Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PERDITA, by MARIAN STORM


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PERDITA, by                    
First Line: Lie on my heart and rest. Brown ferns are waving
Last Line: "she is not ours. She is not even dead."


Lie on my heart and rest. Brown ferns are waving
Over this elfin woodland of the moss.
Come from the path where the long sleepy sunbeams
Cross and recross.

Ah, I have saved so many things to show you --
A little bath behind the waterfall,
A deer that comes to call on me at twilight,
Clearing the wall.

There's an old log with puffballs almost ripened,
A grapevine that I'll give you for a swing,
A hollow tree all furnished for the winter,
A mirror spring.

Over the corn the fireflies went dancing:
I said, "She would laugh at them -- my dear."
If the whole swamp shuddered at the screech-owl:
"She would not fear."

Wait, there is more -- I have a story for you --
I have a dress of red leaves -- Only stay!
My arm is curved. It is a cruel hour
To slip away.

And you will lose yourself in echoing caverns
That open off that lustrous way of space;
The monster hurrying winds will strike ungently
Your wild-rose face.

Put down your head. Why, nothing bends and beckons.
They may have come, but this is all they said,
Leaving you here, O promise of a flower,
"She is not ours. She is not even dead."





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