Elinor Morton Wylie
Elinor Morton Wylie Poems
|45.||'Fire And Sleet And Candlelight'||1/3/2003|
|52.||Now Let No Charitable Hope||1/3/2003|
Comments about Elinor Morton Wylie
The old moon is tarnished
With smoke of the flood,
The dead leaves are varnished
With colour like blood.
A treacherous smiler
With teeth white as milk,
A savage beguiler
In sheathings of silk
The sea creeps to pillage,
She leaps on her prey;
A child of the village
Was murdered today.
She came up to meet him
In a smooth golden cloak,
She choked him and beat him
to death, for a joke.
Her bright locks were tangled,
She shouted for joy
With one hand she strangled
A strong little boy.
Now in silence ...
The Lost Path
The garden's full of scented wallflowers,
And, save that these stir faintly, nothing stirs;
Only a distant bell in hollow chime
Cried out just now for far-forgoten time,
And three reverberate words the great bell spoke.
The knocker's made of brass, the door of oak,
And such a clamor must be loosed on air
By the knocker's blow that knock I do not dare.
The silence is a spell, and if it break,