Poem by Elinor Wylie

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Would I might make subliminal my flesh
And so contrive a gentle atmosphere
To comfort you because I am not there;
Or else incorporate and carve afresh
A lady, from the chilly heaven and clear
Which flows around you like a stream of air,
To warm and wind you in her body's mesh.

So would I cherish you a loving twice;
Once in a mist made matter; once again
In my true substance made etherial:
And yet I cannot succour you at all
Whose letter cries, "My hands are cold as ice,"
The while I kiss the colder air in vain.

1. I Have Believed That I Prefer to Live
2. Now Am I Orson to Your Valentine
3. Now Shall the Long Homesickness Have an End
4. Children and Dogs Are Subject to My Power
5. The Pekingese

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