and think pityingly
of the kind women I have known.
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A big young bareheaded woman
Her hair slicked back standingon the streetOne stockinged foot toeingthe sidewalkHer shoe in her hand. Lookingintently into itShe pulls out the paper insoleto find the nailThat has been hurting her
The half-stripped trees
bending all,the leaves flutter drilyand refuse to let goor driven like hailstream bitterly out to one sideand fallwhere the salvias, hard carmine–like no leaf that ever was–edge the bare garden.
The over-all picture is winter
in the background the returnfrom the hunt it is toward eveningfrom the leftsturdy hunters lead intheir pack the inn-signhanging from abroken hinge is a stag a crucifixbetween his antlers the coldinn yard isdeserted but for a huge bonfirethat flares wind-driven tended bywomen who clusterabout it to the right beyondthe hill is a pattern of skatersBrueghel…
By constantly tormenting them
their children’s hair, theSchool Physician firstbrought their hatred down on him.But by this familiaritythey grew used to him, and so,at last,took him for their friend and adviser.
I lie here thinking of you:—
is upon the world!Yellow, yellow, yellowit eats into the leaves,smears with saffronthe horned branched the leanheavilyagainst a smooth purple sky!There is no lightonly a honey-thick stainthat drips from leaf to leafand limb to limbspoiling the colorsof the whole world-you far off there underthe wine-red selvage of the west!
They tell me on the morrow I must leave
And truth to tell I tremble with delightAt thought of such unheralded reprieve.E’er have I known December in a weaveOf blanched crystal, when, thrice one short nightPacked full with magic, and O blissful sight!N’er May so warmly doth for April grieve.To in a breath’s space wish the winter throughAnd lo, to see it fading! Where,…