Poetry
The Fountain Concealed
THE myrtle guards its heavy wall of shade
No slits of sunlight through its lattice pierce.
The flickering flame of broom Goes out, quenched by the light.
The fruited sunlight hangs upon the wall, And pendent quinces like gold castanets, In glowing topaz drops, Prison their dances close.
Beauty betrays my sight ! I only see, Level and coloured as a book of hours, The gold-illumined walk,
The diaper of flowers.
Ah ! in your leaves I see your sudden wings, Flutter and flash, my bird that sings in heat I Your lucent silver thrill, Your ardent throb of light.
And musical in founted memory, Hooded in starlight very far and frail, Rings dew deep-laid in copse, Snow-light above the plain.
And climbing happy drops glisten and sing, Bright as the glassy slipping-place where streams, Over cool agate rocks, Plunge in a green cascade.
In the white solstice as an ecstasy Glimmers the threading silver of your wings, Soft fan-bright melodies Gleam in their hovering wind.
And lustrous as a bubble sails the world, In gossamer freedom on a rainbow flight ; Buoyed on soft plumes of sound, Truant of water-light. GERTRUDE BONE.
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