Today
I have reached the cross roads—
A weather-beaten sign-board
Blazons undecipherable wisdom
Of which the arrow-heads, even,
Have been effaced.
Eastward, it leads through cultivated fields
Of intellectual fodder,
Where well-fed cattle, herding together,
Browse content:
Are you of these?
Westward, is a lane, hedge-bordered,
Shady, and of gentle indirection,
In May, a bower of sentimental bloom,
But this November weather
Betrays its destiny, the poultry yard
Where geese foregather.
And there ahead, the ancient, swampy way
Modernized by a feeble plank or two:
But the morass of passion lures me not!
I see a vision of two plunging feet,
Discreetly shod, yet struggling in vain—
Slime
Creeps ankle-high, knee-high, thigh-high,
Till all is swallowed save a brave silk hat
Floating alone, a symbol of the creed
I perished shedding.
Yet somewhere you
Intelligent of my distress
Smile, undisturbed—
I have no pedlar's license to submit,
No wares to cry, nor any gift to bring—
I do not know
Anything new—
In truth, then, what have I to do with you?
Yet, madam, you intrigue me!
Lolita
How curious to find in you, Lolita,
The geisha
Who sits and strums in the immortal
Attitude of submission.
There is a ledger in place of her soul!
Your shoulders sang
For admiration,
Your hair wept for kisses,
Your voice curved softly, a caress—
You came among us as a suppliant,
What had we you desired?
Bringing to market stolen goods,
Holding to view used charms,
Behold a hawker's spirit!