There must have been something like writing across their faces. There would have been sorrow, and tenderness, would there not? And a sound, as if someone, I don't know by what means, spoke our first thoughts upon waking. We won't see them again, vagrants, skins. A rash of daylight. Careful. Time pairs with nature, time is evil and sentimental. One vital expression will return you to the creamery for your fill and it will be farther and farther away, no longer part of the country but deep in the bowel of the city, which is all but framed in memory. A few spires, girders extended into space, and beyond, sky, where the sun stamped everything for deportation. Once there was a choice, to talk or not, to boast, to stall, we accepted it; but now, cast from heaven the few words correspond only to ideas, and cannot help us spend the night. Here's a man, let's watch him and learn what he thought, separated from his child, who chose her mother when there was no difference. He said, @3God@1, and it sounded like @3what@1? and like @3stop@1. We mustn't let go the mother and child simply because they wished to point at the sky. What is the sense at the end? The greasy soap bubbles where the creamery drained into a lake, the grease-spot of the lake into the sky. We sit around the fire. Military terminology, slang, specific reference to recent books, a grunt -- those awake meditate on the long night while the sleeping dream dawn. Thus work and rest are shared. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ITINERANT POET'S ROAD SONG by KAREN SWENSON ARS VICTRIX (IMITATED FROM THEOPHILE GAUTIER) by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 7. AFTER THE FAIR by THOMAS HARDY SONNET, WRITTEN IN JANUARY 1817 by JOHN KEATS SONNET: 106 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ANNA BULLEN, ACT 1: SHORT CURSE by JOHN BANKS (17TH CENTURY-) |