Poem by Elinor Wylie

Poor Earth

It is not heaven: bitter seed 
Leavens its entrails with despair 
It is a star where dragons breed: 
Devils have a footing there.

The sky has bent it out of shape; 
The sun has strapped it to his wheel; 
Its course is crooked to escape 
Traps and gins of stone and steel.

It balances on air, and spins 
Snared by strong transparent space; 
I forgive it all its sins; 
I kiss the scars upon its face.

1. The Pekingese
2. In Our Content, before the Autumn Came
3. Upon Your Heart, Which Is.the Heart of All
4. Absent Thee from Felicity Awhile
5. One Person

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