The Winged Beetle

112 THE SILENCE OF COLUMBINE I HAD I not been told, I could not have believed it ! To hold and fold and mould Your body’s plastic gold ! So rapturously bold No poet had conceived it ; And yet, bright Yniold, I seem to have achieved it ! II Nor word was ours, nor sight ; But in the dusk there sported Some sprite of light and might That pushed our fingers’ flight To the same goal, delight, On pinions unsupported. One touch—the world went right, Its destiny distorted ! III Still no word of this Though now we surely knew How miss the abyss of bliss, When all the ambergris