Читать книгу Door in the Mountain - Jean Valentine - Страница 104

Tired of London

When you came to town,

Warm bubbling rains came, the teething leaves,

Steaming spring earth, and the tough, small-footed birds;

Reckless colors sifted the closed, dense sky

As we went hand in hand through our larky maze

In the cultivated stubble of Hampstead Heath:

Monkshood, Foxglove, Canterbury Bells

Composed themselves to drink the bovril air

Thinned by the watery sun.

You, with no sense of giving,

Brought all the dangers I no longer dared;

Netted the wind that roared through my rented bed,

And, poised like Eros over Picadilly,

Were always there.

I cannot find the words to leave you with.

This way love's conversation, the body and mind of it, goes

On after love: we shall come to call this love,

And this roar in our ears which before very long

We become, we shall call our song.