Friday, 16 July 2010

evan jones

A Line From Keats

The south-coast sun, the play of light and air,
The rain, indeed, and all that varied weather,
Mirrored all our delight and wantonness.
Breath could move your ruffled hair
As we lay there at last at peace together,
Perfect and unconcerned in nakedness.

Moments of discord swelled up and were gone:
I stalked out once into the feathery rain
And drove away, because you would not call me.
I cam back with my tarnished honours on
Within an hour; at once you made it plain
That you would spare no effort to enthral me.

It was my darling here, my darling there
As we joined in a clear festivity
Needing no celebration
Needing no more occasion than our bare
Desire to come together: you and I,
Bright in that burning week of consummation.

All stories, you once said, should have this end:
To change the burden slightly, long ago
These lovers fled away into the calm
Easily I became your ‘dearest friend’
And now am someone that you scarcely know,
A memory that you balance in our palm.

No comments: