Poem by Elinor Wylie

Nancy

You are a rose, but set with sharpest spine; 
You are a pretty bird that pecks at me; 
You are a little squirrel on a tree, 
Pelting me with the prickly fruit of the pine; 
A diamond, torn from a crystal mine, 
Not like that milky treasure of the sea, 
A smooth, translucent pearl, but skilfully 
Carven to cut, and faceted to shine.

If you are flame, it dances and burns blue; 
If you are light, it pierces like a star 
Intenser than a needlepoint of ice. 
The dextrous touch that shaped the soul of you, 
Mingled, to mix, and make you what you are, 
Magic between the sugar and the spice.

1. The Fairy Goldsmith
2. Silver Filigree
3. The Crooked Stick
4. Little Joke
5. The Pekingese

Robert Bloomfield Nancy ("You ask me, dear Nancy, what makes me presume")

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