Al Que Quiere!. William Carlos Williams

I remain! Therefore, listen!

       For you will not soon have another

      singer.

       First I say this: you have seen

       the strange birds, have you not, that

      sometimes

       rest upon our river in winter?

      ​

      Let them cause you to think well then

      of the storms

       that drive many to shelter. These things

       do not happen without reason.

       And the next thing I say is this:

       I saw an eagle once circling against the

      clouds

       over one of our principal churches—

       Easter, it was—a beautiful day!—:

       three gulls came from above the river

       and crossed slowly seaward!

       Oh, I know you have your own hymns, I

      have heard them—

       and because I knew they invoked some

      great protector

       I could not be angry with you, no matter

       how much they outraged true music—

       You see, it is not necessary for us to leap

      at each other,

       and, as I told you, in the end

       the gulls moved seaward very quietly.

      ​APPEAL

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      You who are so mighty,

       crimson salamander,

       hear me once more.

      ​

      I lay among the half burned sticks

       at the edge of the fire.

       The fiend was creeping in.

       I felt the cold tips of fingers—

       O crimson salamander!

       Give me one little flame,

       one!

       that I may bind it

       protectingly about the wrist

       of him that flung me here,

       here upon the very center!

       This is my song.

      ​IN HARBOR

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      Surely there, among the great docks, is

      peace, my mind;

       there with the ships moored in the river.

       Go out, timid child,

       and snuggle in among the great ships

      talking so quietly.

       Maybe you will even fall asleep near

      them and be

       lifted into one of their laps, and in the

      morning—

       There is always the morning in which to

      remember it all!

      ​

      Of what are they gossiping? God knows.

       And God knows it matters little for we

      cannot understand them.

       Yet it is certainly of the sea, of that

      there can be no question.

       It is a quiet sound. Rest! That's all

      I care for now.

       The smell of them will put us to sleep

      presently.

       Smell! It is the sea water mingling here

      into the river—

       at least so it seems—perhaps it is some-

      thing else—but what matter?

       The sea water! It is quiet and smooth

      here!

       How slowly they move, little by little

      trying

       the hawsers that drop and groan with

      their agony.

       Yes, it is certainly of the high sea they

      are talking.

      ​WINTER SUNSET

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      Then I raised my head

       and stared out over

       the blue February waste

       to the blue bank of hill

       with stars on it

      ​

      in strings and festoons—

       but above that:

       one opaque

       stone of a cloud

       just on the hill

       left and right

       as far as I could see;

       and above that

       a red streak, then

       icy blue sky!

       It was a fearful thing

       to come into a man's heart

       at that time: that stone

       over the little blinking stars

       they'd set there.

      ​APOLOGY

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      Why do I write today?

       The beauty of

       the terrible faces

       of our nonentities

       stirs me to it:

       colored women

       day workers—

       old and experienced—

       returning home at dusk

      ​

      in cast off clothing

       faces like

       old Florentine oak.

       Also

       the set pieces

       of your faces stir me—

       leading citizens—

       but not

       in the same way.

      ​PASTORAL

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      The little sparrows

       hop ingenuously

       about the pavement

       quarreling