Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 7 (October 1915-March 1916).djvu/379

At Harvest Womb-fellow of the dark and sweet-scented apple; Womb-fellow of the gourd and of the grape: Like begotten, like born.


 * And yet without a lover's knowledge

Of thy secrets I would walk the ridges of the hills, Kindless and desolate.


 * What were the storm-driven moon to me,

Seed of another father? What the overflowing Of the well of dawn? What the hollow, Red with rowan fire? What the king-fern? What the belled heath? What the drum of grouse's wing, Or glint of spar, Caught from the pit Of a deserted quarry?


 * Let me kiss thy breasts:

I am thy son and lover. Joseph Campbell