Written on parchment at a king’s demand—
And the simple words of them will flutter like birds in your hand.
EPITHALAMION
The pale dawn went down unto the sea,
Past the gray ships in the offing.
The salt wind found her blowing hair
And closed his wings and nested there,
And the salt sea hungered for her rare
Sweet body and forgot his scoffing.
The pale dawn went down unto the sea