A burning
Old lion face high
In a cornflower sky,
Yet by turning
Your head we find
You wear a girl’s
Bonnet behind.
--John Updike
*
*
Ah, Sun-flower
Ah, Sun-flower! Weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveler’s journey is done:
When the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sun-Flower wishes to go.
--William Blake
