Page:Tangled Hair.djvu/52

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Spring Maiden

A patch of snow remains
Like the discarded garment of a maiden
Who has gone to array herself
In a new flowered gown of spring.

’Tis hard to fall asleep
And ride in the carriage of dreams—
So pungent is
The odor of daphne.

The evening moon
Is a young maiden
Who emerges from the mouth of a dungeon
In a pale blue trailing skirt.

On the river bank in summer
A rustic lad
Washes turnips that seem like
Rhinoceros’ teeth.

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