IN THE GARDEN-CLOSE AT MEZRA
In the garden-close at Mezra,
When the cactus was in flower,
We sat apart together
Through the languid noonday hour.
I was her Arab lover,
(Of course it was all in play!)
And I called her "Star-of-Twilight,"
And I called her "Dream-of-Day."
She—has she quite forgotten?
Soothly, I do not know
If ever she tenderly opens
The volume of Long Ago.
But I—I can still remember
Her lips like the cactus flower
In the garden-close at Mezra
At the languid noonday hour!
Clinton Scollard
THE CACTUS
The scarlet flower, with never a sister-leaf,
Stemless, springs from the edge of the Cactus-thorn:
Thus from the rugged wounds of desperate grief
A beautiful Thought, perfect and pure, is born.
Laurence Hope