He throws a fifty-lire piece in the fountain and wants to tell his outrageous wish but they won't listen. The wish won't count if you tell it she says. He broods. The air is full of these goddamn wops and their filthy pigeons. What good is a wish that can't be told, that was wished to anger those who won't hear it. Give me the single raindrop that fell through the hole in the pagan temple as my bride. Wishes must be phrased in old-time languages, a sort of fatigued Episcopalian; here and there is wasn't: that pinochle become the national sport of the U.S.A.; that dysentery disappear straightaway from earth; that the girl hidden in New York change her silly predilection for her sisters, fall like rain through the roof of a pagan temple on this gentle soul. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN HOSPITAL: 28. DISCHARGED by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY ANTONY AND [OR, TO] CLEOPATRA by WILLIAM HAINES LYTLE THE CHARACTER OF HOLLAND by ANDREW MARVELL WALKING HOME AT NIGHT; HUSBAND TO WIFE by WILLIAM BARNES THE DRUG-SHOP, OR, ENDYMION IN EDMONSTOUN by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET AT THE LAST by RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 26 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |