BASKETS of ripe fruit in air The bird-songs seem, suspended where Between the hairy leaves trills dew, All tasting of fresh green anew. Ma'am, I've heard your laughter flare Through your waspish-gilded hair: Feathered masks, Pots of peas, Janus asks Naught of these, Creaking water Brightly striped, Now I've caught her -- Shrieking biped. Flute sounds jump And turn together, Changing clumps Of glassy feather. In among the Pots of peas Naiad changes -- Quick as these. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AULD LANG SYNE by ROBERT BURNS STANZAS FOR MUSIC (3) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON LES BARICADES MISTERIEUSES (AFTER FRANCOIS COUPERIN) by GORDON BOTTOMLEY IN LONDON ON SATURDAY NIGHT by ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN THE QUIET KINGDOM by CARL BUSSE BLOWING BUBBLES by BEATRICE PAULA BYRNES |