Harboring Hyacinths Fist-thick cobs could well Collapse under the weight Of their fragrant muscle; Curdled pink and purple Pestles that split the tender Lip of bulbs, and, in one Thrust, choked, swallowed And sweetened air. Now Embolden, become near- Perennial squatters by the Bay window; daylong Appeal to smell mostly With a raw, unremitting Redolence as if they knew The sense most easily seduced And addicted to their presence And so overlook their sins of Excess and untimely hope; Would …
Tag: Hyacinth
“April is the Cruellest Month…” * ‘The Wasteland’ (The Burial of the Dead) by T. S. Eliot
April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch. …