A Woman of Thirty

by Marjorie Allen Seiffert

My wish goes singing upward
Holding a chime of bells
In its heart:

Pigeons know my silent bells,
Winds touch them and wonder.

That they might reach
That high blue—

Till star fingers touch them
Ever so gently—

And drifting clouds
Lay cool cheeks against them—

My wish goes singing upward
Reaching into silence.

IV. PRIEDIEU

Beauty passes
But dust is eternal.
Outside the temple
Beauty dies in the wind.

So when my temple is fallen
And lies in dust,
Where then will be the memory
Of your beauty?

I pray my dust
That it may hold your image
Tomorrow and for ever.