POETRY: A Magazine of Verse
In my ear,
And the shock jolts my heart:
But when I open my eyes,
And look, first left, and then right. . . .
No one is there.
EVIL
The mist of the evening is rose
In the dying sun,
And the street is quiet between its rows of plane-trees,
And the walls of the gardens
With the laurel bushes.
I walk along in a dream,
Half aware
Of the empty black of the windows.
One window I pass by.
It is not empty:
Something shows from it—white, I feel, and round—
Something that pulls me back
To gaze, still dreaming,
To gaze and to wake and stare
At a naked woman—
Oh, beautiful!
Alone in the window.
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