In the darkness, who would answer for the color of a rose, Or the vestments of the May moth and the pilgrimage it goes? — Nathalia Crane Copy Share Image
The very serpents bite their tails; the bees forget to sting, For a language so celestial setteth up a wondering. And the touch of… — Nathalia Crane Copy Share Image
Lo and behold! God made this starry wold, The maggot and the mold; lo and behold! He taught the grass contentment blade by blade,… — Nathalia Crane Copy Share Image
You cannot choose your battlefield, The Gods do that for you; But you can plant a standard Where a standard never flew. — Nathalia Crane Copy Share Image
I linger on the flathouse roof, the moonlight is divine. But my heart is all aflutter like the washing on the line. — Nathalia Crane Copy Share Image
Oh I'm in love with the janitor's boy, And the janitor's boy loves me; He's going to hunt for a desert isle In our… — Nathalia Crane Copy Share Image
Across the downs a hummingbird Came dipping through the bowers, He pivoted on emptiness To scrutinize the flowers. — Nathalia Crane Copy Share Image
When you return, the youngest of the seers, Released from fetters of ancestral pose, There will be beauty waiting down the years Revisions of… — Nathalia Crane Copy Share Image
The rose has told In one simplicity That never life Relinquishes a bloom But to bestow An ancient confidence. — Nathalia Crane Copy Share Image
Great is the rose Infected by the tomb, Yet burgeoning Indifferent to death. — Nathalia Crane Copy Share Image
Great is the rose That challenges the crypt, And quotes milleniums Against the grave. — Nathalia Crane Copy Share Image
Once a pallid Vestal Doubted truth in blue; Listed red in ruin, Harried every hue; Barricaded vision, Garbed herself in sighs; Ridiculed the birthmarks… — Nathalia Crane Copy Share Image
