I once knew a girl.She was in love with the moon.She'd wait at her window,Hoping to see her soon.She might've been too far,But she still had hope.The crying didn't mean much,Just a way to cope.
A wrinkled crabbed man they picture thee,Old Winter, with a rugged beard as greyAs the long moss upon the apple-tree;Blue-lipt, an icedrop at thy sharp blue nose,Close muffled up, and on thy dreary wayPlodding alone through sleet and drifting snows.They should have drawn thee by the high-heapt hearth,Old Winter! seated in thy great armed chair,Watching the children at their Christmas mirth;Or circled by them as thy lips declareSome merry jest, or tale of murder dire,Or troubled spirit that disturbs the night,Pausing at times to rouse the mouldering fire,Or taste the old October brown and bright.
You hate me and I hate you.And we are so polite, we two !But whenever I see you, I burst apartAnd scatter the sky with my blazing heart.It spits and sparkles in stars and balls.Buds into roses — and flares, and falls.Scarlet buttons, and pale green disks,Silver spirals and asterisks.Shoot and tremble in a mistPeppered with mauve and amethyst.I shine in the windows and light up the trees.And all because I hate you, if you please.And when you meet me, you rend asunderAnd go up in a flaming wonderOf saffron cubes, and crimson moons.And wheels all amaranths and maroons.
FLOWER god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful,Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles,Here I wander in AprilCold, grey-headed; and still to myHeart, Spring comes with a bound, Spring the deliverer,Spring, song-leader in woods, chorally resonant;Spring, flower-planter in meadows,Child-conductor in willowyFields deep dotted with bloom, daisies and crocuses:Here that child from his heart drinks of eternity:O child, happy are children!She still smiles on their innocence,She, dear mother in God, fostering violets,Fills earth full of her scents, voices and violins:Thus one cunning in musicWakes old chords in the memory: