Excerpt from The Hundred and One Harlequins

Serenades

Sigh soft, sigh softly,
rain-thrilled leaves,
let not your careless hands
stem the gold wind!
Let not your greensleeves
swim in its breath,
as water flowing,
lest your thin hands
make gurgle down the crystal hills
the gaudy sun's pavilions
whence he distils those showered scents
whose virtue all true turtles croon
beneath their swaying palaces.
Sing low, then, turtles,
Sigh soft, swift wind,
and, fountains, cease your flutings.
Melulla, now,
lean on your balcony! look down!
My strings shall sing.

Answer again you burning streams,
Nor bend your flame, nor melt your snows,
It is not only straw that burns
To feel the hot sun look on it,
And every phoenix is not dead.

Open your window. Let the air flow in
alive with waterfalls of flashing wings,
so can your fever know a cooling touch
and feel the feathers of my song as such.

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