THE CURSE.
Oh, lay my ashes on the wind That blows across the sea. And I shall meet a fisherman Out of Capri. And he will say, seeing me, What a strange thing! Like a fish’s scale, or a Butterfly’s wing. Oh, lay my ashes on the wind That blow’s away the fog. And I shall meet a farmer boy Leaping through the bog. And- he will say, seeing me. What a strange thing ! Like a poat-ash or a Butterfly's wing.” And I shall blow to your house, And, sucked against the pane, See you take your sewing up And lay it down again. And you will say, seeing me, “ What a strange thing I Like a plum-petal or a Butterfly's wing." And none at all will know me That knew me well before. But I will settle at the root That climbs about your door, And fishermen and farmers May see me and forget, But I’ll be a bitter berry In your brewing yet. —Edna St. Vincent Millay, in Vanity Fair.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OW19280508.2.333.1
Bibliographic details
Otago Witness, Issue 3869, 8 May 1928, Page 74
Word Count
172THE CURSE. Otago Witness, Issue 3869, 8 May 1928, Page 74
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