Snow
Close Homer's new book
With your adoring, ebony, liquid look
And come with me, my beloved, my dear
On a walk to the square,
To the gold, immaculate shrine,
To the belvedere.
We can pluck the many roses there
Which gleam in the snow,
Falling like flakes of alabaster wine.
Come, my beloved, and let us go
Into the village where the white brooks flow.
We can meet the other lovers whose bliss
Is touched by the grace of heaven's fleecy downs
Settling on store-front windows,
On their roofs of amber-browns
As they rejoice in the warmth of a wintry kiss.
Let us run down by the shaded, sweet lake
Covered with a cheerful, diamond sheet
Of ice and froth where the bending boughs meet.
Come, my beloved, for loving's sake!
Your coat will be black,
A pea jacket that receives
The descending crystals blown by the breeze
To bless your woolly, sable-covered back
Among the glistening Christmas trees.
For the perfumed wind no longer grieves-
And harbors only ecstasies!
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