THE BLUE SCARF
by: Amy Lowell (1874-1925)
 ALE, with
the blue of high zeniths, shimmered over with silver, brocaded
In smooth-running patterns, a soft stuff, with dark, knotted
fringes, it lies there,
Warm from a woman's soft shoulders; and my fingers close on it,
caressing.
Where is she, the woman who wore it? The scent of her lingers
and drugs me.
A languor, fire-shotted, runs through me, and I crush the scarf
down on my face,
And gulp in the warmth and the blueness; and my eyes swim in
cool-tinted heavens.
Around me are columns of marble, and a diapered, sun-flickered
pavement.
Rose-leaves blow and patter against it. Below the stone steps
a lute tinkles.
A jar of green jade throws its shadow half over the floor. A
big-bellied
Frog hops through the sunlight, and plops in the gold-bubbled
water of a basin
Sunk in the black and white marble. The west wind has lifted
a scarf
On the seat close beside me; the blue of it is a violent outrage
of color.
She draws it more closely about her, and it ripples beneath her
slight stirring.
Her kisses are sharp buds of fire; and I burn back against her,
a jewel
Hard and white, a stalked, flaming flower; till I break to a
handful of cinders,
And open my eyes to the scarf, shining blue in the afternoon
sunshine.
-
- How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty and one is
alone!
|
"The Blue Scarf" was originally
published in The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine, Vol.
88. Amy Lowell. New York: The Century Co., August 1914. |
MORE
POEMS BY AMY LOWELL |
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