As cool as the pale wet leaves
of lily-of-the-valley
She lay beside me in the dawn.
Heather
The black panther treads at my side,
And above my fingers
There float the petal-like flames.
The milk-white girls
Unbend from the holly-trees,
And their snow-white leopard
Watches to follow our trace.
The Faun
Ha! sir, I have seen you sniffing and snoozling about
among my flowers.
And what, pray, do you know about horticulture,
you capriped?
“Come, Auster, come, Apeliota,
And see the faun in our garden.
But if you move or speak
This thing will run at you
And scare itself to spasms.”
Pervigilium
The gilded phaloi of the crocuses
are thrusting at the spring air.
Here is there naught of dead gods
But a procession of festival,
A procession, O Giulio Romano,
Fit for your spirit to dwell in.
Dione, your nights are upon us.