CUERVO - Biblioteca Nacional de Colombia

JAMES LEE
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Yet this turns now to a fault-there I there I
That I do love, watch too long,
And wait too well, and weary and wear;
And 't is all an old story, and my despair
Fit subject for some new song:
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How the light, light love, he has wings to fly
At suspicion of a hond:
My wisdom has bidden your pleasure good-bye,
Which will turn up next in a laughing eye,
And why should you look beyond?
V.- ON TilE CLIFF
1
I LEANED on the turf,
I looked at a rock
Left dry by the surf;
For the turf, to call it grass were to mode:
Dead to the roots, so deep was done
The work of the summer sun.
2
And the rock lay flat
As an anvil's face:
No iron like that!
Baked dry; of a weed, of a shell, no trace;
Sunshine outside, but ice at the core,
Death's altar by the lone shore.
3
On the turf, sprang gay
·With his films of blue,
No cricket, I'll say,
But a warhorse, barded and chanfronrd too,
The gift of a quixote-mage to his knight,
Real fairy, with wings all right.
4
On the rock, they scorch
Like a drop of fire
From a brandished torch,
©Biblioteca Nacional de Colombia
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