Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Fuchsias and GeraniumsCharles Erskine Scott Wood
W
Under the peach-tree, eating green almonds,
Watching the indolent shadow arabesques
Shift on the terrace;
While you couch on the coping of the steps
On cushions of velvet from old Venice,
Reading Endymion.
Up from the city far below
Comes the noon-scream of whistles.
I watch the shadows of the slim peach-leaves,
Gently finger your brown, soft-coiled hair,
And know the sun is in love.
Poises under the bell of a fuchsia flower,
His green back shimmering opal fire.
He hangs there a moment, a jewel, suspended from nothing—
How can his wings move so fast?
He is gone.
Sun-god, are you a mechanic, a painter, designer?
A yellow butterfly wanders aimlessly,
So it seems to me, among the red geraniums.
It is gone.
The geraniums are leaping flames.
You couch on the coping of the steps
On cushions of velvet of old Venice:
And I am suspended before you a moment.
This to me is life.