apollo, love, poetry, sun, sun worship

An exerpt from: THE SINGING LEAVES

CHARM : TO BE SAID IN THE SUN.

I reach my arms up, to the sky,

And golden vine on vine Of sunlight showered wild and high,

Around my brows I twine. I wreathe, I wind it everywhere,

The burning radiancy Of brightness that no eye may dare,

To be the strength of me. Come, redness of the crystalline,

Come green, come hither blue And violet

— all alive within, For I have need of you.

Come honey-hue and flush of gold,

And through the pallor run,

With pulse on pulse of manifold

New largess of the Sun !

-By Josephine Preston Peabody

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