The Pool
Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall 1883 (Gunnersbury, London) – 1922 (Vancouver)
COME with me, follow me, swift as a moth,
Ere the wood-doves waken.
Lift the long leaves and look down, look down
Where the light is shaken,
Amber and brown,
On the woven ivory roots of the reed,
On a floating flower and a weft of weed
And a feather of froth.
Here in the night all wonders are,
Lapped in the lift of the ripple's swing,–
A silver shell and a shaken star,
And a white moth's wing.
Here the young moon when the mists unclose
Swims like the bud of a golden rose.
I would live like an elf where the wild grapes cling,
I would chase the thrush
From the red rose-berries.
All the day long I would laugh and swing
With the black choke-cherries.
I would shake the bees from the milkweed blooms,
And cool, O cool,
Night after night I would leap in the pool,
And sleep with the fish in the roots of the rush.
Clear, O clear my dreams should be made
Of emerald light and amber shade,
Of silver shallows and golden glooms.
Sweet, O sweet my dreams should be
As the dark, sweet water enfolding me
Safe as a blind shell under the sea.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 1:02 min read
- 83 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABCBCDDA EFEFGG FHGFG GIIHJJGKKG |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 1,021 |
Words | 206 |
Stanzas | 4 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 6, 5, 10 |
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"The Pool" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 16 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/26465/the-pool>.
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