The Window
She looks out in the blue morningand sees a whole wonderful worldshe looks out in the morningand sees a whole worldshe leans out of the windowand this is what she seesa wet rose singing to the sunwith a chorus of red beesshe leans out of the windowand laughs for the window is highshe is in it like a bird on a perchand they scoop the blue skyshe and the window scoopingthe morning as if it were airscooping a green wave of leavesabove a stone stairand an urn hung with leaden garlandsand girls holding hands in a ringand raindrops on an iron railingshining like a harp stringan old man draws with his ferrulein wet sand a map of Spainthe marble soldier on his pedestaldraws a stiff diagram of painbut the walls around her tremblewith the speed of the earth the floorcurves to the terrestrial centerand behind her the dooropens darkly down to the beginningfar down to the first simple cryand the animal waking in waterand the opening of the eyeshe looks out in the blue morningand sees a whole wonderful worldshe looks out in the morningand sees a whole world.
Conrad Potter Aiken
Other author posts
Music I Heard
Music I heard with you was more than music, And bread I broke with you was more than bread; Now that I am without you, all is desolate; All that was once so beautiful is dead
Improvisations Light And Snow 07
The day opens with the brown light of And past the window snowflakes fall and fall I sit in my chair all day and work and Measuring words against each other
Improvisations Light And Snow 10
It is night time, and cold, and snow is falling, And no wind grieves the walls In the small world of light around the arc-lampA swarm of snowflakes falls and falls The street grows silent
Improvisations Light And Snow 05
When I was a boy, and saw bright rows of In many lengths along a wallI was dissappointed to That I could not play music upon them: I ran my hand lightly across