Part 4 (1/2)

He wanders through the city Offering useful tin-ware For all the ancient metal You have left to rust In the dim, dusty attic Or mouldy cellar Of your soul.

He refuses nothing-- Rusty nails Which may have played their part In a crucifixion-- For ten of these he will give A new tin spoon.

The andirons Once guarding hearth-fires of content, Now dusty and forgotten In an obscure corner, He will give for these A new tin tea-kettle With a wooden handle.

And for this antique bowl Fas.h.i.+oned to hold Roses or wine?

The eyes of the pedlar glisten!

O woman, if acid reveal Gold beneath the tarnished surface He will gladly give you His hands, his eyes, his soul, His young, white body--

If not, A mocking laugh And a bright tin sieve To hold your wine And roses.

Portrait of a Lady in Bed

I. THE COVERLET

My cowardice Covers me safely From everything...

From cold, which makes me yield And quietly die Beneath the snow;

From heat, which makes me faint Until cool nothingness receives me;

From hurt, (Seize me, O Lion, And I shall die of fright Before I feel your teeth!)

From love, Yes, most of all from love.

How can love touch me?

Is it not heat, Or cold, Or a lion?

My cowardice covers me Safely From everything!

II. THE PILLOW

To know you think of me Sustains my Spirit Through the long night.

(My thought of you Is wine, banis.h.i.+ng sleep!)

Your thoughts of me are feathers, Light nothings, Drifting, dancing, Floating, Blown by a breath of fancy Away from your sight.

They would choke me, They would blind me With the Nothing I am to you If I dared see them; But I bind them into a pillow, And to know that you think of me Sustains my spirit Through the night.

III. SOUVENIR

Harlequin, seeing me gay You loved me, For fools need mirth,

O solemn Harlequin!

Tall tragedians make me laugh Joyously, riotously, Tall, dark villains, and heroes with blonde hair Make me laugh uproariously...

(I could elope with a tragedian!)

But you with your clowning, Harlequin, Brought bony truth too near--