trumball stickney

Cento, Trumbull Stickney

Awake the song alone, remaining
Ill and mad with wine. A cat crawled
To where the sky and sea browsed

Upon the plain: the green and climbing.
Summer passes, shivered into flowers.
It rains across the country; I remember.

Through the valley wander the vines,
Cornland yonder springing naked to
The light. The girl closed her window.

Be still a migrant bird. Water runs,
Shadows on the hillside lay to slumber.
The Hanging Gardens were a dream.


Comments

 

 

 

 

FacebookTwitterGoogle+Share