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Poem by Elinor Wylie


Valentine


Too high, too high to pluck 
My heart shall swing. 
A fruit no bee shall suck, 
No wasp shall sting.

If on some night of cold 
It falls to ground 
In apple-leaves of gold 
Ill wrap it round.

And I shall seal it up 
With spice and salt, 
In a carven silver cup, 
In a deep vault.

Before my eyes are blind 
And my lips mute, 
I must eat core and rind 
Of that same fruit.

Before my heart is dust 
By the end of all, 
Eat it I must, I must 
Were it bitter gall.

But I shall keep it sweet 
By some strange art; 
Wild honey I shall eat 
When I eat my heart.

O honey cool and chaste 
As clovers breath! 
Sweet Heaven I shall taste 
Before my death.



Elinor Wylie


Elinor Wylie's other poems:
  1. Madmans Song
  2. Primavera in the North
  3. Curious Circumstance
  4. The Lost Path
  5. Parting Gift


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