"Have you seen the listening snake?"
bramble clutches for his bride,
Lately she was by his side,
Woodbine, with her gummy hands.
In the ground the mottled snake
Listens for the dawn of day;
Listens, listening death away,
Till the day burst winter's bands.
Painted ivy is asleep,
Stretched upon the bank, all torn,
Sinewy though she be; love-lorn
Convolvuluses cease to creep.
Bramble clutches for his bride,
Woodbine, with her gummy hands,
All his horny claws expands;
She has withered in his grasp.
"Till the day dawn, till the tide
Of the winter's afternoon."
"Who tells dawning?"—"Listen, soon."
Half born tendrils, grasping, gasp.
Je pleure dans les coins; je n'ai plus goût à rien;
Oh! j'ai tant pleuré, Dimanche, en mon paroissien!
JULES LAFORGUE
Did we not, Darling, you and I,
Walk on the earth like other men?
Did we not walk and wonder why
They spat upon us so. And then
We lay us down among fresh earthy
Sweet flowers breaking overhead,
Sore needed rest for our frail girth,
For our frail hearts; a well-sought bed.
So Spring came, and spread daffodils;
Summer, and fluffy bees sang on;
The fluffy bee knows us, and fills
His house with sweet to think upon.