Gladys Cromwell: The Breath (Poem)

The Breath

A trembling crest
Of smoke, the winter sky
Congeals to bloom,
To please a poet’s eye:

A slender reed
Arisen from some gold
Recess or womb
Of flame to spaces cold.

Between the twigs,
That for a nest are spun
On flight’s grey loom,
A sapphire thread may run

And so between the grey,
The woven boughs of trees,
A little plume
Of mist the poet sees :

It will suffice —
Too scant a breath to name
For him to whom
It signifies a flame.

Gladys Cromwell
(1885-1919)
The Breath
From: Poems 1919

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