|O wild rose, bend above my face!|
There is no world—
Only the beat of your throat against my eyes.
White moss is harsh
Against these soft white petals of your feet.
It is hard to dream you have followed the wild goats
Aslant the perilous hills.
I have only the fire of my heart to offer you,
O peach-red lily of my love!
|This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on August 10, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.|