Les plus lus ▸
Amy Lowell
My cup is empty to-night,
Cold and dry are its sides,
Chilled by the wind from the open window.
Empty and void, it sparkles white in the moonlight.
The room is filled with the strange scent
Of wistaria blossoms.
They sway in the moon's radiance
And tap against the wall.
But the cup of my heart is still,
And cold, and empty.
When you come, it brims
Red and trembling with blood,
Heart's blood for your drinking;
To fill your mouth with love
And the bitter-sweet taste of a soul.
A LADDER sticking up at the open window,
The top of an old ladder ;
And all of Summer is there.
Great waves and tufts of wistaria surge across the window,
And a thin, belated blossom
Jerks up and down in the sunlight ;
Purple translucence against the blue sky.
"Tie back this branch," I say,
But my hands are sticky with leaves.
And my nostrils widen to the smell of crushed green.
The ladder moves uneasily at the open window.
And I call to the man beneath,
"Tie back that branch."
There is a ladder leaning against the window-sill.
And a mutter of thunder in the air.