St. Francis Einstein of the Daffodils

"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter— freedom for the daffodils! —in a tearing wind that shakes the tufted orchards— Einstein, tall as a violet in the lattice-arbor corner is tall as a blossomy peartree O Samos, Samos dead and buried. Lesbia a black cat in the freshturned garden. All dead. All flesh they sung is rotten Sing of it no longer— Side by side young and old take the sun together— maples, green and red yellowbells and the vermillion quinceflower together— The peartree with fœtid blossoms sways its high topbranches with contrary motions and there are both pinkflowered and coralflowered peachtrees in the bare chickenyard of the old negro with white hair who hides poisoned fish-heads here and there where stray cats find them— find them Spring days swift and mutable winds blowing four ways hot and cold shaking the flowers— Now the northeast wind moving in fogs leaves the grass cold and dripping. The night is dark. But in the night the southeast wind approaches. The owner of the orchard lies in bed with open windows and throws off his covers one by one