Poems (Scudder)/Avignon
AVIGNON
Sleepy Avignon—it was near the hour Of nones we crossed the long white bridge that lay A lily-garland over the green-grey, Wide-circling river; saw Sire Philip's tower A lily-stalk denuded of its flower, Against the dove-hued sky it seemed to sway And quiver in the pale heat of that day When all the spirits of the south had power. We found the convent. By its garden wall Ripe pears lay on the grass, while clear and bold From the pear-tree we heard a mavis sing. A Sister showed us—that was best of all— King Rene's altar-painting, black and gold As the queen-tulips of their southern spring.