A Dream of the South

Although divine disunity Reigns there—the broganed One-eyed man explains Courtly gestures to a child, A sunken garden shelters Rusty fenders—although Time itself has ruptured, The feelers of my brain Reach back to the sun.

It is unpleasant spring Here in this other country. Just a few of the trees Have budded, only Crocuses have bloomed. There's been cold rain Each day for a week. But a month ago, a letter Told me: The jonquils Are all in bloom. Tom, you should see The tulips. They're . . .

I see cold rain Through a window That goes darker; I know that this ordered World is corrupt, It will not grow, The sun won't corrupt it.

I think of pine trees, I think of margins of flowers, I long for a horse grazing, I reach back to the sun.