Fortunes III

From the eye of a storm & roots of mountains
she made a charm, a brooch to adorn her breast
&, walking alone in the morning unrest,
she pactised with devils & with Seraphim.

More than a woman – or Woman completely –
she resembles comets which wander sometimes,
plodding their own course through celestial climes,
her long, bright hair trailing gleefully behind.

Reign, reign over us with your brow full of stars,
Oh Woman of Art!