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The Pattern Of The Earth Post by :riverrat Category :Poems Author :Helen Hay Whitney Date :October 2011 Read :1511

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The Pattern Of The Earth

The pattern of the earth, so wonderful,
Is, more than myrtle, very dear to me.
Across the avenue of limes I see
A little mist by ghosts made magical,
Tossing across the hills, more beautiful
Than the deep eyes of amber women, free
Of shame and of disdain, on some far sea
Swept by trade-winds the sun makes lyrical.

There is no air the mind may not recall,
Blown from the violet-beds of Greece; and all
The moons who drop their shattered petals here
Live from the days which hid Semiramis.
Breezes upon my lips are subtly dear,
Because they bear the burden of her kiss.

(The end)
Helen Hay Whitney's poem: Pattern Of The Earth

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Disguised Disguised

The beggar thoughts pass down the lanes of day, And on the thorns that are the hours I find Their tatters and their rags. Infirm and blind, They faded in the void, and all the way Mouthed senseless jeers at me. I dared not pray For wisdom from these fools who throng the mind And leave no gifts but bitterness behind. Chin upon hand, I watched, nor bade them stay. Then wearily and indolently glanced Where the thorns fluttered with their flags, and, lo, Fragments of cloth of silver gleamed and

Amor Mysticus Amor Mysticus

Amor Mysticus
Not you, nor all the gauds that Fate bestows, Can make me swerve so little from my dream. Across my veil of mystery you seem Perhaps a little dearer than the rose, Perhaps more fair than the long light that flows Between the lids of twilight. But the gleam Of iris on the breast of wisdom's stream Is of a radiance that no rival knows. My heart is not my heart, or it might chance To sorrow for the sorrow in your tears; My soul is locked against all circumstance