sign work of the Orient it runneth up and down; The Talmud stalks from right to left, a rabbi in a gown; The Roman rolls from left to right from Maytime unto May; But the gods shake up their symbols in an absent-minded way. Their language runs to circles like the language of the eyes, Emphasised by strange dilations with little panting sighs.
Nathalia CraneAcross the downs a hummingbird Came dipping through the bowers, He pivoted on emptiness To scrutinize the flowers.
Nathalia Crane