American Poetry 1922/Rain
RAIN
It's all very well for you
suddenly to withdraw
and say, I'll come again,
but what of the bruises you've left,
what of the green and the blue,
the yellow, purple and violet?—
don't you be telling us,
I'm innocent of these,
irresponsible of happenings—
didn't we see you steal next to her,
tenderly,
with your silver mist about you
to hide your blandishment?—
now, what of what followed, eh?—
we saw you hover close,
caress her,
open her pore-cups,
make a cross of her,
quickly penetrate her—
she opening to you,
engulfing you,
every limb of her,
bud of her, pore of her?—
don't call these things, kisses—
mouth-kisses, hand-kisses,
elbow, knee and toe,
and let it go at that—
disappear and promise
what you'll never perform:
we've known you to slink away
until drought-time,
drooping-time,
withering-time:
we've caught you crawling off
into winter-time,
try to cover what you've done
with a long white scarf—
your own frozen tears
(likely phrase!)
and lilt your,
I'll be back in spring!
Next spring, and you know it,
she won't be the same,
though she may look the same
to you from where you are,
and invite you down again!
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1966, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 57 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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