A Woman of Thirty by Marjorie Allen Seiffert
page 55 of 85 (64%)
page 55 of 85 (64%)
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Who knows the mountain where the hunter rides Winding his horn? Maura who heard it in her dream Wakens forlorn, Too late to catch the tenuous thread Of silver sound Which in the troubled, intricate fugue of earth Is drowned. IV Maura cannot follow over the hill, Her youth is landlocked as a hidden pool Where thirsty love drinks deep, A shining pool, where lingers The colour of an unseen golden sky, A pool where echoes fall asleep. But restless fingers Trouble the waters cool, Snatch at reflected beauty, and destroy The mirrored dream. The pool is never still, And broken echoes die. V The silver call has gone, but there is left to her The gentleness of earth, The simple mysteries of sleep and death, |
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