No One Knows The Colour Of A

O Beautiful White Land, Olives And Wild Anemone And Violet Mingled Among The Shale, And Purple Wings Of Little Winter-butterflies Say, Here Psyche, The Soul, Lies.

In My Garden The Winds Have Beaten The Ripe Lilies; In My Garden, The Salt Has Wilted The First Flakes Of Young Narcissus.

I Had Drawn Away Into The Salt, Myself, A Shell Emptied Of Life.

Long Hours Trail In Their Purple And Long Years Are Lost In Just This Moment While Our Souls Are Near, Our Mouths Separate.

Maid Of The Luminous Grey-eyes, Mistress Of Honey And Marble Implacable White Thighs And Goddess, Chaste Daughter Of Zeus.