Tag: Poetry

Sunday Island

On Sunday Island, in the sun, My girl tells me to beware;

The river suns itself; from stone to stone in languid flow.

I have more in kin with mountains than any human kind.

The parting of strangers is bitter By far for what is left

Astonished at your perfumed Rose, rising to my breath;

I wish to drown what haunts you It fills the back of your eyes

Faint traceries of wind are All curling ‘round your crown.

I saw your cabin, stranger, Below the clouds and trees.

The roar of a distant highway intrudes like a timid visitor,

By peace and obscuring walls, by field and forest halls,

When summer drops, out of the green Spring folds and scatters in a flight of waking bees.

From An Undiscovered Archipelago.