what's o'clock
93
A benefice of love poured down on us from these magnolia-trees.
That, when we leave you, we shall know the bitter wound
Of our long mutual scourging healed at last and sound.
That, when we leave you, we shall know the bitter wound
Of our long mutual scourging healed at last and sound.
Through an iron gate, fantastically scrolled and garlanded,
Along a path, green with moss, between two rows of high magnolia-trees—
How lightly the wind drips through the magnolias.
How slightly the magnolias bend to the wind.
Along a path, green with moss, between two rows of high magnolia-trees—
How lightly the wind drips through the magnolias.
How slightly the magnolias bend to the wind.
It stands, pushed back into a corner of the piazza,
A jouncing-board, with its paint scaled off,
A jouncing-board which creaks when you sit upon it.
The wind rattles the stiff leaves of the magnolias:
So may tinkling banjos drown the weeping of women.
A jouncing-board, with its paint scaled off,
A jouncing-board which creaks when you sit upon it.
The wind rattles the stiff leaves of the magnolias:
So may tinkling banjos drown the weeping of women.
