A large dragonfly whipped by my window
and, on a swing, she chose her repose
to spread a frothiest shade of black,
a gauzy game of her ready arms!
Glad and restless to raise ardent whirl
with legerdemain to take one’s breath,
catching fair dreams of iridescence
among sunbeams with her winging fan.
There she thus sits, finely spreading
a translucent charm—just as opaque—
turning beauty into mist and daze.
O that lissome whim of willing yearning!
O that little wounding wraith! What hoses
can she pull—on her clearsighted play!
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