To Mary O'hara: Her Harp And Song Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

I think of her milking the cows at night
or early while it is yet dark
this is the sense in which the

harp sweeps over me with its pastoral love songs
that the cream of the stars reflects
in a pail foaming white

and it is my soul, is it

and so to the lips of song
the air of almost dawn comes winging
this is an ancient singing jeweled

ah while the moon and the earth
stand still, while one can breathe;
while we must drink our fill of dreams

till the music runs over

mary angela douglas 8 july 2016