Six Love Songs

I We are both silver sea-trout And have risen to delicate flies on streams And got away. The young ferns balance on the wet earth Like green smoke above a coal. Let us watch the sun throw gold plates Down to us through lake water Where none fish. II The Recreation Gardens are smothered over With a bottle-coloured wood of wet trees And the gates were shut at ten. With your straight thin pipe and your face and arms Stamped black as against mauve paper You sit piping in our open window. It may be only a very large daintily-moving dog Shut in the Gardens, and that I did not hear The few notes like a sleepy quail. III I have bought a pound of jade wool Of the color of the round bases of toy trees And a quarter of mole wool Coloured like the smoke of a steamer. In two or three weels You, whose spirit is as quick as silver dust Stirred into the sea, Shall have the appearance of a tinted Jacinth laughing in the rain. IV There is frost As if a cutter of images of you Had dropped powder of geranium marble On the coarse dark grass. I have left you asleep And feel that if the candle Set down inside the open door To throw continuous William Allen Richardson roses Into the cold lavender morning Does not blow out before I get back You will still be there. V Because of the glass shade Our marble table was ever the cross-bar Of a white A And the rest angles of broken lemon light With a drowned sprig of mountain-ash berries, A peat-coloured crystal carrying Cherries and crushed mint against your lips. Now the nights are a cool Pattern of thin black wood bed-bars With spread of orange and another orange, Firm black letters lightly carrying eyes Among white margins, And brown tea. VI The night is so full of movement That the stars seem like corn being threshed Against a blue barn. The wind is a black river And just for a moment The moon a small green fish Swimming in your hair.