Al Que Quiere!. William Carlos Williams

thrusting up through the grass,

       up under the weeds

       answering me,

      that shall be satisfying! The light shall leap and snap that day as with a million lashes! Oh, I have you; yes you are about me is a sense: playing under the blue pools that are my windows— but they shut you out still, there in the half light.

      ​

      For the simple truth is

       that though I see you clear enough

       you are not there!

       It is not that—it is you,

       you I want!

      —God, if I could fathom

       the guts of shadows!

       You to come with me

       poking into negro houses

       with their gloom and smell!

       In among children

       leaping around a dead dog!

       Mimicking

       onto the lawns of the rich!

       You!

       to go with me a-tip-toe

       head down under heaven,

       nostrils lipping the wind!

      ​PASTORAL

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      When I was younger

       it was plain to me

       I must make something of myself.

       Older now

       I walk back streets

       admiring the houses

      ​

      of the very poor:

       roof out of line with sides

       the yards cluttered

       with old chicken wire, ashes,

       furniture gone wrong;

       the fences and outhouses

       built of barrel-staves

       and parts of boxes, all,

       if I am fortunate,

       smeared a bluish green

       that properly weathered

       pleases me best

       of all colors.

      No one

       will believe this

       of vast import to the nation.

      ​CHICKORY AND DAISIES

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      I.

       Lift your flowers

       on bitter stems

       chickory!

       Lift them up

       out of the scorched ground!

       Bear no foliage

       but give yourself

       wholly to that!

      ​

      Strain under them

       you bitter stems

       that no beast eats—

       and scorn greyness!

       Into the heat with them:

       cool!

       luxuriant! sky-blue!

       The earth cracks and

       is shriveled up;

       the wind moans piteously;

       the sky goes out

       if you should fail.

      II.

       I saw a child with daisies

       for weaving into the hair

       tear the stems

       with her teeth!

      ​METRIC FIGURE

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      There is a bird in the poplars!

       It is the sun!

       The leaves are little yellow fish

       swimming in the river.

       The bird skims above them,

       day is on his wings.

       Phoebus!

       It is he that is making

      ​

      the great gleam among the poplars!

       It is his singing

       outshines the noise

       of leaves clashing in the wind.

      ​WOMAN WALKING

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      An oblique cloud of purple smoke

       across a milky silhouette

       of house sides and tiny trees—

       a little village—

       that ends in a saw edge

       of mist-covered trees

       on a sheet of grey sky.

       To the right, jutting in,

       a dark crimson corner of roof.

       To the left, half a tree:

      —what a blessing it is

       to see you in the street again,

       powerful woman,

       coming with swinging haunches,

       breasts straight forward,

       supple shoulders, full arms

       and strong, soft hands (I've felt them)

       carrying the heavy basket.

       I might well see you oftener!

       And for a different reason

      ​

      than the fresh eggs

       you bring us so regularly.

       Yes, you, young as I,

       with boney brows,

       kind grey eyes and a kind mouth;

       you walking out toward me

       from that dead hillside!

       I might well see you oftener.

      ​GULLS

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      My townspeople, beyond in the great

      world,

       are many with whom it were far more

       profitable for me to live than here with

      you.

       These whirr about me calling, calling!

       and for my own part I answer them,

      loud as I can,

       but