when she rises in the morning

i linger to watch her;

she spreads the bath-cloth underneath the window

and the sunbeams catch her

glistening white on the shoulders,

while down her sides the mellow

golden shadow glows as

she stoops to the sponge, and her swung breasts

sway like full-blown yellow

gloire de dijon roses.

she drips herself with water, and her shoulders

glisten as silver, they crumple up

like wet and falling roses, and i listen

for the sluicing of their rain-dishevelled petals.

in the window full of sunlight

concentrates her golden shadow

fold on fold, until it glows as

mellow as the glory roses.

icking

roses on the breakfast

table

just a few of the roses we gathered from the isar

are fallen, and their mauve-red petals on the

cloth

float like boats on a river, while other

roses are ready to fall, reluctant and loth.

she laughs at me across the table, saying

i am beautiful. i look at the rumpled young roses

and suddenly realise, in them as in me,

how lovely the present is that this day discloses.

i am like a rose

i am myself at last; now i achieve

my very self. i, with the wonder mellow,

full of fine warmth, i issue forth in clear

and single me, perfected from my fellow.

here i am all myself. no rose-bush heaving

its limpid sap to culmination, has brought

itself more sheer and naked out of the green

in stark-clear roses, than i to myself am brought.

该作者的其它作品

《恋爱中的女人 women in love》

《儿子与情人 sons and lovers》

《the white peacock白孔雀》