The Carnival
by PHOEBE PIERCE
WILL you run, will you run,
By the rough and ragged hedge,
Though the facile waltz is sounding
From the water’s edge?
By the rough and ragged hedge,
Though the facile waltz is sounding
From the water’s edge?
The village belle is fair, and she sweats with pride,
The gaudy brasses blare, the lovers hide
Behind the carousel and fiercely kiss
While the swans and geese go round, and the marksmen miss.
In the light-bulbs’ shine, in the mirrors’ knowing wink,
I look for your eyes and tenderly think
Of the way your hands move. As the painted swings arc,
I shiver and think of your mouth in the dark.
The gaudy brasses blare, the lovers hide
Behind the carousel and fiercely kiss
While the swans and geese go round, and the marksmen miss.
In the light-bulbs’ shine, in the mirrors’ knowing wink,
I look for your eyes and tenderly think
Of the way your hands move. As the painted swings arc,
I shiver and think of your mouth in the dark.
Will you call, will you call
From the ragged hedge’s side?
I will come and lie down with you
In angular pride.
From the ragged hedge’s side?
I will come and lie down with you
In angular pride.