Rapture I shall lift my voice as the leaves lift to wind, I shall direct the leaf’s dance, where flowers spin upwards, opales blushing green, bodies uncoiled of root. Come not near, nor cling to the veil of petals, or let me grasp you, you who are old as the dust of dreams and the soft mutterings beneath the stars. Sprung from native soil, I shall embody my song.

• Mina Loy