The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide—spread under the light

Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver,

Stars wheel in purple, yours is no… as Hesperus, nor yet so great a st… as bright Aldeboran or Sirius, nor yet the stained and brilliant… stars turn in purple, glorious to…

Are you alive? I touch you. You quiver like a sea—fish. I cover you with my net. What are you —banded one?

I should have thought in a dream you would have brought some lovely, perilous thing, orchids piled in a great sheath, as who would say (in a dream),

I saw the first pear as it fell— the honey—seeking, golden—banded, the yellow swarm was not more fleet than I,

NOR skin nor hide nor fleece Shall cover you, Nor curtain of crimson nor fine Shelter of cedar—wood be over you, Nor the fir—tree

Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear—head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song,

Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone

White, O white face— from disenchanted days wither alike dark rose and fiery bays: no gift within our hands,

Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure