The earth shakes dizzily with flame,
And all the curtains are drawn down.

Sit down beside her; she can tell
The strangest secrets you would hear,
And cool as water in a well,
Her words flow down upon your ear....

She speaks no more, but in your hair
Her fingers soft as lullabies
Fold up your senses unaware,
Into a poppy paradise.

And when you wake, the evening mist
Is rising up to float the hill,
And you will say, "The mouth I kissed,
The voice I heard...a dream...but still

"The grass is matted where she lay,
I feel her fingers in my hair"...
But your lamp is bright across the way,
And your mother knits in the rocking chair.

Paris, 1919


IX

The trees have never seemed so green
Since I remember,