Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 1 (October 1912-March 1913).djvu/17

Symphony of a Mexican Garden The roses and carnations and divine Small violets that voice the vanished god, There is a lure of passion-poignant tone Not flower-of-pomegranate—that finds the heart As stubborn oboes do—can breathe in air, Nor poppies, nor keen lime, nor orange-bloom.

What zone of wonder in the ardent dusk Of trees that yearn and cannot understand, Vibrates as to the golden shepherd horn That stirs some great adagio with its cry And will not let it rest? O tender trees, Your orchid, like a shepherdess of dreams, Calls home her whitest dream from following Elusive laughter of the unmindful god!

Vivace

The iris people dance Like any nimble faun: To rhythmic radiance They foot it in the dawn. They dance and have no need Of crystal-dripping flute Or chuckling river-reed,— Their music hovers mute. The dawn-lights flutter by All noiseless, but they know!