Poems (Tree)/How Often, When the Thought of Suicide

by Iris Tree

HOW often, when the thought of suicideWith ghostly weapon beckons us to die,The ghosts of many foods alluring glideOn golden dishes, wine in purple tideTo drown our whim. Things danced before the eyeLike tasselled grapes to Tantalus: The slyBlue of a curling trout, the battened prideOf ham in frills, complacent quails that lieResigned to death like heroes—July peas,Expectant bottles foaming at the brink—White bread, and honey of the golden bees—A peach with velvet coat, some prawns in pink,A slice of beef carved deftly, Stilton cheese,And cup where berries float and bubbles wink.

1917