Rare words are
graven here,
For song or fable:
A lily and a financier
Shared the same table.
Pale morning saw him pass
(Where maids ran to and fro)
The lotus and the brandy-glass
Aflame like snow.
He thought how scale and till
Might make the world serene,
As goblets hold, by earthly will,
Hands of a queen.
What light the dawn could spare
From city trove
Filled the white cup, that she might share
The reeded grove.
In light that dawn had lent
My garret room,
I dreamed of days well spent
On streams in bloom.
By cherry-laden bough,
I was June's weir,
Seeking from muddy prow
The lily clear.
Set there with plate and spoon,
My little gift
Gave gold from lakes of June:
The sweet scent's drift.
He walked away to tell
Figure and sign,
Riches a king might sell:
No coin of mine.
Long was he locked in vault
When I arose;
Through sunlight's daily fault
The lilies close.
Find and forgive me now,
Great men and grave:
In that June of laden bough,
All I had, I gave.
© 2009 by Ellin
Anderson. All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be copied or used in any way
without written permission from the author. |