Paradise (Elizabeth Sargent)

There is a walled garden where the flowers never pale
                                                                                     or turn dark
A fiery dream couched in sunlight when the rose
Burns redly over her seeds       and the waterlily breaks
A surface of deep lake without strain.
Her fire is white and many-petalled with a golden spark
(Caught from the sun?)in its well guarded core;
                                                            only one floating root shows
Red, crimson of the clear sort. There is nothing opaque
In her, not even that singular most curious vein
Which must once have leaped in a long arc
To the sun!                                           Enclose
Your self and seek the inmost gold
                                              the rose and the lily——
Put your arms around me. Our winter is real.

(Bron: Love Poems of Elizabeth Sargent/The New American Library)

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