Field of Hyacinths
By Eva Willes Wangsgaard
Here lies a field of starry hyacinths
As deeply blue as any mountain lake
That gathers blueness from its labyrinths
To spread before the sun for beauty’s sake.
Oh, there are mirrored stars where skies have spilled
Their uncut gems down midnight’s purple way,
And stars on water where the sun has filled
The lake’s blue bowl upon a windless day!
But never were they beautiful as these
With fragrance added, freed by sun and wind,
And never could their thousand galaxies
Be gathered in the eager hand and pinned
Upon the breast, with petals redolent
Of Aprils lost, and all too briefly spent.