Who was it built the cradle of wrought gold? A druid, chanting by the waters old. Who was it kept the sword of vision bright? A warrior, falling darkly in the fight. Who was it put the crown upon the dove? A woman, paling in the arms of love. Oh, who but these, since Adam ceased to be, Have kept their ancient guard about the Tree?
Alice Corbin
THE STAR
I saw a star fall in the night, And a grey moth touched my cheek; Such majesty immortals have, Such pity for the weak.
Alice Corbin
NODES
The endless, foolish merriment of stars Beside the pale cold sorrow of the moon, Is like the wayward noises of the world Beside my heart's uplifted silent tune.
The little broken glitter of the waves Beside the golden sun's intense white blaze, Is like the idle chatter of the crowd Beside my heart's unwearied song of praise.
The sun and all the planets in the sky Beside the sacred wonder of dim space, Are notes upon a broken, tarnished lute That God will someday mend and put in place.