SILK FLOWERS (for Drew)

pierce windless ivy

cloud of dew through which its mate

bends, and then fades frail

music-panting bliss

till some new strain of feeling

is anemone

That climbs and wanders

another swinging blossom

blown anew; from high

those depths Is curtained

interwoven bowers aught

along earth-creeping

melody The sweet

weak wings And all the woods are

Sick through mossy air

Down streams made strong awe

lake-surrounded listener’s

brain So sweet, that joy

echoes impels them

eddies talk sucked fatal flute

soft emotion grew

Nor sun, nor moon

sadness fails voluptuous

cedar, pine, and yew,