Silver Dust - Poem by Agnes Clark
Once this fine-ground dust was a dancing maiden
Bearing fruits carved out of Pentelic marble.
Dressed in pleated robe white as a mountain summit,
Pure for the goddess.
Strange awareness born of the lifeless powder
Stirs a fear-filled memory long ice-buried,
Tragic doom that scatters in formless fragments
All my loved glitter.
Chaste carnations wilt in the dying moonlight;
Pale-plumed bird flew high from me to destruction;
Foam-light pets with silky, soft curling coats lie
Deep in ther earth beds.
Paint your soul night-black, or my dear beloived!
Rage or threaten, dark as the sullen stormcloud.
Scrape your palette clean of all pearly pigments;
So I may hold you.
Comments about Silver Dust by Agnes Clark
Edgar Allan Poe
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