Lola Ridge

From “Chromatics”

WIND, just arisen

(Off what cool matters of marsh-moss

In tented boughs leaf-drawn before the stars,

Or niche of cliff under the eagles?)

You of living things,

So gay and tender and full of play,

Why do you blow on my thoughts—like cut flowers

Gathered and laid to dry on this paper, rolled out of dead wood?

I see you

Shaking that flower at me with soft invitation

And frisking away,

Deliciously rumpling the grass …

So you fluttered the curtains about my cradle,

Prattling of fields

Before I had had my milk.

Did I stir on my pillow, making to follow you, Fleet One—

I, swaddled, unwinged, like a bird in the egg?

Let be

My dreams that crackle under your breath …

You have the dust of the world to blow on.

Do not tag me and dance away, looking back …

I am too old to play with you,

Eternal child.