Her husband feels her as a soothing spur,
A golden summons to a joyful strife.
Some few observe her as the careful wife
Laying two lives away in lavender.
A poet knows her as a breath of myrrh;
A tradesman as an ever-sharpened knife;
Some see the artist bargaining with life. . .
And these are but the lightest hints of her.

For she is Girl and Priestess — and her hands,
Reckless and wise, snatch at the quickening brands
And bear them like rejoicing flags unfurled.
Laughing, she scatters life; she feeds the flames
That leap through casual thoughts and tawdry aims,
And burns the slag clean from the rusting world.