My heart is but a dragon-fly, My heart is but a mouse, My heart is but a haughty snail In a little stony house. Your hand was honey-comb to heal, Your voice a web to bind. You were a Mending Flower to me To cure my heart and mind. Venus Transiens. [Amy Lowell] Tell me, Was Venus more beautiful Than you are, When she topped The crinkled waves, Drifting shoreward On her plaited shell? Was Botticelli's vision Fairer than mine; And were the painted rosebuds He tossed his lady, Of better worth Than the words I blow about you To cover your too great loveliness As with a gauze Of misted silver? For me, You stand poised In the blue and buoyant air, Cinctured by bright winds, Treading the sunlight. And the waves which precede you Ripple and stir The sands at your feet. The Dream of Aengus Og. [Eleanor Rogers Cox] When the rose of Morn through the Dawn was breaking, And white on the hearth was last night's flame, Thither to me 'twixt sleeping and waking, Singing out of the mists she came. And grey as the mists on the spectre meadows Were the eyes that on my eyes she laid, And her hair's red splendor through the shadows Like to the marsh-fire gleamed and played. And she sang of the wondrous far-off places That a man may only see in dreams, The death-still, odorous, starlit spaces Where Time is lost and no life gleams. And there till the day had its crest uplifted, She stood with her still face bent on me, Then forth with the Dawn departing drifted Light as a foam-fleck on the sea. And now my heart is the heart of a swallow That here no solace of rest may find, Forevermore I follow and follow Her white feet glancing down the wind. And forevermore in my ears are ringing -- (Oh, red lips yet shall I kiss you dumb!) Twain sole words of that May morn's singing, Calling to me "Hither"! and "Come"! From flower-bright fields to the wild lake-sedges Crying my steps when the Day has gone, Till dim and small down the Night's pale edges The stars have fluttered one by one. And light as the thought of a love forgotten, The hours skim past, while before me flies That face of the Sun and Mist begotten, Its singing lips and death-cold eyes. "I am in Love with High Far-Seeing Places". [Arthur Davison Ficke] I am in love with high far-seeing places That look on plains half-sunlight and half-storm, -- In love with hours when from the circling faces Veils pass, and laughing fellowship glows warm. You who look on me with grave eyes where rapture And April love of living burn confessed, -- The Gods are good! The world lies free to capture! Life has no walls. O take me to your breast! Take me, -- be with me for a moment's span! -- I am in love with all unveiled faces. I seek the wonder at the heart of man; I would go up to the far-seeing places. While youth is ours, turn toward me for a space The marvel of your rapture-lighted face! You. [Ruth Guthrie Harding]