(a fragment)
So she became a bird, and bird-like danced
On a long sloe-bough, treading the silver blossom
With a bird's lovely feet;
And shaken blossoms fell into the hands
Of Sunlight. And he held them for a moment
And let them drop.
And in the autumn Procne came again
And leapt upon the crooked sloe-bough singing,
And the dark berries winked like earth-dimmed beads,
As the branch swung beneath her dancing feet.
A Man to a Sunflower
See, I have bent thee by thy saffron hair
— O most strange masker —
Towards my face, thy face so full of eyes
— O almost legendary monster —
Thee of the saffron, circling hair I bend,
Bend by my fingers knotted in thy hair
— Hair like broad flames.
So, shall I swear by beech-husk, spindleberry,
To break thee, saffron hair and peering eye,
— To have the mastery?