The Swan

AS IN SOME DREAM

THE SWAN

Upon no stem,

This flower is

Left free to taste

Her earthly bliss.

Not moored against

A sullen stone,

But drifting . . . drifting,

Blown and blown.

Revealed against

The waters with

The subtle substance

Of a myth,

A myth not fully

Known to men,

She floats, she glides, she lives again!

THIS GOLDEN TREE