Orion is listening!
Gold against blue
His sword is glistening!
There is hunting in heaven--
Sleep safe till to-morrow.
Now that I have cooled to you
Let there be gold of tarnished masonry,
Temples soothed by the sun to ruin
That sleep utterly.
Give me hand for the dances,
Ripples at Philae, in and out,
And lips, my Lesbian,
Wall flowers that once were flame.
Your hair is my Carthage
And my arms the bow,
And our words arrows
To shoot the stars
Who from that misty sea
Swarm to destroy us.
But you there beside me--
Oh how shall I defy you,
A short book of not-very-good poems. This is the sort of stuff a new poet writes after reading Keats, Wordsworth, and Shelley: sappy, archaic, and full of mythological references. There's nothing memorable here.
Read Sour Grapes instead.
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