Elinor Morton Hoyt Wylie

Primavera in the North

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She has danced for leagues and leagues,
Over thorns and thistles,
Prancing to a tune of Griegg's
Performed on willow whistles.

Antelopes behold her, dazed,
Velvet-eyed, and furry;
Polar flowers, crackle-glazed,
Snap beneath her hurry.

In a wig of copper wire,
A gown of scalloped gauzes,
She capers like a flame of fire
Over Arctic mosses.

All her tears have turned to birds,
All her thoughts of dolour
Paint the snow with scarlet words
And traceries of colour.

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Elinor Morton Hoyt Wylie