Autumn 1942 • Vol. IV No. 3 New Verse by Brave Poets |

Moderate Fable

In seasons of doubt, in seasons sceptic of love Yet here did seven bridegrooms softly come Each with translucent bone and glistening spittle To claim the daughter of God, as dual beautiful With wreath upon her head, with mute hands folded And a shroud like a golden cloud; she was unseen But nuance of spheres, but premise of flowering, And here did seven bridegrooms enter in. But early death or a sudden anesthesia did strike Seven bridegrooms in her still rooms, before one Could consummate with her the act of union entire; As flower will not think, neither will man flower, And the sphere will be revealed, but hemispheres Of part, closed eyes, and white dust in the dried Mouth of loves divine. So cursed by severance here Was each bridegroom feeble as a child Without blood. For these were her widowed stainless Allegiances, and lilies in the sea And that profound silence which favors the consumer Though fish will sleep in the water’s flower anemone. And in seasons of logic’s

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