Villa Venus
I WILL jot down this one morning at the very end,
And a small novel begin to flow, of throb and strange nucleus made:
Twelve of rainbow coloration will I have there, and
Lighting from the foreglimpsed scene, a feather and a blade.
And I shall have an inset in the middle, for a kind of pleasing neatness,
Dropping from the veils of weddings where the crickets sang;
There paper-wrapped bunch of long roses, and daffodils' moon glow,
And keys flitting like violet-ear's wings.
I will go over the foreland of metaphors, what seems to be a moonlit gallery
I hear sea crashing retreating with shuffle of pebbles,
(While it is really a half-demolished reception room with a broken outer wall,
through a great rip in it the naked sea is heard as a panting space separated
from time).
And a small novel begin to flow, of throb and strange nucleus made:
Twelve of rainbow coloration will I have there, and
Lighting from the foreglimpsed scene, a feather and a blade.
And I shall have an inset in the middle, for a kind of pleasing neatness,
Dropping from the veils of weddings where the crickets sang;
There paper-wrapped bunch of long roses, and daffodils' moon glow,
And keys flitting like violet-ear's wings.
I will go over the foreland of metaphors, what seems to be a moonlit gallery
I hear sea crashing retreating with shuffle of pebbles,
(While it is really a half-demolished reception room with a broken outer wall,
through a great rip in it the naked sea is heard as a panting space separated
from time).