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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Nets to Catch the Wind, by Elinor Wylie
+
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+**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
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+**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: Nets to Catch the Wind
+
+Author: Elinor Wylie
+
+Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6682]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on January 12, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NETS TO CATCH THE WIND ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Suzanne L. Shell, Tom Allen, Charles Franks
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+NETS TO CATCH THE WIND
+
+
+
+
+By ELINOR WYLIE
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+BEAUTY
+
+THE EAGLE AND THE MOLE
+
+MADMAN'S SONG
+
+THE PRINKIN' LEDDIE
+
+AUGUST
+
+THE CROOKED STICK
+
+ATAVISM
+
+WILD PEACHES
+
+SANCTUARY
+
+THE LION AND THE LAMB
+
+THE CHURCH-BELL
+
+A CROWDED TROLLEY CAR
+
+BELLS IN THE RAIN
+
+WINTER SLEEP
+
+VILLAGE MYSTERY
+
+SUNSET ON THE SPIRE
+
+ESCAPE
+
+THE FAIRY GOLDSMITH
+
+"FIRE AND SLEET AND CANDLELIGHT"
+
+BLOOD FEUD
+
+SEA LULLABY
+
+NANCY
+
+A PROUD LADY
+
+THE TORTOISE IN ETERNITY
+
+INCANTATION
+
+SILVER FILIGREE
+
+THE FALCON
+
+BRONZE TRUMPETS AND SEA WATER--ON TURNING LATIN INTO ENGLISH
+
+SPRING PASTORAL
+
+VELVET SHOES
+
+VALENTINE
+
+
+
+
+BEAUTY
+
+
+Say not of Beauty she is good,
+Or aught but beautiful,
+Or sleek to doves' wings of the wood
+Her wild wings of a gull.
+
+Call her not wicked; that word's touch
+Consumes her like a curse;
+But love her not too much, too much,
+For that is even worse.
+
+O, she is neither good nor bad,
+But innocent and wild!
+Enshrine her and she dies, who had
+The hard heart of a child.
+
+
+
+
+THE EAGLE AND THE MOLE
+
+
+Avoid the reeking herd,
+Shun the polluted flock,
+Live like that stoic bird,
+The eagle of the rock.
+
+The huddled warmth of crowds
+Begets and fosters hate;
+He keeps, above the clouds,
+His cliff inviolate.
+
+When flocks are folded warm,
+And herds to shelter run,
+He sails above the storm,
+He stares into the sun.
+
+If in the eagle's track
+Your sinews cannot leap,
+Avoid the lathered pack,
+Turn from the steaming sheep.
+
+If you would keep your soul
+From spotted sight or sound,
+Live like the velvet mole;
+Go burrow underground.
+
+And there hold intercourse
+With roots of trees and stones,
+With rivers at their source,
+And disembodied bones.
+
+
+
+
+MADMAN'S SONG
+
+
+Better to see your cheek grown hollow,
+Better to see your temple worn,
+Than to forget to follow, follow,
+After the sound of a silver horn.
+
+Better to bind your brow with willow
+And follow, follow until you die,
+Than to sleep with your head on a golden pillow,
+Nor lift it up when the hunt goes by.
+
+Better to see your cheek grown sallow
+And your hair grown gray, so soon, so soon,
+Than to forget to hallo, hallo,
+After the milk-white hounds of the moon.
+
+
+
+
+THE PRINKIN' LEDDIE
+
+
+_"The Hielan' lassies are a' for spinnin'
+The Lowlan' lassies for prinkin' and pinnin';
+My daddie w'u'd chide me, an' so w'u'd my minnie
+If I s'u'd bring hame sic a prinkin' leddie."_
+
+Now haud your tongue, ye haverin' coward,
+For whilst I'm young I'll go flounced an' flowered,
+In lutestring striped like the strings o' a fiddle,
+Wi' gowden girdles aboot my middle.
+
+In your Hielan' glen, where the rain pours steady,
+Ye'll be gay an' glad for a prinkin' leddie;
+Where the rocks are all bare an' the turf is all sodden,
+An' lassies gae sad in their homespun an' hodden.
+
+My silks are stiff wi' patterns o' siller,
+I've an ermine hood like the hat o' a miller,
+I've chains o' coral like rowan berries,
+An' a cramoisie mantle that cam' frae Paris.
+
+Ye'll be glad for the glint o' its scarlet linin'
+When the larks are up an' the sun is shinin';
+When the winds are up an' ower the heather
+Your heart'll be gay wi' my gowden feather.
+
+When the skies are low an' the earth is frozen,
+Ye'll be gay an' glad for the leddie ye've chosen,
+When ower the snow I go prinkin' an' prancin'
+In my wee red slippers were made for dancin'.
+
+It's better a leddie like Solomon's lily
+Than one that'll run like a Hielan' gillie
+A-linkin' it ower the leas, my laddie,
+In a raggedy kilt an' a belted plaidie!
+
+
+
+
+AUGUST
+
+
+Why should this Negro insolently stride
+Down the red noonday on such noiseless feet?
+Piled in his barrow, tawnier than wheat,
+Lie heaps of smoldering daisies, somber-eyed,
+Their copper petals shriveled up with pride,
+Hot with a superfluity of heat,
+Like a great brazier borne along the street
+By captive leopards, black and burning pied.
+
+Are there no water-lilies, smooth as cream,
+With long stems dripping crystal? Are there none
+Like those white lilies, luminous and cool,
+Plucked from some hemlock-darkened northern stream
+By fair-haired swimmers, diving where the sun
+Scarce warms the surface of the deepest pool?
+
+
+
+
+THE CROOKED STICK
+
+
+First Traveler: What's that lying in the dust?
+Second Traveler: A crooked stick.
+First Traveler: What's it worth, if you can trust
+  To arithmetic?
+Second Traveler: Isn't this a riddle?
+First Traveler:                       No, a trick.
+Second Traveler: It's worthless. Leave it where it lies.
+First Traveler: Wait; count ten;
+  Rub a little dust upon your eyes;
+  Now, look again.
+Second Traveler: Well, and what the devil is it, then?
+First Traveler: It's the sort of crooked stick that shepherds know.
+Second Traveler: Some one's loss!
+First Traveler: Bend it, and you make of it a bow.
+  Break it, a cross.
+Second Traveler: But it's all grown over with moss!
+
+
+
+
+ATAVISM
+
+
+I always was afraid of Somes's Pond:
+Not the little pond, by which the willow stands,
+Where laughing boys catch alewives in their hands
+In brown, bright shallows; but the one beyond.
+There, when the frost makes all the birches burn
+Yellow as cow-lilies, and the pale sky shines
+Like a polished shell between black spruce and pines,
+Some strange thing tracks us, turning where we turn.
+
+You'll say I dream it, being the true daughter
+Of those who in old times endured this dread.
+Look! Where the lily-stems are showing red
+A silent paddle moves below the water,
+A sliding shape has stirred them like a breath;
+Tall plumes surmount a painted mask of death.
+
+
+
+
+WILD PEACHES
+
+
+1
+
+When the world turns completely upside down
+You say we'll emigrate to the Eastern Shore
+Aboard a river-boat from Baltimore;
+We'll live among wild peach trees, miles from town.
+You'll wear a coonskin cap, and I a gown
+Homespun, dyed butternut's dark gold color.
+Lost, like your lotus-eating ancestor,
+We'll swim in milk and honey till we drown.
+
+The winter will be short, the summer long,
+The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot,
+Tasting of cider and of scuppernong;
+All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all.
+The squirrels in their silver fur will fall
+Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot.
+
+
+2
+
+The autumn frosts will lie upon the grass
+Like bloom on grapes of purple-brown and gold.
+The misted early mornings will be cold;
+The little puddles will be roofed with glass.
+The sun, which burns from copper into brass,
+Melts these at noon, and makes the boys unfold
+Their knitted mufflers; full as they can hold,
+Fat pockets dribble chestnuts as they pass.
+
+Peaches grow wild, and pigs can live in clover;
+A barrel of salted herrings lasts a year;
+The spring begins before the winter's over.
+By February you may find the skins
+Of garter snakes and water moccasins
+Dwindled and harsh, dead-white and cloudy-clear.
+
+
+3
+
+When April pours the colors of a shell
+Upon the hills, when every little creek
+Is shot with silver from the Chesapeake
+In shoals new-minted by the ocean swell,
+When strawberries go begging, and the sleek
+Blue plums lie open to the blackbird's beak,
+We shall live well--we shall live very well.
+
+The months between the cherries and the peaches
+Are brimming cornucopias which spill
+Fruits red and purple, somber-bloomed and black;
+Then, down rich fields and frosty river beaches
+We'll trample bright persimmons, while we kill
+Bronze partridge, speckled quail, and canvas-back.
+
+
+4
+
+Down to the Puritan marrow of my bones
+There's something in this richness that I hate.
+I love the look, austere, immaculate,
+Of landscapes drawn in pearly monotones.
+There's something in my very blood that owns
+Bare hills, cold silver on a sky of slate,
+A thread of water, churned to milky spate
+Streaming through slanted pastures fenced with stones.
+
+I love those skies, thin blue or snowy gray,
+Those fields sparse-planted, rendering meager sheaves;
+That spring, briefer than apple-blossom's breath,
+Summer, so much too beautiful to stay,
+Swift autumn, like a bonfire of leaves,
+And sleepy winter, like the sleep of death.
+
+
+
+
+SANCTUARY
+
+
+This is the bricklayer; hear the thud
+Of his heavy load dumped down on stone.
+His lustrous bricks are brighter than blood,
+His smoking mortar whiter than bone.
+
+Set each sharp-edged, fire-bitten brick
+Straight by the plumb-line's shivering length;
+Make my marvelous wall so thick
+Dead nor living may shake its strength.
+
+Full as a crystal cup with drink
+Is my cell with dreams, and quiet, and cool....
+Stop, old man! You must leave a chink;
+How can I breathe? _You can't, you fool!_
+
+
+
+
+THE LION AND THE LAMB
+
+
+I saw a Tiger's golden flank,
+I saw what food he ate,
+By a desert spring he drank;
+The Tiger's name was Hate.
+
+Then I saw a placid Lamb
+Lying fast asleep;
+Like a river from its dam
+Flashed the Tiger's leap.
+
+I saw a Lion tawny-red,
+Terrible and brave;
+The Tiger's leap overhead
+Broke like a wave.
+
+In sand below or sun above
+He faded like a flame.
+The Lamb said, "I am Love";
+"Lion, tell your name."
+
+The Lion's voice thundering
+Shook his vaulted breast,
+"I am Love. By this spring,
+Brother, let us rest."
+
+
+
+
+THE CHURCH-BELL
+
+
+As I was lying in my bed
+I heard the church-bell ring;
+Before one solemn word was said
+A bird began to sing.
+
+I heard a dog begin to bark
+And a bold crowing cock;
+The bell, between the cold and dark,
+Tolled. It was five o'clock.
+
+The church-bell tolled, and the bird sang,
+A clear true voice he had;
+The cock crew, and the church-bell rang,
+I knew it had gone mad.
+
+A hand reached down from the dark skies,
+It took the bell-rope thong,
+The bell cried "Look! Lift up your eyes!"
+The clapper shook to song.
+
+The iron clapper laughed aloud,
+Like clashing wind and wave;
+The bell cried out "Be strong and proud!"
+Then, with a shout, "Be brave!"
+
+The rumbling of the market-carts,
+The pounding of men's feet
+Were drowned in song; "Lift up your hearts!"
+The sound was loud and sweet.
+
+Slow and slow the great bell swung,
+It hung in the steeple mute;
+And people tore its living tongue
+Out by the very root.
+
+
+
+
+A CROWDED TROLLEY CAR
+
+
+The rain's cold grains are silver-gray
+Sharp as golden sands,
+A bell is clanging, people sway
+Hanging by their hands.
+
+Supple hands, or gnarled and stiff,
+Snatch and catch and grope;
+That face is yellow-pale, as if
+The fellow swung from rope.
+
+Dull like pebbles, sharp like knives,
+Glances strike and glare,
+Fingers tangle, Bluebeard's wives
+Dangle by the hair.
+
+Orchard of the strangest fruits
+Hanging from the skies;
+Brothers, yet insensate brutes
+Who fear each others' eyes.
+
+One man stands as free men stand,
+As if his soul might be
+Brave, unbroken; see his hand
+Nailed to an oaken tree.
+
+
+
+
+BELLS IN THE RAIN
+
+
+Sleep falls, with limpid drops of rain,
+Upon the steep cliffs of the town.
+Sleep falls; men are at peace again
+Awhile the small drops fall softly down.
+
+The bright drops ring like bells of glass
+Thinned by the wind, and lightly blown;
+Sleep cannot fall on peaceful grass
+So softly as it falls on stone.
+
+Peace falls unheeded on the dead
+Asleep; they have had deep peace to drink;
+Upon a live man's bloody head
+It falls most tenderly, I think.
+
+
+
+
+WINTER SLEEP
+
+
+When against earth a wooden heel
+Clicks as loud as stone and steel,
+When snow turns flour instead of flakes,
+And frost bakes clay as fire bakes,
+When the hard-bitten fields at last
+Crack like iron flawed in the cast,
+When the world is wicked and cross and old,
+I long to be quit of the cruel cold.
+
+Little birds like bubbles of glass
+Fly to other Americas,
+Birds as bright as sparkles of wine
+Fly in the night to the Argentine,
+Birds of azure and flame-birds go
+To the tropical Gulf of Mexico:
+They chase the sun, they follow the heat,
+It is sweet in their bones, O sweet, sweet, sweet!
+It's not with them that I'd love to be,
+But under the roots of the balsam tree.
+
+Just as the spiniest chestnut-burr
+Is lined within with the finest fur,
+So the stony-walled, snow-roofed house
+Of every squirrel and mole and mouse
+Is lined with thistledown, sea-gull's feather,
+Velvet mullein-leaf, heaped together
+With balsam and juniper, dry and curled,
+Sweeter than anything else in the world.
+O what a warm and darksome nest
+Where the wildest things are hidden to rest!
+It's there that I'd love to lie and sleep,
+Soft, soft, soft, and deep, deep, deep!
+
+
+
+
+VILLAGE MYSTERY
+
+
+The woman in the pointed hood
+And cloak blue-gray like a pigeon's wing,
+Whose orchard climbs to the balsam-wood,
+Has done a cruel thing.
+
+To her back door-step came a ghost,
+A girl who had been ten years dead,
+She stood by the granite hitching-post
+And begged for a piece of bread.
+
+Now why should I, who walk alone,
+Who am ironical and proud,
+Turn, when a woman casts a stone
+At a beggar in a shroud?
+
+I saw the dead girl cringe and whine,
+And cower in the weeping air--
+But, oh, she was no kin of mine,
+And so I did not care!
+
+
+
+
+SUNSET ON THE SPIRE
+
+
+All that I dream
+  By day or night
+Lives in that stream
+  Of lovely light.
+Here is the earth,
+  And there is the spire;
+This is my hearth,
+  And that is my fire.
+From the sun's dome
+  I am shouted proof
+That this is my home,
+  And that is my roof.
+Here is my food,
+  And here is my drink,
+And I am wooed
+  From the moon's brink.
+And the days go over,
+  And the nights end;
+Here is my lover,
+  Here is my friend.
+All that I
+  Could ever ask
+Wears that sky
+  Like a thin gold mask.
+
+
+
+
+ESCAPE
+
+
+When foxes eat the last gold grape,
+And the last white antelope is killed,
+I shall stop fighting and escape
+Into a little house I'll build.
+
+But first I'll shrink to fairy size,
+With a whisper no one understands,
+Making blind moons of all your eyes,
+And muddy roads of all your hands.
+
+And you may grope for me in vain
+In hollows under the mangrove root,
+Or where, in apple-scented rain,
+The silver wasp-nests hang like fruit.
+
+
+
+
+THE FAIRY GOLDSMITH
+
+
+Here's a wonderful thing,
+A humming-bird's wing
+  In hammered gold,
+And store well chosen
+Of snowflakes frozen
+  In crystal cold.
+
+Black onyx cherries
+And mistletoe berries
+  Of chrysoprase,
+Jade buds, tight shut,
+All carven and cut
+  In intricate ways.
+
+Here, if you please
+Are little gilt bees
+  In amber drops
+Which look like honey,
+Translucent and sunny,
+  From clover-tops.
+
+Here's an elfin girl
+Of mother-of-pearl
+  And moonshine made,
+With tortoise-shell hair
+Both dusky and fair
+In its light and shade.
+
+Here's lacquer laid thin,
+Like a scarlet skin
+  On an ivory fruit;
+And a filigree frost
+Of frail notes lost
+  From a fairy lute.
+
+Here's a turquoise chain
+Of sun-shower rain
+  To wear if you wish;
+And glimmering green
+With aquamarine,
+  A silvery fish.
+
+Here are pearls all strung
+On a thread among
+  Pretty pink shells;
+And bubbles blown
+From the opal stone
+  Which ring like bells.
+
+Touch them and take them,
+But do not break them!
+  Beneath your hand
+They will wither like foam
+If you carry them home
+  Out of fairy-land.
+
+O, they never can last
+Though you hide them fast
+  From moth and from rust;
+In your monstrous day
+They will crumble away
+  Into quicksilver dust.
+
+
+
+
+"FIRE AND SLEET AND CANDLELIGHT"
+
+
+For this you've striven
+  Daring, to fail:
+Your sky is riven
+  Like a tearing veil.
+
+For this, you've wasted
+  Wings of your youth;
+Divined, and tasted
+  Bitter springs of truth.
+
+From sand unslaked
+  Twisted strong cords,
+And wandered naked
+  Among trysted swords.
+
+There's a word unspoken,
+  A knot untied.
+Whatever is broken
+  The earth may hide.
+
+The road was jagged
+  Over sharp stones:
+Your body's too ragged
+  To cover your bones.
+
+The wind scatters
+  Tears upon dust;
+Your soul's in tatters
+  Where the spears thrust.
+
+Your race is ended--
+  See, it is run:
+Nothing is mended
+  Under the sun.
+
+Straight as an arrow
+  You fall to a sleep
+Not too narrow
+  And not too deep.
+
+
+
+
+BLOOD FEUD
+
+
+Once, when my husband was a child, there came
+To his father's table, one who called him kin,
+In sunbleached corduroys paler than his skin.
+His look was grave and kind; he bore the name
+Of the dead singer of Senlac, and his smile.
+Shyly and courteously he smiled and spoke;
+"I've been in the laurel since the winter broke;
+Four months, I reckon; yes, sir, quite a while."
+
+He'd killed a score of foemen in the past,
+In some blood-feud, a dark and monstrous thing;
+To him it seemed his duty. At the last
+His enemies found him by a forest spring,
+Which, as he died, lay bright beneath his head,
+A silver shield that slowly turned to red.
+
+
+
+
+SEA LULLABY
+
+
+The old moon is tarnished
+With smoke of the flood,
+The dead leaves are varnished
+With color like blood,
+
+A treacherous smiler
+With teeth white as milk,
+A savage beguiler
+In sheathings of silk,
+
+The sea creeps to pillage,
+She leaps on her prey;
+A child of the village
+Was murdered to-day.
+
+She came up to meet him
+In a smooth golden cloak,
+She choked him and beat him
+To death, for a joke.
+
+Her bright locks were tangled,
+She shouted for joy,
+With one hand she strangled
+A strong little boy.
+
+Now in silence she lingers
+Beside him all night
+To wash her long fingers
+In silvery light.
+
+
+
+
+NANCY
+
+
+You are a rose, but set with sharpest spine;
+You are a pretty bird that pecks at me;
+You are a little squirrel on a tree,
+Pelting me with the prickly fruit of the pine;
+A diamond, torn from a crystal mine,
+Not like that milky treasure of the sea
+A smooth, translucent pearl, but skilfully
+Carven to cut, and faceted to shine.
+
+If you are flame, it dances and burns blue;
+If you are light, it pierces like a star
+Intenser than a needlepoint of ice.
+The dexterous touch that shaped the soul of you,
+Mingled, to mix, and make you what you are,
+Magic between the sugar and the spice.
+
+
+
+
+A PROUD LADY
+
+
+Hate in the world's hand
+Can carve and set its seal
+Like the strong blast of sand
+Which cuts into steel.
+
+I have seen how the finger of hate
+Can mar and mold
+Faces burned passionate
+And frozen cold.
+
+Sorrowful faces worn
+As stone with rain,
+Faces writhing with scorn
+And sullen with pain.
+
+But you have a proud face
+Which the world cannot harm,
+You have turned the pain to a grace
+And the scorn to a charm.
+
+You have taken the arrows and slings
+Which prick and bruise
+And fashioned them into wings
+For the heels of your shoes.
+
+From the world's hand which tries
+To tear you apart
+You have stolen the falcon's eyes
+And the lion's heart.
+
+What has it done, this world,
+With hard finger tips,
+But sweetly chiseled and curled
+Your inscrutable lips?
+
+
+
+
+THE TORTOISE IN ETERNITY
+
+
+Within my house of patterned horn
+I sleep in such a bed
+As men may keep before they're born
+And after they are dead.
+
+Sticks and stones may break their bones,
+And words may make them bleed;
+There is not one of them who owns
+An armor to his need.
+
+Tougher than hide or lozenged bark,
+Snow-storm and thunder proof,
+And quick with sun, and thick with dark,
+Is this my darling roof.
+
+Men's troubled dreams of death and birth
+Pulse mother-o'-pearl to black;
+I bear the rainbow bubble Earth
+Square on my scornful back.
+
+
+
+
+INCANTATION
+
+
+A white well
+In a black cave;
+A bright shell
+In a dark wave.
+
+A white rose
+Black brambles hood;
+Smooth bright snows
+In a dark wood.
+
+A flung white glove
+In a dark fight;
+A white dove
+On a wild black night.
+
+A white door
+In a dark lane;
+A bright core
+To bitter black pain.
+
+A white hand
+Waved from dark walls;
+In a burnt black land
+Bright waterfalls.
+
+A bright spark
+Where black ashes are;
+In the smothering dark
+One white star.
+
+
+
+
+SILVER FILIGREE
+
+
+The icicles wreathing
+  On trees in festoon
+Swing, swayed to our breathing:
+  They're made of the moon.
+
+She's a pale, waxen taper;
+  And these seem to drip
+Transparent as paper
+  From the flame of her tip.
+
+Molten, smoking a little,
+  Into crystal they pass;
+Falling, freezing, to brittle
+  And delicate glass.
+
+Each a sharp-pointed flower,
+  Each a brief stalactite
+Which hangs for an hour
+  In the blue cave of night.
+
+
+
+
+THE FALCON
+
+
+Why should my sleepy heart be taught
+To whistle mocking-bird replies?
+This is another bird you've caught,
+Soft-feathered, with a falcon's eyes.
+
+The bird Imagination,
+That flies so far, that dies so soon;
+Her wings are colored like the sun,
+Her breast is colored like the moon.
+
+Weave her a chain of silver twist,
+And a little hood of scarlet wool,
+And let her perch upon your wrist,
+And tell her she is beautiful.
+
+
+
+
+BRONZE TRUMPETS AND SEA WATER--
+ON TURNING LATIN INTO ENGLISH
+
+
+Alembics turn to stranger things
+Strange things, but never while we live
+Shall magic turn this bronze that sings
+To singing water in a sieve.
+
+The trumpeters of Caesar's guard
+Salute his rigorous bastions
+With ordered bruit; the bronze is hard
+Though there is silver in the bronze.
+
+Our mutable tongue is like the sea,
+Curled wave and shattering thunder-fit;
+Dangle in strings of sand shall be
+Who smooths the ripples out of it.
+
+
+
+
+SPRING PASTORAL
+
+
+Liza, go steep your long white hands
+In the cool waters of that spring
+Which bubbles up through shiny sands
+The color of a wild-dove's wing.
+
+Dabble your hands, and steep them well
+Until those nails are pearly white
+Now rosier than a laurel bell;
+Then come to me at candle-light.
+
+Lay your cold hands across my brows,
+And I shall sleep, and I shall dream
+Of silver-pointed willow boughs
+Dipping their fingers in a stream.
+
+
+
+
+VELVET SHOES
+
+
+Let us walk in the white snow
+  In a soundless space;
+With footsteps quiet and slow,
+  At a tranquil pace,
+  Under veils of white lace.
+
+I shall go shod in silk,
+  And you in wool,
+White as a white cow's milk,
+  More beautiful
+  Than the breast of a gull.
+
+We shall walk through the still town
+  In a windless peace;
+We shall step upon white down,
+  Upon silver fleece,
+  Upon softer than these.
+
+We shall walk in velvet shoes:
+  Wherever we go
+Silence will fall like dews
+  On white silence below.
+  We shall walk in the snow.
+
+
+
+
+VALENTINE
+
+
+Too high, too high to pluck
+My heart shall swing.
+A fruit no bee shall suck,
+No wasp shall sting.
+
+If on some night of cold
+It falls to ground
+In apple-leaves of gold
+I'll wrap it round.
+
+And I shall seal it up
+With spice and salt,
+In a carven silver cup,
+In a deep vault.
+
+Before my eyes are blind
+And my lips mute,
+I must eat core and rind
+Of that same fruit.
+
+Before my heart is dust
+At the end of all,
+Eat it I must, I must
+Were it bitter gall.
+
+But I shall keep it sweet
+By some strange art;
+Wild honey I shall eat
+When I eat my heart.
+
+O honey cool and chaste
+As clover's breath!
+Sweet Heaven I shall taste
+Before my death.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Nets to Catch the Wind, by Elinor Wylie
+
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