Dust of Verona clings about the pot
I brought you out of Italy to-day.
Dust of Verona and a mist of dreams,
Echo of voices long since rapt away.
And strange dead hands have closed about its shape,
That now lie quiet in the dusty earth.
I think it holds the thoughts the fashioner
Held in his heart the day he gave it birth.
Or does it carry the remembered prayers
Of those who knelt by some forgotten shrine
Whereon it stood with flowers for Mary’s name,
Wild roses, cyclamen, and columbine?
Dust of Verona and a mist of dreams,
Strange thoughts it holds and prayers of those
who sleep.
Dust of Verona, dreams of Italy,
Prayers of our saying, thoughts that we too would
keep.
(Ethel Clifford)
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Based on Topics: Mind Poems, Dreams Poems, Name Poems, Sleep Poems, Prayers Poems, Birth PoemsBased on Keywords: columbine, cyclamen, verona, fashioner