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And I shall have nothing； nothing！ Just be known as a good girl。
Have other men want to marry me； whom I could not touch； after having known
my man。 Known the length and breadth of his beautiful white body；
and the depth of his love； on the high Summer Alp； with the moon above；
and the pine…needles all shiny in the light of it。 He is gone； my man；
I shall never hear him or feel him again； but I could not touch another。
I would rather lie under the snow with my own man in my arms！
So I shall live on and on。 Just a good woman。 With nothing to warm my heart
where he lay； and where he left his baby for me to care for。 I shall not be
quite human； I think。 Merely a stone…dead creature。 They will respect me。
What do I care for respect！ You didn't care for people's tongues
when you were carrying our Lord Jesus。 God had my man give me my baby；
when He knew that He was going to take him away。 His lips will comfort me；
his hands will soothe me。 All day I will work at my lace…making；
and all night I will keep him warm by my side and pray the blessed Angels
to cover him with their wings。 Dear Mother； what is it that sings？
I hear voices singing； and lovely silver trumpets through it all。 They seem
just on the other side of the wall。 Let me keep my baby； Holy Mother。
He is only a poor lace…maker's baby； with a stain upon him；
but give me strength to bring him up to be a man。
Late September
Tang of fruitage in the air；
Red boughs bursting everywhere；
Shimmering of seeded grass；
Hooded gentians all a'mass。
Warmth of earth； and cloudless wind
Tearing off the husky rind；
Blowing feathered seeds to fall
By the sun…baked； sheltering wall。
Beech trees in a golden haze；
Hardy sumachs all ablaze；
Glowing through the silver birches。
How that pine tree shouts and lurches！
From the sunny door…jamb high；
Swings the shell of a butterfly。
Scrape of insect violins
Through the stubble shrilly dins。
Every blade's a minaret
Where a small muezzin's set；
Loudly calling us to pray
At the miracle of day。
Then the purple…lidded night
Westering comes； her footsteps light
Guided by the radiant boon
Of a sickle…shaped new moon。
The Pike
In the brown water；
Thick and silver…sheened in the sunshine；
Liquid and cool in the shade of the reeds；
A pike dozed。
Lost among the shadows of stems
He lay unnoticed。
Suddenly he flicked his tail；
And a green…and…copper brightness
Ran under the water。
Out from under the reeds
Came the olive…green light；
And orange flashed up
Through the sun…thickened water。
So the fish passed across the pool；
Green and copper；
A darkness and a gleam；
And the blurred reflections of the willows on the opposite bank
Received it。
The Blue Scarf
Pale； with the blue of high zeniths； shimmered over with silver； brocaded
In smooth； running patterns； a soft stuff； with dark knotted fringes；
it lies there；
Warm from a woman's soft shoulders； and my fingers close on it； caressing。
Where is she； the woman who wore it？ The scent of her lingers and drugs me！
A languor； fire…shotted； runs through me； and I crush the scarf down
on my face；
And gulp in the warmth and the blueness； and my eyes swim
in cool…tinted heavens。
Around me are columns of marble； and a diapered； sun…flickered pavement。
Rose…leaves blow and patter against it。 Below the stone steps a lute tinkles。
A jar of green jade throws its shadow half over the floor。 A big…bellied
Frog hops through the sunlight and plops in the gold…bubbled water of a basin；
Sunk in the black and white marble。 The west wind has lifted a scarf
On the seat close beside me； the blue of it is a violent outrage of colour。
She draws it more closely about her； and it ripples beneath
her slight stirring。
Her kisses are sharp buds of fire； and I burn back against her； a jewel
Hard and white； a stalked； flaming flower； till I break to
a handful of cinders；
And open my eyes to the scarf； shining blue in the afternoon sunshine。
How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty； and one is alone！
White and Green
Hey！ My daffodil…crowned；
Slim and without sandals！
As the sudden spurt of flame upon darkness
So my eyeballs are startled with you；
Supple…limbed youth among the fruit…trees；
Light runner through tasselled orchards。
You are an almond flower unsheathed
Leaping and flickering between the budded branches。
Aubade
As I would free the white almond from the green husk
So would I strip your trappings off；
Beloved。
And fingering the smooth and polished kernel
I should see that in my hands glittered a gem beyond counting。
Music
The neighbour sits in his window and plays the flute。
From my bed I can hear him；
And the round notes flutter and tap about the room；
And hit against each other；
Blurring to unexpected chords。
It is very beautiful；
With the little flute…notes all about me；
In the darkness。
In the daytime；
The neighbour eats bread and onions with one hand
And copies music with the other。
He is fat and has a bald head；
So I do not look at him；
But run quickly past his window。
There is always the sky to look at；
Or the water in the well！
But when night comes and he plays his flute；
I think of him as a young man；
With gold seals hanging from his watch；
And a blue coat with silver buttons。
As I lie in my bed
The flute…notes push against my ears and lips；
And I go to sleep； dreaming。
A Lady
You are beautiful and faded
Like an old opera tune
Played upon a harpsichord；
Or like the sun…flooded silks
Of an eighteenth…century boudoir。
In your eyes
Smoulder the fallen roses of out…lived minutes；
And the perfume of your soul
Is vague and suffusing；
With the pungence of sealed spice…jars。
Your half…tones delight me；
And I grow mad with gazing
At your blent colours。
My vigour is a new…minted penny；
Which I cast at your feet。
Gather it up from the dust；
That its sparkle may amuse you。
In a Garden
Gushing from the mouths of stone men
To spread at ease under the sky
In granite…lipped basins；
Where iris dabble their feet
And rustle to a passing wind；
The water fills the garden with its rushing；
In the midst of the quiet of close…clipped lawns。
Damp smell the ferns in tunnels of stone；
Where trickle and plash the fountains；
Marble fountains； yellowed with much water。
Splashing down moss…tarnished steps
It falls； the water；
And the air is throbbing with it。
With its gurgling and running。
With its leaping； and deep； cool murmur。
And I wished for night and you。
I wanted to see you in the swimming…pool；
White and shining in the silver…flecked water。
While the moon