In a vase of gold And scarlet, how cold The flicker of wrinkled grays In this iris-sheaf! My eyes fill with wonder At the tossed, moist light, at the withered scales under And among the uncertain sprays. The wavings of white On the cloudy light, And the finger-marks of pearl; The facets of crystal, the golden feather, The way that the petals fold over together, The way that the buds unfurl! |