Monday, February 02, 2015
She Dreams Of His Death
[to Fanny Brawne and to John Keats...]
it's in the garden or it's in my heart,
his nightingale singing in the mulberry tree;
the orchards beyond remembrance now.
the universe was rich with petals;
the heart is filled with snows.
it's in the garden or its in my heart.
am I the one that knows?
am I the one with the lifted lamp
using light like a knife?
the uncrowned Queen of all this vanishing.
I vanish too but they won't hold me guiltless.
it's in the garden or it's in my heart
my love my love my love
mary angela douglas 2 february 2015