Lola Ridge Poems

Mama’s face
is smooth and pale as tea-rose leaves.
That ivory oval of aunt Gem
you sucked the miniature off
...

The earth is motionless
And poised in space…
A great bird resting in its flight
Between the alleys of the stars.
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The earth is motionless
And poised in space…
A great bird resting in its flight
Between the alleys of the stars.
...

Your love was like moonlight turning harsh things to beauty, so that little wry souls reflecting each other obliquely as in cracked mirrors… beheld in your luminous spirit their own reflection, transfigured as in a shining stream, and loved you for what they are not.
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We are old,
Old as song.
Before Rome was
Or Cyrene.
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The ore in the crucible is pungent, smelling like acrid wine,
It is dusky red, like the ebb of poppies,
And purple, like the blood of elderberries.
Surely it is a strong wine - juice distilled of the fierce iron.
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Skyscrapers… remote, unpartisan…
Turning neither to the right nor left
Your imperturbable fronts….
Austerely greeting the sun
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I see you, refulgent ones,
Burning so steadily
Like big white arc lights…
There are so many of you.
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I thought to die that night in the solitude where they would never find me…
But there was time…
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Will you feast with me, American People?
But what have I that shall seem good to you!
On my board are bitter apples
And honey served on thorns,
...