Sweet Poesy, She Liveth
By George Sterling
In that undying garden of the years,
Sweet poesy, she liveth, and her
breath,
Like winds a-whisper with a league
of rose,
Is fragrance of its flower, she lying
pent
Within the web and mystery of words.
Those films of song that of man's
victories
Longest endure, outliving tower or
dome
Of clasped marble. Not in vain her
spell
Hath fallen upon the poets: Keats
outsang
His tender nightingale; and hearken
Poe,
So sweeter than his bells! . . .
~George Sterling, Christian Science Monitor, Jan 25th, 1921, pg 13