Three Poems

A Hero Long-Returned

A hero long-returned from
The vicissitudes of rude adventuring
With a withered coronal of violets
On his gilded brow
Begins to strum
A song of gilded suffering,
Which permits
Him at length to avow,

‘That every hour is a type of peace,
Which the heavy mind can dwell in;
That every cut flower is on lease,
Which perhaps Paris knew of Helen.’

A Strip of Clouds

A strip of clouds
In the darkling ocean
Is unaffected by breezes below
Or the jostling of other celestial crowds.

It lays its limbs in devotion
On the red banks of the West
As if they were a pillow,
But finds no rest.

There comes a rush of yellow,
And so, it moves on
To isles blessed
By golden dawn.

A Statue of a Saint

A statue of a saint
And a little boy
Exchange glances
And though he feels faint,
He also feels joy
And dances.