A Beautiful Woman

Iris-amid-clouds
Must be her name.

Tall and lonely as the mountain-iris,
Cold and distant.

She has never known longing:
Many have died for love of her.

A Reading

“And the prince came to the craggy rock
But saw only hissing waves
So he rested all day amid them.”

He listens idly,
He is content with her voice.

He dreams it is the murmur
Of distant wave-caps breaking
Upon the painted screen.