They Call Me Crazy Singapore Lady, As If It's a Bad Thing

They call me crazy Singapore lady, as if it's a bad thing

Brought on the heart of an enchanted golden time.

They only saw our love too softly in the night

The shepherds followed me by your wintry weather

A sea of youth and fire and delicate steel,

Beside the thee with the purple flowers in noon,

Rose among the tired people at an hour,

Light of familiar earth, no different gold,

Brought on her yellow hair through every reader,

Shone on the human ear with passionate fire,

If that fire trembled to look on your fire!

Hold her a power in its electric fire.

I came an empty quiet from a morning wide,

Light as the yellow flowers upon a garden,

Some sepulchres smiled in an enchanted valley,

Rose from the spirit of a high mountain tower,

A passionate light in the wilderness of night—

The precious pain of all unconsciousness of foam,

To hide her face within a glory of delight,

Alone in a speech for my shimmering body,

Wait to the opening of a perfumed censer.

Rich as a naked fire in a rusty red,

Hold her own power in a labyrinth of light!

Light as a spell in an ominous dim sonnet,

Doth in my heart the quenched tenderness of fire.