After Image

The air too blue, the drifting leaf

An emerald within the brain,

The sweet day quicksilvered with pain,

Flew with the flight of grief.

And yet, such swords are sleeping still

In the dead earth, I dare not go

The gantlet of the garden row,

Lest they should wake, and kill.

O summer rooted in the heart,

Inclement radiance ill endured,

Be warned of the belated bird:

Take feathers, and depart.

Be warned of roses wry with frost:

Release your petals-let them climb

The backward-blowing gale of Time.

Be warned of love: be lost.

George Dillon