Let her who walks in Paphos
take the glass,
let Paphos take the mirror
and the work of frosted fruit,
gold apples set
with silver apple-leaf,
white leaf of silver
wrought with vein of gilt.
Let Paphos lift the mirror;
let her look
into the polished center of
sign up to receive a new poem-a-day in your inbox
sign up
Orchard
I saw the first pear as it fell— the honey-seeking, golden-banded, the yellow swarm was not more fleet than I, (spare us from loveliness) and I fell prostrate crying: you have flayed us with your blossoms, spare us the beauty of fruit-trees. The honey-seeking paused not, the air thundered their song, and I alone was prostrate. O rough-hewn god of the orchard, I bring you an offering— do you, alone unbeautiful, son of the god, spare us from loveliness: these fallen hazel-nuts, stripped late of their green sheaths, grapes, red-purple, their berries dripping with wine, pomegranates already broken, and shrunken figs and quinces untouched, I bring you as offering.
This poem is in the public domain.
This poem is in the public domain.