is it where the engravings remain unfinished
on your little work table where the sun came in
and oh, I hope, the perfumed lilacs
blended at the margins of the Other World or
where you left off singing.
and tygers shyly bowed down to you
in no wild land;
gladness of springing
the almond trees at hand
the echoing greens and the children
belong to them
who recognized you at once.
and Dante lingering there
by the porticoes in a sunrise
to which your eyes had not
yet accustomed themselves.
and Jesus the lamb
who understood your verses
mary angela douglas 5 april 2016