“WHAT shall I write?” said Yegor;
“Of the bright-plumed bird that sings
Hovering on the fringes of the forest,
Where leafy dreams are grown,
And thoughts go with silent flutterings,
Like moths by a dark wind blown?”
“Oh, write of those quiet women,
Beautiful, slim and pale,
Whose bodies glimmer under cool green waters,
Whose hands like lilies float
Tangled in the heavy purple veil
Of hair on their breast and throat.”
“Or write of swans and princes
Carved out of marble clouds,
Of the flowers that wither upon distant mountains,
Grey-pencilled in the brain;
Of fiercely hurrying night-born crowds
By the first swift sun-ray slain.”
“Nay, I will sing,” said Yegor,
“Of stranger things than these,
Of a girl I met in the fresh of morning,
A laughing, slender flame;
Of the slow stream’s song and the chant of bees,
In a land without a name.”
STRANGE ELEMENTS
WHEN my girl swims with me I think
She is a Shark with hungry teeth,
Because her throat that dazzles me
Is white as sharks are underneath.
And when she drags me down with her
Under the wave, she clings so tight,
She seems a deadly Water-snake
Who smothers me in that dim light.
Yet when we lie on the hot sand,
I find she cannot bite or hiss,
But she swears I’m a Tiger fierce
Who kills her slowly with a kiss.