 Love's First Fruits, by Olive Custons, read for LibriVox.org by Neema. Quote, As the sweet apple blushes on the end of Bao, the very end of the Bao, which the gatherers overlooked, nay, overlooked not, but could not reach, end quote, Sappho. I bring to thee the fruitage of first love, the flower but faintly touched with passions pink, pushed forth, untended, towards a fragile thing, to fight alone with all the fears of life. Yet it grew, expanding day by day, each petal pure, as sun soft summer air pressed forward to the perfect fain of love that fronted it. For love was king and light, the only king that fair faint blossom knew. And so it flourished, till at last it fell, and the fruit framed in girlhood's life of leaves hung warm and sweet, flushed crimson from the sun of girlhood's summer. So the autumn came, and with it came a gatherer strong and bold who raised a longing hand to reach it down, that little fruit of love. But it outsoared that long life arm, and so the gatherer shook the slender green gert stem, until at last, loosed from its hold, love's first fruit dropped to him. So my heart's harvest has been yielded up, a rapturous, speechless sacrifice to thee. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Song Spinner by Olive Custons. Red for LibriVox.org by NEMA. Safe in my golden room of thought, I hear outside the rush and sweep of travel-wearyed wings of sin, I hear the tears of those that weep, my musings are with visions fraught. To catch love's voice my soul stands mute, around me speechless memories flute, vague threads of music, to weave in the songs of life I sit and spin. I sit and spin the songs of life, about my knees, proud flowers press, their leaves fold round me like soft wings, their colors soothe, as the caress of cool slim hands, and, like a knife too sharp to hurt, their keen fresh scent stabs through my senses to the pent and passionate soul, beyond the sings of mortal and immortal things. Frail mystic perfume men call praise. More sandaled memories moving slow, angels of hope with shimmerous hair, pale dreams that waver to and fro. By such as these are aurorial days of song encompassed from rose dawn to languorous drift of light outworn. The while I strive with fervoured care, slow spinning the poem fabric fair. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain, Twilight by Olive Custins, read for LibriVox.org by NEMA. Quote, Mother of the Dews, dark eyelash twilight, low-litted twilight, or the valley's brim, end quote, Meredith. Spirit of twilight, through your folded wings I catch a glimpse of your averted face, and rapturous, on a sudden my soul sings, is not this common earth a holy place? Spirit of twilight, you are like a song that sleeps and waits a singer, like a hymn, that God finds lovely and keeps near him long, till it is quiet by aurial cherubim. Effective twilight, in the golden gloom of dreamland dim, I sought for you and found, a woman weeping in a silent room, full of white flowers that moved and made no sound. These white flowers, with the thoughts men never tell, in the room's name is mystery, where you weep, women whom we call twilight, when days spell, of toil is broken, and you bring back sleep, end a poem, this recording is in the public domain. Ideal by Olive Custins, read for LibriVox.org by NEMA. We are not sundered, for we never met. We only passed each other in the throng, we moved together, but not long, not long. You were indifferent, and I may forget, your profound eyes, your heavy hair, your voice, so clear yet deep and low with tenderness, that lingered on my ears like a caress, and roused my heart to make a futile choice. O poet that passed me carelessly in the throng, O soul that clamored onto God in song, how should I lose you, thus in lack regret? End a poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Blue Mist by Olive Custins, read for LibriVox.org by NEMA. Twilight, the musical earth mute, one yellow star above the rose-stained west, whose worshipers in woody undergrowth's pale, primrose stars of spring, waft, scentful gust of wildflower prayer to her. The purple dusk folds near, and the faded, far-off fields are lost to sight, and through the leafless trees creeps a soft sapphire mist, till every twig is blotted out, and every branches veiled, and pine and fir loom mystical and strange, and the great cedar waivers like a dream beneath the cloudless sky that darkens still, slung here and there each moment with more stars. End a poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Book of Fairy Tales by Olive Custins, read for LibriVox.org by NEMA. Oh, the white rose of friendship twix us twain, spreading out scentful. Oh, the frail fresh leaves of fervoured youth that fights and fears and grieves and laughs and loves and hopes through all its pain. Oh, friend, I am but poor for all my praise and love of you, tis but a book I bring about that land where our dreams wing to wing, drift seeking shelter from earth-sorted days. Oh, friend, whose soul is swift to understand if life is difficult and cold and sad. Some are together still, and some are glad, and, to these few, God gives his fairy land. End a poem, this recording is in the public domain. Delight by Olive Custins, read for LibriVox.org by NEMA. You butterfly, you singing bird, you dainty sweet, sweet woman with dancing feet. At sight of you I know not why strange, wistful memories are stirred in my soul's depths when you flash by. I love you at each swift heartbeat, yet sit and never say a word. So many thoughts thrill, thus unheard. Oh, little throat, so slim and white, dear voice is deep, restful and wonderful asleep. Our whole souls ache at each full note, fall faint with rapture, swoon to flight and follow where your love songs float. And, following forget to weep, alas, that silence should upsweep such songs into the void of night. End a poem, this recording is in the public domain. Glamour of Gold by Olive Custins, read for LibriVox.org by NEMA. The white hands of my ladies made move deftly through the shining hair, how my heart falters half-afraid, lest they should hurt a thing so fair as my sweet lady's head, and how I wish that I stood there twisting the strands instead. Fortunate fingers those that hold the handles of the steels that tread, and dent each heavy tress of gold, to all the golden masses set, with waves bewildering where fire and dusk together met rival day's sunsetting, or so at least it seems to me, while gazing on my lady's face, and when with leaping heart I see her soft, shy breathing neath the lace that falls even to her feet, the curves of her slim body trace see her supremely sweet. Ah, then love swoons too satisfied, too passionate for words of praise, with but one prayer to abide safely at her sweet side always, even as that maiden there that stayed in silent still delays, winding the long gold hair. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Villa Now by Olive Custins, read for LibriVox.org by NEMA. If summer has her blossom land, and all her pulsing press of green, winter brings spring to sunset strand, where mystic colors, band on band, commingle in a wildering screen, if summer has her blossom land. So thickly close no flowers could stand, as these frail youths outtrailed serene, if summer has her blossom land, white snow brings spring to sunset strand. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sunshine by Olive Custins, read for LibriVox.org by NEMA. O sunshine spirit, I have seen, your gold wing spread, a slant the green, have watched their splendors trail along, the woodland ways where wild flowers throng, and seen your slim feet slip between, looked on your limbs so shimmerous white, flushed in a lucent mist of light, seen your child face peer wildly fair, through parted strands of shining hair, and whisked, not if I saw all right. In gardens where tired feet can wade, through flowers set thick and slumber shade, across wide languorous lawn sun sweat, your fleeting fairy form has crept between the shadows unafraid. Because your subtle smile had caught my soul entangled trance of thought, your sweet hushed speech I strove to hear, you seem to sway so strangely near. Sun vision, was it I you sought? A mortal maid whose heart is yet too full of all the world's vain fret, the mournful music of this star, that you, who have been born afar, hear only faintly and forget. Stay, sweet, beneath these sighing trees, whose lace-like shadow proideries, dabble your dainty loveliness. Are you a dream? I cannot guess. God's earth is full of mysteries. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Varelae. Regret. By Olive Custons. Read for LibriVox.org. By Nima. Play low tonight and do not sing. My thoughts take flight and wing and wing, to sourful wandskies and white, curved flower cups scented through with spring. Play low and do not sing. There, in the rain, I see one stand. The leaves look faint to kiss his hand. Beyond him slopes the furrowed lane. The sunlight breaks across the land. I dream, I see him stand. Yes, quite awake, sing something dear. Did my voice break? Was that to tear? Shed softly for a memory's sake. Ah, sobbing heart, he must not hear. Sing something to me, dear. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A lament for the leaves. By Olive Custons. Read for LibriVox.org. By Nima. The trees look sad, sad. I long for the leaves, green leaves that shimmer, and shelter the nest that the songbirds make. The earth is glad, glad, but my spirit grieves. Break forth from your buds and awake, oh leaves. I remember the woods last year and the thick, fresh leaves, how they fluttered and flickered inside, rustled and quivered all day. I almost fancy I hear their song to the breeze, the fickle breeze that faltered and wavered, but would not stay. I long for the leaves. I remember the sun-laced grass, where their shadows were flung and a tangled web as they trembled, trembled a tilt on the bow. Now they are fallen alas from the trees where they hung. Withered, wind wafted away. Oh, where are they now? The leaves. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Autumn Night. By Olive Custons. Read for LibriVox.org. By Nima. Against the earth's hot brow the night has pressed. Cool dusky lips to kiss her carour way. The moon, a bow of silver in the west, holds all the brooding dragon-clouds at bay. A luminous mist is drawn across the park. The trees, with leaves new fallen about their roots, loom strange and sullen and the shimmering dark. The hedges glimmer vaguely with wild fruits. But far more fair than any world without this golden room fire glinted glooms and glows. Where, silken robed, you sit with pensive pout and pluck forth scentful petals from a rose. You, with your languid face and lily hands and loosened hair low-tumbled in your neck. Where, freed from ruffled coil, rust-coloured strands, cunningly curled, in fine fairness flack. How pale your cheek beside that pink rose pressed, pettishly, where your own blood roses sleep. So faintly flushed your lips curled back caressed by tongues of orange light that torch you leap. End a poem. This recording is in the public domain. Spirit Speech by Olive Custins. Read for LibriVox.org by NEMA. How green that cedar grows against the west, the gray west full of rain. The flickering firelight here within the room frays all the bloom. The twilight comes storm-laden o'er the plain. Great drops like blood beat down on earth's rough breast. The room is full of flowers near my hand are violets mauve and white and lilies fragrant breath each corner fills and slender daffodils touch the dusk spaces with a tender light and all have speech for those who understand. Ah, rain-like tears. Ah, twilight talk of flowers that mingle and are one. Our souls can only guess at all you mean when hushed they lean or dreamland bars at golden set of sun or slumber-shutten visions through dark hours. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. June by Olive Custins. Read for LibriVox.org by NEMA. The summer spirit has brought back again her bright-hued butterflies and humming bees white blossoms fed with sun and silver rain lift up their buoyant heads beneath the trees whose boughs are swaying in the scented wind and sudden sunshine laps the laughing leaves and lucent glory by dusk leafage lined of woodland where blithe birdsongs thrill the air dear red-lipped daisies in the grass enshrined how glad we are to see you gleaming there. June's amorous breaths flower fragrant round you flow the gracious golden king-cups deem you fair in shadow of bent branches let us go down to the riverside where rocks are bowed beneath the whispering willows I will row and you shall steer nay rather let us float tide taken past the patient marigolds whose dew-filled cups to Phoebus's self-remote are lifted up at dawn see day unfolds her sunset robes refulgent in the west night's heavy lids that light-strong hand upholds droop low and hide the splendor let us rest rest endapone this recording is in the public domain Harvest noon by Olive Custins red for LibriVox.org by NEMA it is the harvest on the fields hovers a tremulous haze of heat the sharpened scythe each laborer wields gleamed silver in the golden wheat the level landscape spreads away the sky folds over like a flower whose petal tips of purple gray flush flame-like at the sunset hour the swallows flash above our heads in undulating curves of flight a delicate dance the south wind treads between the shadows and the light and poplar trees on either hand lilt out leaf music as we pass only the aureal daisies stand and stir not in the tangled grass endapone this recording is in the public domain a sleep song by Olive Custins red for LibriVox.org by NEMA how cool niche apple-bow embroideries the lush grass here lie down and I will sit beside you, dear and take your tired head upon my knees river-like round us noontide sunflames fold and find our hair falling between the listless leaves up there your short crisp curls seem carved of shining gold behind the troubled pallor of your face what cruel thoughts throng your curved lids fringed with lashes thick and long droop heavily sleep dream a brief hour's space sleep and forget how bitter is your grief how hard to bear and sorrow shall slip from you unaware soft as a shed-rose petal or blown leaf stir not o sun-drowsed earth stay thus a while so languorous sweet sleep on, dear heart in the hushed, fervoured heat this dreamland full of peace I see you smile end of poem this recording is in the public domain fantasy by Olive Custins red for LibriVox.org by NEMA faded fields in a faded sky and pointed poplar trees that sigh sway in sigh as the wind sweeps by in the grey west a faint gold stain dusk in the darkness sisters twain kiss through a silver veil of rain dusk with wonderful bows of hair either side of her face and fair golden eyes like the sunset there night whose eyes are the eyes of love flying low like a soft slow dove mists beneath her and clouds above o Twilight Trance o deep sweet swoon vague visions vanishing too soon stars grow thick round the amber moon end of poem this recording is in the public domain in a boat by Olive Custins red for LibriVox.org by NEMA look yonder where the sun a fiery shield glows red as blood slung low in a clear sky day droops with languid limbs and calm lips sealed slumber word in the west and night leans nigh the boat that bears us to the rock gert shore seems scarce to move she sails so listlessly the sunset paves a golden path before behind the purple pinions of the night winnow the wide seas emerald tinted floor a dusky flock of starlings in their flight stand out against the rose-stained heaven they are like leaves uplifted cast a thwart the light flushes of lingering color from afar reflect themselves in the round silver moon and in the blue burns flower like one white star our summer day has sped so soon so soon still you are near me dearest and there lies all its lost sunshine in your splendid eyes end of poem this recording is in the public domain comforted by Olive Custons red for LibriVox.org by NEMA welcome fruit ripening flower-enfolding days gert round about and oryled with light sun glorified you shine so strangely bright I cannot choose but stay to sing your praise though she hath come through dark and bitter ways my weary soul and sorrow's lampless night hath shut out all helpful solace from her sight and jarred with sudden tears her tuneful lace but she hath seen the singing springtide swoon into full fragrant summer flushed with heat and seeing could no longer silent stand now in her sky hope sets a silver moon and melody binds up her bleeding feet and loveliness walks with her hand in hand end of poem this recording is in the public domain dreamed trist by Olive Custons red for LibriVox.org by NEMA beloved one when the shy dawn flowers sweet and her white sleeping gown of mist and pearl sees the great sun and from her cloud-hung bed slips softly flushing like a startled girl and stands upright on fair rose-colored feet while all the golden light is round her shed tis then that yearning severed souls may meet slowly the glory widens in the sky and in the meadows thick with folded flowers the daisies stir already in their sleep my soul lay waiting all the long night hours but now thy promised presence hovers nigh in this still room I seem to hear the sweep of thy soul's wings oh wither shall we fly end of poem this recording is in the public domain the poet's picture by Olive Custons red for LibriVox.org by NEMA the pent-up passion of her soul deepens the pallor of her face against her throbbing heart the whole wide sour of the world finds place in deep compassion and loves grace the brow half-hid by curling hair is like a child's so pure and white sweet words have made the rose-lips fair and in the wistful eyes a flight of fluctuent dreams pass day and night frail girl in whom gods' glories meet why was she so divinely made surely the angels when complete her radiant spirit stood arrayed and such fair flesh felt half-afraid the dust of earthly days and years scarce dims her delicate loveliness only the eyelids tired of tears droop low their flower-like pallidness bruised faintly by pain's bitterness only her hands like ivory are stained a little by the sun and roughed with constant use for she is careless of their beauty one from dawn of life so easily alas that her slim feet should tread the world's uneven stony ways that she should know dull cares and dread long lonely nights and sordid days being so fashioned for love's praise lest she should sin or faint from fear let one swift angel heed my prayer and straight descending to this sphere spread wide wings o'er her everywhere lest she should fall who is so dear End of poem This recording is in the public domain An Impression by Olive Custins Read for LibriVox.org by Nemo Sky like smoked mother of pearl dim background for bare trees that lift against its stained twig traceries smoke wreathes that curl upward from carved stone chimneys silently twilight time, nigh westward wide scarlet bars belting days silvery waste and eastward sable clouds interlaced so night lifts near luminous with stars End of poem This recording is in the public domain A Dream by Olive Custins Read for LibriVox.org by Nemo I was a child with all a child's wild prayers that followed love yet ever saw him flee his splendid feet unspeeding silently his wings gold tinctured spread a thwart life-stairs ascending ever and yet unawares off turning his fair face and suddenly fixing his deep eyes smilingly on me so climbing girlhood caught at unguest cares But one spring day love halted in his flight and straight let flash an arrow at my heart so that I swooned who strove to reach aside when I awoke a sea of saffron light stirred in the silver east and blood did start from my pierced flesh for low love's wound was wide End of poem This recording is in the public domain A Dream by Olive Custins Read for LibriVox.org by Nemo Within my heart there stands a vacant throne I sat a king there not so long ago the shadow of a man who did not know he was beloved I sat there alone the silent image that was all my own But one day someone whispered to me low behold, dear, he is dead whom you love so and now the speechless shadow too has flown Within my heart there stands an angel dumb with large eyes full of tears that never close by day nor night and memory is her name She dreams of other days that may not come again on earth Her face is a white rose They droop, shut close, the wings on which she came End of poem This recording is in the public domain A Madrigal by Olive Custins Read for LibriVox.org by Nemo Ah, leave my soul like forest pool in shadow smiling unafraid Let not thy laughter stir its cool clear depths, sweet maid Let not I pray thy sun-like hair pierced to the thoughts that slumber there My soul is still a summer noon Its inmost shrines are full of sleep But when the stars of dreamland swoon To awake and weep The dawn of love that brings thy blue Bright eyes will bring a sorrow too My soul is silent, trouble not Its secret reveries with thy songs The rare red tint thy lips have got The whole world longs to kiss them Therefore speak not, dear My soul must struggle should it hear I see thee, and my soul is swung In golden trances of delight I hear thee, and my tremulous tongue Hurls forth a flight of bird-like songs Saluting thee, oh, come And dwell and dream with me End of poem This recording is in the public domain Rain Music by Olive Custins Read for LibriVox.org by NEMA I love the lilting patter of the rain Through tangled traceries of budding boughs Falling on frail pale spring growths All adrows in the warm, sun-soft stillness Where the stain of tender green Spread slowly towards the lane That haunt the blackbirds from whose ruffled throats Rise round in full, the rapture singing notes Repeated and repeated yet again The rain drops on the leaves faint music make A subtle fleeting sound While blithe and clear The chime of shrill bird voices through it break We catch stray scents from sweet drench-prim-row stars And then the showers over and rose bars Bridge the sun's western garden and gold lake End of poem This recording is in the public domain Doubts by Olive Custins Read for LibriVox.org by NEMA A web of gold is the western sky Golden strands of the sun's bright hair Caught in the grey clouds everywhere Or the tangled skeins of day's broidery And now it is that the twilight sings Twilight, whose voice is full of tears Trailing a thwart of our hopes and fears The drooping bows of her dusky wings In the fading light we dream of death And closer cling in a long embrace Oh, pure pale girl with a passionate face Life strips us naked, but leaves us breath But when our bodies lie strange and still They will bury us swiftly out of sight Shut us away from the warm sunlight How dark the darkness will be and chill But ah, I forgot, we shall not feel Folded safe in our last deep sleep Never again to kiss and weep While our lips rose color the rose's steel Dear, never again to no regret With its iron hand laid on the leaping heart Its fingers thrust where the wide wounds smart The wounds of memory bleeding yet Ah, but the kisses, the tears, the fleet The light's slow sorrows are life in vain To praise white peace when the wine of pain Fates purple wine is so fiery sweet Think you, we should be glad to die Now, when the stars are coming soon And the daylight pales in the primrose moon Is a stemless flower in a silver sky End a poem, this recording is in the public domain The spring is here by Olive Custons Read for LibriVox.org by NEMA Quote Oh, vanished loveliness of flowers and faces Treasure of hair and great immortal eyes Are there for these no safe and secret places And is it true, the beauty never dies? End quote. Richard Le Galien The spring is here, but she's gone from me How shall I bear the bitter banishment? I miss her eyes, her golden hair I see no beauty in the day since her soul went Alone into the strange dim lands of death Flowers with uplifted laughing places Stand in silent, sentful clusters Birds are heard, trilling among the leaves I lift my hand and press it to my forehead Not a word escapes my lips I struggle with my breath In dreams I meet my loved one Strange has touched her semblance She is ivory pale And in her great blue eyes Shine something strange Is it the light of God That like a veil divides us When our souls touch lips in sleep? I wrote a book and praise of her last year She holds it still Her hair is like a flame Her plaintiff mouth pleads mutely But I hear that clear voice never I call her name each night, all night And then I wake and weep End of poem This recording is in the public domain A Mood by Olive Custons Read for LibriVox.org by Neema The sun has slant the carpet And the rain blown sobbingly against the window glass While I sit silent with a voiceless pain Pressing my heart between its cruel hands The slow hours pass Between the dawnlands and the sunsetlands My soul walks whirly with aching eyes The whole world gray about her where she stands Sorrow and she are tired of the long noon The sullen skies My friend at work hums softly in old tune The great, new-lit, fluctuent fire puts forth Pale pointed flameflowers that full soon Fret all the rough black coals to fairy gold Of tower and spire Sunlight and firelight, but the world feels cold The wet trees toss their weight of tumble green And shreds of torn cloud banners manifold Drift up the dome of heaven while slips the light Pearl-hued between I wonder, shall I meet you in the night And that dear house of dreams sleeps dwelling place O Prince, O Lord of life, O heart's delight O lover, never the side of the stars Seen face to face In vain my winged sounds beat against the bars Of bitter life, then falling mute and tired Like leaves that the sharp whore frost sheds in scars Lie dead beneath the heaven they desired End of poem, this recording is in the public domain A pause by Olive Custins Read for LibriVox.org by NEMA Oh, do you hear the rain beat on the glass in vain So my tears beat against fate's feet in vain In vain, in vain Oh, do you see the skies as gray as your grave eyes Oh, do you hear the wind my dear That sighs and sighs and sighs Tired as this twilight seems, my soul droops sad with dreams You cannot know where we two go In dreams, in dreams, in dreams You only watched the light sinking away from night And silver mail, all shadowy pale The moon shines white, so white Oh, if we two were wise Your eyes would leave the skies and look into my eyes An eye who whistful stand, one foot in fairy land Would catch love by the hand End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Sunset in sunrise by Olive Custins Read for LibriVox.org by NEMA Torn clouds shot through with sunset fire Wide fields and waste of desert sky flooded with color Dawn's desire dies hard What wounds the west reveals Hot gaping rents the red sun reels to other risings sullenly Pallor of dawn hung round the rose-robed sun The grass sweet-scented and pearl-set With folded daisies snared in spun Shreds of torn night mist woven through With starlight's blenders in her blue bed-chamber Morning loiter's yet End of poem, this recording is in the public domain Flirtation by Olive Custins Read for LibriVox.org by NEMA Say, are you merely mine today, tomorrow, Mine for one rapturous June? Now, in your splendid eyes I see no sign of sorrow Yet you may sorrow soon Say, do you dream of days that will divide us When sometimes you sit mute Here in the garden where gold sunflowers tower beside us Here, where bird voices flute Say, do you dream or only droop from pleasure Your delicate flower-like head? Even so a proud pale rose hangs languidly at leisure Its beauty perfected End of poem, this recording is in the public domain The Songbird by Olive Custins Read for LibriVox.org by NEMA There is a garden in my soul A garden full of singing birds Their wings have never known control In any cage of words They come from fairy lands afar From lands of dawn and lands of night The mystic birds of fate they are God only marks their flight Their wings beat round my house of dreams Beneath the eaves they build and sing And always each one's coming seems A strange and sudden thing And yesterday, ah, yesterday I flung a golden net of thought Across the tangled world that lay about me And I caught a Songbird with a shining crest And plumage colored like a flame A stranger, different from the rest I knew from whence he came From that gray city fair indeed to some But foul to those too wise Who pass their sphinx like smile To read the secret in her eyes And this bird sang a song that set My heart to thrill with hope and power Earth's fruitless feverish care and fret Fell from me in that hour Oh, come again, my soul is stirred The praise and perfume of the spring Is in thy voice Oh, passionate bird Come back to me and sing End a poem, this recording Is in the public domain An April Mood by Olive Custons Red for LibriVox.org by NEMA The south wind walked a broadened flung A silver net of sudden rain A flame with flowers the green woods hung A mist of leaves above the plain Oh, April rain, oh, April rain The dart and flutter of small birds Who seemed to jargon of their hopes And fitful flutings hushed our words Our eyes straight over sun flush slopes Oh, April hopes, oh, April hopes I looked into your languorous eyes And laughed to hear your vehement vows In love's vein lore my heart was wise We stooped between the tangled boughs Oh, April vows, oh, April vows I have forgotten what you said To when it kissed that afternoon But, oh, your lips were warm and red And when you went, you went too soon That showery April afternoon End of poem, this recording Is in the public domain The White Statue by Olive Custins Red for LibriVox.org by NEMA I love you silent statue For your sake my songs and prayer-up-reach Fail hands of flame-like speech That some mauve silver twilight you may wake I love you more than swallows love the south A sunflower's turn and turn Towards the sun I yearn to press warm lips Against your cold white mouth I love you more than scarlet skirted dawn At sight of who spread wings The great world wakes and sings Forgetful of the long, vague dark withdrawn I love you most at purple sun setting When night with feverish eyes Comes up the fading skies I love you with a passion past forgetting End of poem, this recording Is in the public domain Blind Love by Olive Custins Red for LibriVox.org by NEMA A long wet day and now The twilight hour, fine But not golden, delicately gray We pace the garden past talking And faint between the words we say Fall troubled silences a pleasant sound I speak of love and laugh The flowers stand drenched in bruise On either hand Only the leaves shine softly and seem glad And so the light grows less We turn, I take your hand Your lips look sad As though the rain had also hurt the flower Of your mouth's loveliness Full of rain crystals, the asparagus A jeweled tangle seems of strange green hair You stand against it sweet A pegging creature, passionately fair With your great eyes and wonderful white throat Long limbs and small light feet You are so beautiful, so sorrowful We're far, beloved, none knows, not even I To you the world is kind, we say And smile when you desire to die Love will come soon and lead you to the light, you answer Love is blind End of poem This recording is in the public domain A Lilt of Tears by Olive Custins Read for LibriVox.org by NEMA Sing me a song, my sweet, not too sad, not too gay Sing how glad hours fly fleet like yesterday Play me a tune, my dear, not too soft, not too loud Life's discords hover near, love's head is bowed Dance me a dance tonight, not too swift, not too slow Dance in the mystic light, the fire's red glow Comfort me with a kiss, lips to lips clinging long This is the end, I wish, of dance and song End of poem This recording is in the public domain The Music of Dvorak by Olive Custins Read for LibriVox.org by NEMA In the golden dome, an emerald floor Crowded with dancing girls, the flash of feet The flutter of loose robes, the rhythmic beat of drums The singing of sad violins, the clash of cymbals So the music wins to fullest melody And through it rings the silver clink of anklets And the sweet tinkling sound of little shaken bells Lightly each choreography her sister swings Mad with a mystic measure of the dance Then suddenly they pause as if by chance Motionless as the flutes and viols are still Each slender, sinuous body, spellbound, thrilled With triumph in its last, most perfect pose Each lovely head thrown back, as in a trance Immovable, they stand in glittering rows Silent and darkness, was it then a dream? Entangled in the passionate mystery And magic of your music, which to me Is ever as the shadow of soft wings Shutting away all sense of sorted things All sight of that inscrutable sphinx called life So weary souls drift visionward and see Looking between the heavy lids of sleep Reflections of themselves as they might be End of poem, this recording is in the public domain End of Opals by Olive Custons