Daniel Tiffany, p.2


I was now wearing into the sunshine,
an old wide-awake hat
and a straw bonnet of the plum pudding
sort—if that makes any sense.
I put the hat in my pocket.

Thus the same thing of every thing.
Jargonelle, early pear,
the magical “perforated strap”
leant by Aphrodite to be worn talking
trash and get him bridled seen.

My fears grew less by custom
for I have known people who:
    + take hot or cold baths
    + pinch themselves
And all my favorite places have met with misfortune.

In went the arm up to the shoulder
and then came fear upon us
stealing peas in church time
when the owners was safe to boil at the gypsies’ fire
who went half shares at our stolen luxury.

Out it’s came the world adieu,
it was a moonlight night.
O row me in a pair o sheets,
the never a bit can I eat or drink
my heart’s saw full of pine.

Fond of getting cuckoos, bluebells, the selfsame golden
eye and surfeit with its blushing stains
underneath, under water on May eve. Firstness
tossing pinwheels and cowslip balls
over the garland hung from chimney to chimney.

Breathing flutes, beechen bowls—
I felt the warning for once.
A sizeable gudgeon twinkled round the glossy pebbles.
I’m afraid that’s it. Or something afloat on the chance
he won’t. Sorrow there was

made fair. Desiderata
One pair of Candlesticks
One better set of China
Two tubs & a pail—a counterpane
A pipe six blankets.

O word’s gone to a gamekeeper and his man.
Throned angels—unboyling anguish. Tea things.
Lov’d the same love & hated the same hate.
Strange navigator. A meadow with now
and then a single arch crossing the meadow.