THE vast grey trees Float on the breeze -- Strings of grey pearls float Vaguely from these, And the Countess calls To her two Pekinese -- (Korin's grey waterfalls -- Wave-like Chinoiseries). Oh, this long avenue Reaches for ever! . . . "Are you still true Though our lives dissever?" The empty wind with the cat's voice sang To the sun, as strange as the Admiral Yang, Whose face is as flat as the notes Of pianolas; whose hair is like black frigate boats -- There is nothing to give And nothing to buy -- It is too late to live And too late to die, Since the sad spring came again With its red lacquer buds and its pain, And that chapeau chinois The frizzed wind blew (Piquant minois) In the long avenue! |