Drunk And Courting Oneself On The Moors Poem by Nathaniel A.Wallace

I love what I know that I don't know -
‘Tis darkness that gleans us light,
That tree in the distance looks oh so -
Chilled in an autumn sight,
If I, my recesses, do not show so -
Dim Thule, diminished, in blight,
In possession of thine ultima beauty -
Goes long, converging night,
The pages, their linguists but falter -
How is this five o'clock?
I expected a warmer welcomer -
Where she steps - her dress flows on the dock;

II: Miss Unexacting

Even star, shine no softer than now:
The trees with bark old as brine
Are so hurt to know
Of trunks, but little
Of so slender limbs;
They rustle, ere the breeze
And knew no leaves can commend
Her silent lashes; nor petals in bloom
Can give clandestine light, to both -
That is, if night and day,
Were quelled, and soon setting, these fey
Flowers but bob her way.