This is the image of my last content:
My soul shall be a little lonely lake,
So hidden that no shadow of man may break
The folding of its mountain battlement;
Only the beautiful and innocent
Whiteness of sea-born cloud drooping to shake
Cool rain upon the reed-beds, or the wake
Of churned cloud in a howling wind's descent.
For there shall be no terror in the night
When stars that I have loved are born in me,
And cloudy darkness I will hold most fair;
But this shall be the end of my delight:--
That you, my lovely one, may stoop and see
Your image in the mirrored beauty there.
_F. S. Flint_
Known chiefly as an authority on modern French poetry, F. S. Flint has
published several volumes of original imagist poems, besides having
translated works of Verhaeren and Jean de Bosschere.