“Who art thou, mother of so sweet a flower?”—
“I am the mother of Iscariot.”
A STATUE IN A GARDEN
I was a goddess ere the marble found me.
Wind, wind, delay not!
Waft my spirit where the laurel crowned me!
Will the wind stay not?
Then tarry, tarry, listen, little swallow!
An old glory feeds me—
I lay upon the bosom of Apollo!