Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A CHILD TASTES THE LOVELINESS OF LIFE AND FASHIONS A NEW DREAM, by GRACE STONE COATES



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A CHILD TASTES THE LOVELINESS OF LIFE AND FASHIONS A NEW DREAM, by            
First Line: When I am grown I shall eat citron
Last Line: Appraising a pale chartreuse!)
Subject(s): Dreams; Growth; Life; Nightmares


I

A child

When I am grown I shall eat citron,
I shall stroke the cactus blossoms,
I shall walk in the rain without a hat.

II

tastes

Translucent yellow-green,
Persia you are, and warmth of Sicily;
Citron, shall I ever know your land?
Your thorny branches sparse on Kasha's hills --
Their creamy inner blossoms?
Your shadows remember their purple veining;
Your green is green of the sea;
Your gold is sunshine strained through pale leaves.
I nibble your flaking crystal coat.
Its fragrance is of other lands.
Citron, your taste is heavy on my tongue,
Heavy and cloying!
It weighs me with mysteries that are not mine.

III

the
loveliness

Here, here at my feet!
Thirsty desert loveliness
Drinking the sun!
Delicate petals of honey pallor,
Delicate, yet sufficient,
Tenuous petals of shimmering luster
Amorous of the sun!
Your depths I explore, with wary, inquisitive finger;
Their green is amber in the light
Your stamens are splashed wide,
The bees have found them;
Your pistil is heavy for the bee.

Cactus! Your spines lash and stab!
I am stung by a million implacable needles!

IV

of life

The rain is playing with the sun.
It whispers jests to my hair,
It teases my ears with secrets.
I turn my face, I lift my arms to the rain.
My bosom is drenched in its peace,
I run in its heavy abundance.
The sun thrusts at my eyes with golden splinters,
The earth is swimming green.

The sun is tired
He has forgotten us
The wind has risen
I have come too far
I am cold.

V.

and fashions

"Mother, I have made a citron cake;
I have picked the pansies;
I have caught rain-water to wash my hair."

VI.

a new dream

(And he will take me to Persia . . . and to Italy --
The gayest places . . .
We dine;
The sables slide from my indolent shoulders
And my jewels are frosty stars
As I turn my head
Appraising a pale chartreuse!)





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