Fleeces

This gold, soft-[unclear: woven]—
Woven of sun,
And grass, grown long
In the creek-bed; spun
From the softness of dawn
And its lights horizoned, of gold.
And blent in the twilight; its dreams
Are sun-dreams, the pools at noon;
These pools have entered
The heart of the gold, soft-woven—
[unclear: Woven] of sun.
Strands of fire-radiance, burnt opal,
Long, lingering light on downs,
And sunset-shaded Venice;
So softly intangible,
Golden, infrangible!
It brightens my eyes; lost in the mist
Of its own mist-loveliness.
I sink on the altar! I worship the flame
Its [unclear: ethereal] flame is burning.
This gold, soft-woven,
Is woven of sun
And grass, grown long
In the creek-bed.

—D.M.S.

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