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The Giver of Stars

by Amy Lowell, 1914

Hold your soul open for my welcoming.
Let the quiet of your spirit bathe me
With its clear and rippled coolness,
That, loose-limbed and weary, I find rest,
Outstretched upon your peace, as on a bed of ivory.

Let the flickering flame of your soul play all about me,
That into my limbs may come the keenness of fire,
The life and joy of tongues of flame,
And, going out from you, tightly strung and in tune,
I may rouse the blear-eyed world,
And pour into it the beauty which you have begotten.

Published in Sword Blades and Poppy Seed
Tags: beauty, gratitude, heartache, love

Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.