NEITHER spirit nor bird— That was my flute you heard Last night by the river. When you came with your wicker jar Where the river drags the willows, That was my flute you heard, Wacoba, Wacoba, Calling, Come to the willows! Neither the wind nor a bird Rustled the lupine blooms— That was my blood you heard Answer your garment's hem Whispering through the grasses; That was my blood you heard By the wild rose under the willows. That was no beast that stirred— That was my blood you heard Pacing to and fro In the ambush of my desire To the flute's four-noted call. Wacoba, Wacoba, That was my heart you heard Leaping under the willows. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A SCREEN-MAKER by MARIANNE MOORE SUNSET FROM OMAHA HOTEL WINDOW by CARL SANDBURG BY THE ALMA RIVER by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK THE VIOLINIST by MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON A CHILD'S FANCY by MATHILDE BLIND THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: IBN KOLTHUM by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |