Poems (Scudder)/The "Morning-glory" Geyser
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THE "MORNING-GLORY" GEYSER
Oh, monstrous flower huge and delicate
As pure of color, exquisite of line
As are the brittle stars of meadow-vine
Or satin-sapphire gentians blooming late
Among the meadow-grasses and the great
As pure of color, exquisite of line
As are the brittle stars of meadow-vine
Or satin-sapphire gentians blooming late
Among the meadow-grasses and the great
Soft, downy globes of wind-wooed dandelion
Where fairy knights sit at their clover wine
Until the afternoon's long heat abate.
Do giant butterflies with wings rich-hued
As sunset clouds, hang over thee in haste
Thy thickly bubbling honey all to sip?
Their great, vague beauty unguessed by our rude
And blundering vision? Flower of the waste,
What secret hovers on thy upcurled lip?
Where fairy knights sit at their clover wine
Until the afternoon's long heat abate.
Do giant butterflies with wings rich-hued
As sunset clouds, hang over thee in haste
Thy thickly bubbling honey all to sip?
Their great, vague beauty unguessed by our rude
And blundering vision? Flower of the waste,
What secret hovers on thy upcurled lip?