Flaming cornet of the orange bloom,
Come my prince…have you come soon?
The winds are yet to leave May’s bosom
And the cackle of the infant blossom.
So stretch and stretch your majestic hand,
To hold the flames of the withering noon
And the times of the gray sands,
As they cover your gentlest passions,
So be not timid; be all you can stand
And you shall have your kingly lands.
Dusk - In this dusk I wish to be the breeze drifting through fragrant gardens, past crickets and frogs, faeries and mushrooms, through mossy ferns and pine tr...
1 week ago