Elinor Wylie

Primavera in the North

She has danced for leagues and leagues, 
Over thorns and thistles, 
Prancing to a tune of Griegg’s 
Performed on willow whistles.

Antelopes behold her, dazed, 
Velvet-eyed, and furry; 
Polar flowers, crackle-glazed, 
Snap beneath her hurry.

In a wig of copper wire, 
A gown of scalloped gauzes, 
She capers like a flame of fire 
Over Arctic mosses.

All her tears have turned to birds, 
All her thoughts of dolour 
Paint the snow with scarlet words 
And traceries of colour.