My Garden

ve VOL. XXVI

ESOC No. I

LEE °

A Magazine of Verse

APRIL 1925

THE FOUR WINDS

Witte birds fly over my head,

Great white birds that call to me.

They do not know that I am dead

Who am not even a memory.

How can I hear them, how can I see

The beautiful wings that wave on high,

Who am drowned and deep in a northern sea?

Oh, these are my dreams that will not die.

MY GARDEN

The four winds pile the colored leaves

About the house where no one lives.

And must these verses count for sheaves-

The windfalls that my garden gives?

As any wall of Babylon,

And only things with wings shall spy

The fruit therein or feed thereon.

But if the wind should lend you wings,

The stars will lend you eyes to see,

Among imperishable things,

The Sapphic apple on its tree.

And orchids likewise snarl and chide

In jungles under skies too blue,

Whose scarlet trumpets still may hide

A Sodomitish dream or two.

And trees by night make shadows black

With many a long invoking arm,

And lovers' sneaky ghosts come back

To see if kisses still can charm.

And from an upper chamber shines

A red light over dark and damp-

A smoky devil there reclines

Whose symbols are the pipe and lamp.

Walk softly in my garden then

Nor wake the snake or sacred dove;

And if your faith be not in men

Still let your talisman be love.