Читать книгу Collected Love Poems - Brian Patten - Страница 19

When she wakes drenched from her sleep

She will not ask to be saluted by the light

Nor carolled by morning’s squabbling birds,

Nor lying in his arms wish him repeat

The polite conversations already heard;

She’ll not be loved by roses but by men,

She will glide free of sweet beauty’s net

And all her senses open out

To receive each sensation for herself.

If I could be that real, that open now,

And not by half a light half lit

I would not gossip of what is beauty and what is not

Nor reduce love to a freak poem in the dark.