Felicite's bread was white;
Father John loved the sun noon-high,
Felicite, the moon at night.
Father John drank wine with his bread;
Felicite drank sweet milk;
Father John loved flowers, pungent and red;
Felicite, lilies soft as silk.
Father John's soul was made of bronze,
That God's salt was corroding;
Felicite's soul was a wind that runs
With a blue flame of foreboding.
Between these two was the shadow of a dome
That cut their lives in twain;
But Dionysus led them home
In a chariot of pain.
Published in Caroling Dusk, 1927