Wednesday, June 5, 2013


"Tell me what you're doing over here, John Gorham,
 Sighing hard and seeming to be sorry when you're not; .
 Make me laugh or let me go now, for long faces in the moonlight
Are a sign for me to say again a word that you forgot."­

"I'm over here to tell you what the moon already
May have said or maybe shouted ever since a year ago; 
I'm over here to tell you what you are, Jane Wayland,
 And to make you rather sorry, I should say, for being so."­

"Tell me what you're saying to me now, John Gorham,
Or you'll never see as much of me as ribbons any more; 
I'll vanish in as many ways as I have toes and fingers,
 And you'H not follow far for one where flocks have been before."­

"I'm sorry now 'you never saw the flocks, Jane Wayland, 
But you're the one to make of them as many as you need. 
And then about the vanishing: It's I who mean to vanish;
 And when I'm here no longer you'll be done with me in­deed."­

"That's a way to tell me what 1 am, John Gorham!
How am 1 to know myself until 1 make you smile?
Try to look as if the moon were making faces at you, 
And a little more as if you meant to stay a little while."­

"You are what it is that over rose-blown gardens
Makes a pretty flutter for a season in the sun;
You are what it is that with a mouse, Jane Wayland, .
 Catches him ana lets him go and eats him up for fun."~

"Sure I never took you for a mouse, John Gorham;
All you say is easy, but so far from being true,
That 1 wish you wouldn't ever be again the one to think so;
 For it isn't cats and butterflies that 1 would be to you."­

"All your little animals are in one picture­
One I've had before me since a year ago tonight;
And the picture where they live will be of you, Jane Way­land,
Till you find a way to kill them or to keep them out of sight." ­

"Won't you ever see me as 1 am, John Gorham,
Leaving out the foolishness and all 1 never meant? 
Somewhere in me there's a woman, if you know the way to find her.
Will you like me any better if 1 prove it and repent?"­

"I doubt if 1 shall ever have the time, Jane Wayland; 
And 1 dare say all this moonlight lying round us might as well
 Fall for nothing on the shards of broken urns that are for­gotten,

As on two that have no longer much of anything to tell."

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