Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen and yes my darling a dot on the fathometer is tinkerbelle with her cough and twice I will give up my honor and stars will stick like tacks in the night yes oh yes yes yes two little snails at the back of the knee building bon- fires something like eye- lashes something two zippos striking yes yes yes small and me maker.
Anne Sexton
Monday, May 7, 2007
The Sun Rising
Busy old fool, unruly sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late school boys and sour prentices, Go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride, Call country ants to harvest offices, Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, Not hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
Thy beams, so reverend and strong Why shouldst thou think? I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink, But that I would not lose her sight so long; If her eyes have not blinded thine, Look, and tomorrow late, tell me, Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me. Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday, And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay.
She's all states, and all princes, I, Nothing else is. Princes do but play us; compared to this, All honor's mimic, all wealth alchemy. Thou, sun, art half as happy as we, In that the world's contracted thus. Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be To warm the world, that's done in warming us. Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere; This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere.
John Donne
Julia and Charles Norman, 1864 Julia Margaret Cameron