I walked upon a hill
And the wind, made solemnly drunk with your presence,
Reeled against me.
I stooped to question a flower,
And you floated between my fingers and the petals,
Tying them together.
I severed a leaf from its tree
And a water-drop in the green flagon
Cupped a
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Advice to a Blue-Bird
Who can make a delicate adventure
Of walking on the ground?
Who can make grass-blades
Arcades for pertly careless straying?
You alone, who skim against these leaves,
Turning all desire into light whips
Moulded by your deep blue wing-tips,
You who shrill your unconcern
Into the sternly antique sky.
You to whom all things
Hold an equal kiss of touch.
Mincing, wanton blue-bird,
Grimace at the hoofs of passing men.
You alone can lose yourself
Within a sky, and rob it of its blue!
This poem is in the public domain.
This poem is in the public domain.
Maxwell Bodenheim
Maxwell Bodenheim was born in 1892 in Hermanville, Mississippi. He published numerous books of poetry including, Introducing Irony and Returning to Emotion, and was a literary figure in both Chicago and New York during his lifetime. Bodenheim died in New York in 1954.