Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
(Sep 1883 - Apr 1922) | English (but considered a Canadian poet)
from Little Songs: A Book of Poems
| Toronto: McClelland, 1925
The house I love best has no garden at all,
But the furze follows on to the foot of the wall,
And no wind goes by me but tosses within
The deep scent of heather, the bright scent of whim.
The house to my mind has no mulberry trees,
No elm for the ringdove, no lime for the bees,
But it knows the full shadow of cloud running white
And the wind fallen stars from the branches of night.
The house of my heart has a road running near;
And old tinker treads it three times a year.
And straight from my doorsill I run in the dew
Of the lost little path that should lead me to you.
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2020 Mar 12 11:03 PM