The Ghetto and Other Poems by Lola Ridge
page 68 of 75 (90%)
page 68 of 75 (90%)
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Yet ever back upon itself...
As we... Inadequate night... And mooned white memory Of a tropic sea... How softly it comes up Like an ungathered lily. THE EDGE I thought to die that night in the solitude where they would never find me... But there was time... And I lay quietly on the drawn knees of the mountain, staring into the abyss... I do not know how long... I could not count the hours, they ran so fast Like little bare-foot urchins--shaking my hands away... But I remember Somewhere water trickled like a thin severed vein... And a wind came out of the grass, Touching me gently, tentatively, like a paw. As the night grew The gray cloud that had covered the sky like sackcloth Fell in ashen folds about the hills, Like hooded virgins, pulling their cloaks about them... There must have been a spent moon, For the Tall One's veil held a shimmer of silver... |
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