Nathalia Crane Quotes
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I linger on the flathouse roof, the moonlight is divine. But my heart is all aflutter like the washing on the line.
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Oh I'm in love with the janitor's boy, And the janitor's boy loves me; He's going to hunt for a desert isle In our geography.
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The very serpents bite their tails; the bees forget to sting, For a language so celestial setteth up a wondering. And the touch of absent mindedness is more than any line, Since direction counts for nothing when the gods set up a sign.
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The rose has told In one simplicity That never life Relinquishes a bloom But to bestow An ancient confidence.
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Lo and behold! God made this starry wold, The maggot and the mold; lo and behold! He taught the grass contentment blade by blade, The sanctity of sameness in a shade.
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Said the tiger to the lily, Said the viper to the rose, Let us marry so our children May attain the double pose. With a feline half a flower With the attar in the asp We could institute a slaughter That would make a planet gasp.
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Once a pallid Vestal Doubted truth in blue; Listed red in ruin, Harried every hue; Barricaded vision, Garbed herself in sighs; Ridiculed the birthmarks Of the butterflies.
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The sign work of the Orient it runneth up and down; The Talmud stalks from right to left, a rabbi in a gown; The Roman rolls from left to right from Maytime unto May; But the gods shake up their symbols in an absent-minded way. Their language runs to circles like the language of the eyes, Emphasised by strange dilations with little panting sighs.
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You cannot choose your battlefield, The Gods do that for you; But you can plant a standard Where a standard never flew.
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The sun shall shine in ages yet to be, The musing moon illumine pastures dim, And afterwards a new nativity For all who slept the dreamless interim.
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In the darkness, who would answer for the color of a rose, Or the vestments of the May moth and the pilgrimage it goes?
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Great is the rose That challenges the crypt, And quotes milleniums Against the grave.
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When you return, the youngest of the seers, Released from fetters of ancestral pose, There will be beauty waiting down the years Revisions of the ruby and the rose.
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Across the downs a hummingbird Came dipping through the bowers, He pivoted on emptiness To scrutinize the flowers.
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Great is the rose Infected by the tomb, Yet burgeoning Indifferent to death.
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A precious place is Paradise and none may know its worth, But Eden ever longeth for the knicknacks of the earth. The angels grow quite wistful over worldly things below; They hear the hurdy-gurdies in the Candle Makers Row. They listen for the laughter from the antics of the earth; They lower pails from heaven's walls to catch the milk-maids mirth.
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The starry brocade of the summer night Is linked to us as part of our estate; And every bee that wings its sidelong flight Assurance of a sweeter, fairer fate.
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The world is growing gentle, But few know what she owes To the understanding lily And the judgment of the rose.
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Let go the lure The striving to unmake; Behold the truth Whenever heart may ache There is a glory In a great mistake.
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There is a glory in a great mistake.
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