In Bertrams Garden
Jane looks down at her organdy
As if it somehow were the thing disgraced,
For being there, on the floor, in the dirt,
And she catches it up about her waist,
Smooths it out along one hip,
And pulls it over the crumpled slip.
On the porch, green-shuttered, cool,
Asleep is Bertram that bronze boy,
Who, having wound her around a spool,
Sends her spinning like a
Out to the garden, all alone,
To sit and weep on a bench of stone.
Soon the purple dark must
Lily and bleeding-heart and rose,
And the little cupid
Eyes and ears and chin and nose,
And Jane lie down with others soon,
Naked to the naked moon.
Donald Justice
Другие работы автора
Nostalgia Of The Lakefronts
Cities burn behind us; the lake glitters A tall loudspeaker is announcing prizes; Another, by the lake, the times of cruises Childhood, once vast with terrors and surprises,
Pantoum Of The Great Depression
Our lives avoided Simply by going on and on, Without end and with little apparent meaning Oh, there were storms and small catastrophes
On A Painting By Patient B Of The Independence State Hospital For The Insane
1 These seven houses have learned to face one another, But not at the expected angles Those silly brown lumps, That are probably meant for hills and not other houses,
Extraits
The Man Closing Up, from Night Light (1967), would make his bed, If he could sleep on it He would make his bed with white And disappear into the white,