Nathalia Crane

Lo and behold! God made thisThe sanctity of sameness in a shade.

— Nathalia Crane

Oh I'm in love with the janitor's boy, In our geography.

— Nathalia Crane

He'll carry me off, I know that he will, Is to dutifully shiver in bed.

— Nathalia Crane

I linger on the flathouse roof, the moonlight is divine. But my heart is all aflutter like the washing on the line.

— Nathalia Crane

In the darkness, who would answer for the color of a rose, Or the vestments of the May moth and the pilgrimage it goes?

— Nathalia Crane

The sun shall shine in ages yet to be, For all who slept the dreamless interim.

— Nathalia Crane

The starry brocade of the summer night Assurance of a sweeter, fairer fate.

— Nathalia Crane

When you return, the youngest of the seers, Revisions of the ruby and the rose.

— Nathalia Crane

Cloud-made mountains towered, Talked about the sea...

— Nathalia Crane

Across the downs a hummingbird To scrutinize the flowers.

— Nathalia Crane

You cannot choose your battlefield,

— Nathalia Crane

The world is growing gentle, And the judgment of the rose.

— Nathalia Crane

Treating the sword blade the same as the staff, The dust has its reasons wherever it goes.

— Nathalia Crane

Oh, we have had great lovers that we followed to the pyre; They seize us and they love us and they hurl us from the walls.

— Nathalia Crane

He found the harem filled with rocking maids Surrendered to the orgies of the sob.

— Nathalia Crane

Great is the rose Indifferent to death.

— Nathalia Crane

The rose has told In one simplicity. An ancient confidence.

— Nathalia Crane

Great is the rose Against the grave.

— Nathalia Crane

A single-motored miracle, a lead mine on each flank; Below a shadow swept and awed the hundred-fathom bank.

— Nathalia Crane