Your thighs:
The sea has stained rust at the crimson of your breasts,
And Man had bled black at your sovereign side.
Similar Posts
The poor omnibus driver under the tin canopy,
follows his heavy omnibus along the left bank,and from his inflated groin thrusts away the moneybag.And while [in the] soft shadowwhere there are policemen,the respectable interior of the bus looks at the moonin the deep sky rockingamong its green cotton wool,in spite of the Edictand the still delicate hour,and the fact that the bus isreturning…
On a brilliant morning, in a city of lovely people,
Were shouting out loud, in the middle of town:‘Oh, my friends… I wanter her to be queen! ‘‘I want to be a queen! ‘She kept on laughing and trembling,While he talked to his friends about revelations,And tribulations at an end.They laughed and they leaned close to one another.And, of course, they were royal…All morning long,…
Raking, raking, his amorous thoughts
happy, his hand gloved,one day as he went along, fearsomely sweet,yellow, dribbling piety from his toothless mouth,One day as he went along,‘Let us Pray’, – a Wicked One seized himroughly by his saintly ear andsnapped frightful words at him,tearing off the chaste robe of blackwrapped about his moist skin.Punishment! – His clothes were unbuttoned;and, the…
Far away from birds and herds and village girls,
Surrounded by soft hazel copses,In an afternoon mist, warm and green.What can I have been drinking in that young Oise,Voiceless elms, flowerless turf, overcast sky.What did I draw from the gourd of the wine ?Some golden liquor, pale, which causes sweating.Such as I was, I should have made a poor inn-sign.Then the storm changed the…
As I drifted on a river I could not control,
They were captured by howling IndiansWho nailed them naked to coloured posts.I cared no more for other boats or cargoes:Flemish wheat or English cottons, all were goneWhen my bargemen could no longer haul meI forgot about everything and drifted on.Amid the fury of the loudly chopping tidesLast winter, deaf as a child’s dark night,Ah, how…
On the square which is chopped into mean little plots of grass,
All the wheezy townsfolk whom the heat chokes bringEach Thursday evening, their envious silliness.– The military band, in the middle of the gardens,Swing their shakos in the Waltz of the Fifes :Round about, near the front rows, the town dandy struts ;– The notary hangs like a charm from his own watch chain.Private incomes in…