Quatrains
1
Brushes and paints are all I have
To speak the music in my soul—
While silently there laughs at me
A copper jar beside a pale green bowl.
2
How strange that grass should sing—
Grass is so still a thing....
And strange the swift surprise of snow
So soft it falls and slow.
Secret
I shall make a song like your hair...
Gold-woven with shadows green-tinged,
And I shall play with my song
As my fingers might play with your hair.
Deep in my heart
I shall play with my song of you,
Gently....
I shall laugh
At its sensitive lustre...
I shall wrap my song in a blanket,
Blue like your eyes are blue
With tiny shots of silver.
I shall wrap it caressingly,
Tenderly....
I shall sing a lullaby
To the song I have made
Of your hair and eyes...
And you will never know
That deep in my heart
I shelter a song of you
Secretly....