FiamettaAuthor(s): Ella YoungSource: Poetry, Vol. 10, No. 3 (Jun., 1917), p. 129Published by: Poetry FoundationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20571250 .

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FIAMETTA

The south wind trembles through the grass Let it pass. You will not come my way

Any day.

A white star trembles through the mist Purple and amethyst. But Night lets fall Her hooded pall, And I am glad because the white star dies.

No stars surprise Your close-shut eyes.

GREETING

Over the wave-patterned sea-floor, Over the long sun-burnt ridge of the world, I bid the winds seek you. I bid them cry to you

Night and morning A name you loved once; I bid them bring to you

Dreams, and strange imaginings, and sleep. Ella Young

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