Where shall I find you, you my grotesque fellows that I seek everywhere to make up my band? None, not one with the earthy tastes I require; the burrowing pride that rises subtly as on a bush in May. Where are you this day, you my seven year locusts with cased wings? Ah my beauties how I long -- ! That harvest that shall be your advent -- thrusting up through the grass, up under the weeds answering me, @3that@1 will be satisfying! The light shall leap and snap that day as with a million lashes! Oh, I have you; yes you are about me in a sense: playing under the blue pools that are my windows, -- but they shut you out still, there in the half light. For the simple truth is that though I see you clear enough you are not there! It is not that -- it is you, you I want! -- God, if I could fathom the guts of shadows! You to come with me poking into negro houses with their gloom and smell! in among children leaping around a dead dog! Mimicking onto the lawns of the rich! You! to go with me a-tip-toe, head down under heaven, nostrils lipping the wind! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GRATIANA DANCING AND SINGING by RICHARD LOVELACE POOR [OR, COCK] ROBIN by MOTHER GOOSE TO MISS KINDER, ON RECEIVING A NOTE DATED FEBRUARY 30TH by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE OPTIMIST AND THE PESSIMIST; A DIALOGUE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) MUSIC ON CHRISTMAS MORNING by ANNE BRONTE HE SAW MY HEART'S WOE by CHARLOTTE BRONTE |