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The dove chariots are thrown away； And the little girls wander slowly
through the garden； Sucking the salvia tips； And squeezing the
snapdragons To make them gape。 〃I'm so hot； Let's pick a pansy And see
the little man in his bath； And play we're he。〃 A royal bath…tub； Hung with
purple stuffs and yellow。 The great purple…yellow wings Rise up behind
the little red and green man； The purple…yellow wings fan him； He dabbles
his feet in cool green。 Off with the green sheath； And there are two spindly
legs。 〃Heigho！〃 sighs Minna。 〃Heigho！〃 sighs Stella。 There is not a flutter
of wind； And the sun is directly overhead。
Along the edge of the garden Walk the little girls。 Their hats； round
and yellow like cheeses； Are dangling by the ribbons。 The grass is a tumult
of buttercups and daisies； Buttercups and daisies streaming away Up the
hill。 The garden is purple； and pink； and orange； and scarlet； The garden is
hot with colours。 But the meadow is only yellow； and white； and green；
Cool； and long； and quiet。 The little girls pick buttercups And hold them
under each other's chins。 〃You're as gold as Grandfather's snuff…box。
You're going to be very rich； Minna。〃 〃Oh…o…o！ Then I'll ask my husband
to give me a pair of garnet earrings Just like Aunt Nancy's。 I wonder if he
will。 I know。 We'll tell fortunes。 That's what we'll do。〃 Plump down in
the meadow grass； Stella and Minna； With their round yellow hats； Like
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Men； Women and Ghosts
cheeses； Beside them。 Drop； Drop； Daisy petals。 〃One I love； Two
I love； Three I love I say 。 。 。〃 The ground is peppered with daisy
petals； And the little girls nibble the golden centres； And play it is cake。
A bell rings。 Dinner…time； And after dinner there are lessons。
1777
I
The Trumpet…Vine Arbour
The throats of the little red trumpet…flowers are wide open； And the
clangour of brass beats against the hot sunlight。 They bray and blare at the
burning sky。 Red！ Red！ Coarse notes of red； Trumpeted at the blue sky。
In long streaks of sound； molten metal； The vine declares itself。 Clang！
from its red and yellow trumpets。 Clang！ from its long； nasal trumpets；
Splitting the sunlight into ribbons； tattered and shot with noise。
I sit in the cool arbour； in a green…and…gold twilight。 It is very still； for
I cannot hear the trumpets； I only know that they are red and open； And
that the sun above the arbour shakes with heat。 My quill is newly mended；
And makes fine…drawn lines with its point。 Down the long； white paper it
makes little lines； Just lines up down criss…cross。 My heart is
strained out at the pin…point of my quill； It is thin and writhing like the
marks of the pen。 My hand marches to a squeaky tune； It marches down
the paper to a squealing of fifes。 My pen and the trumpet…flowers； And
Washington's armies away over the smoke…tree to the Southwest。 〃Yankee
Doodle；〃 my Darling！ It is you against the British； Marching in your
ragged shoes to batter down King George。 What have you got in your hat？
Not a feather； I wager。 Just a hay…straw； for it is the harvest you are
fighting for。 Hay in your hat； and the whites of their eyes for a target！ Like
Bunker Hill； two years ago； when I watched all day from the house…top
Through Father's spy…glass。 The red city； and the blue； bright water； And
puffs of smoke which you made。 Twenty miles away； Round by
Cambridge； or over the Neck； But the smoke was white white！ To…day
the trumpet…flowers are red red And I cannot see you fighting； But old
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Men； Women and Ghosts
Mr。 Dimond has fled to Canada； And Myra sings 〃Yankee Doodle〃 at her
milking。 The red throats of the trumpets bray and clang in the sunshine；
And the smoke…tree puffs dun blossoms into the blue air。
II
The City of Falling Leaves
Leaves fall； Brown leaves； Yellow leaves streaked with brown。 They
fall； Flutter； Fall again。 The brown leaves； And the streaked yellow leaves；
Loosen on their branches And drift slowly downwards。 One； One； two；
three； One； two； five。 All Venice is a falling of Autumn leaves Brown；
And yellow streaked with brown。
〃That sonnet； Abate； Beautiful； I am quite exhausted by it。 Your
phrases turn about my heart And stifle me to swooning。 Open the window；
I beg。 Lord！ What a strumming of fiddles and mandolins！ 'Tis really a
shame to stop indoors。 Call my maid； or I will make you lace me yourself。
Fie； how hot it is； not a breath of air！ See how straight the leaves are
falling。 Marianna； I will have the yellow satin caught up with silver fringe；
It peeps out delightfully from under a mantle。 Am I well painted to…day；
‘caro Abate mio'？ You will be proud of me at the ‘Ridotto'； hey？ Proud of
being ‘Cavalier Servente' to such a lady？〃 〃Can you doubt it； ‘Bellissima
Contessa'？ A pinch more rouge on the right cheek； And Venus herself
shines less 。 。 。〃 〃You bore me； Abate； I vow I must change you！ A letter；
Achmet？ Run and look out of the window； Abate。 I will read my letter in
peace。〃 The little black slave with the yellow satin turban Gazes at his
mistress with strained eyes。 His yellow turban and black skin Are
gorgeous barbaric。 The yellow satin dress with its silver flashings Lies
on a chair Beside a black mantle and a black mask。 Yellow and black；
Gorgeous barbaric。 The lady reads her letter； And the leaves drift slowly
Past the long windows。 〃How silly you look； my dear Abate； With that
great brown leaf in your wig。 Pluck it off； I beg you； Or I shall die of
laughing。〃
A yellow wall Aflare in the sunlight； Chequered with shadows；
Shadows of vine leaves； Shadows of masks。 Masks coming； printing
themselves for an instant； Then passing on； More masks always replacing
them。 Masks with tricorns and rapiers sticking out behind Pursuing masks
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