Poem by Elinor Wylie

Escape

When foxes eat the last gold grape, 
And the last white antelope is killed, 
I shall stop fighting and escape 
Into a little house I’ll build.

But first I’ll shrink to fairy size, 
With a whisper no one understands, 
Making blind moons of all your eyes, 
And muddy roads of all your hands.

And you may grope for me in vain 
In hollows under the mangrove root, 
Or where, in apple-scented rain, 
The silver wasp-nests hang like fruit.

1. The Fairy Goldsmith
2. Silver Filigree
3. Address to My Soul
4. Little Joke
5. Parting Gift

Emily Dickinson Escape ("I NEVER hear the word escape")

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