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And the trees about me,And the trees about me
And the trees about me, Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks Groan with continual surges; and behind me Make all a desolation. Look, look, wenches!
Paint me a cavernous waste shore Cast in the unstilted Cyclades, Paint me the bold anfractuous rocks Faced by the snarled and yelping seas.
Display me Aeolus above Reviewing the insurgent gales Which tangle Ariadne's hair And swell with haste the perjured sails.
Morning stirs the feet and hands (Nausicaa and Polypheme), Gesture of orang-outang Rises from the sheets in steam.
This withered root of knots of hair Slitted below and gashed with eyes, This oval O cropped out with teeth: The sickle motion from the thighs
Jackknifes upward at the knees Then straightens out from heel to hip Pushing the framework of the bed And clawing at the pillow slip.
Sweeney addressed full length to shave Broadbottomed, pink from nape to base, Knows the female temperament And wipes the suds around his face.
(The lengthened shadow of a man Is history, said Emerson Who had not seen the silhouette Of Sweeney straddled in the sun).
Tests the razor on his leg Waiting until the shriek subsides. The epileptic on the bed Curves backward, clutching at her sides.
The ladies of the corridor Find themselves involved, disgraced, Call witness to their principles And deprecate the lack of taste
Observing that hysteria Might easily be misunderstood; Mrs. Turner intimates It does the house no sort of good.
But Doris, towelled from the bath, Enters padding on broad feet, Bringing sal volatile And a glass of brandy neat.
And the trees around me, Let them be dry and without leaves; let the rocks Groan with constant waves; and behind me Make everything desolate. Look, look, women!
Paint me a vast empty shore Set in the unpretentious Cyclades, Paint me the bold, winding rocks Faced by the tangled and barking seas.
Show me Aeolus above Watching the rebellious winds Which tangle Ariadne's hair And quickly fill the false sails.
Morning awakens the feet and hands (Nausicaa and Polypheme), A gesture like an orangutan Rises from the sheets in steam.
This dry root of tangled hair Split below and cut with eyes, This oval O shaped with teeth: The sickle motion from the thighs
Jackknifes upward at the knees Then straightens out from heel to hip Pushing the structure of the bed And clawing at the pillow cover.
Sweeney fully extended to shave Wide-bottomed, pink from neck to base, Understands the female temperament And wipes the foam around his face.
(The long shadow of a man Is history, said Emerson Who had not seen the outline Of Sweeney straddled in the sun).
Tests the razor on his leg Waiting until the scream quiets. The person having a seizure on the bed Bends backward, clutching at her sides.
The women in the corridor Find themselves involved, shamed, Call witnesses to their beliefs And criticize the lack of taste
Noticing that hysteria Might easily be misinterpreted; Mrs. Turner suggests It does the house no good.
But Doris, just out of the bath, Enters walking on broad feet, Bringing smelling salts And a glass of neat brandy.