Lear by William Carlos Williams
When the world takes over for us
and the storm in the trees
replaces our brittle consciences
(like ships, female to all seas)
when the few last yellow leaves
stand out like flags on tossed ships
at anchor—our minds are rested
Yesterday we sweated and dreamed
or sweated in our dreams walking
at a loss through the bulk of figures
that appeared solid, men or women,
but as we approached down the paved
corridor melted—Was it I?—like
smoke from bonfires blowing away
Today the storm, inescapable, has
taken the scene and we return
our hearts to it, however made, made
wives by it and though we secure
ourselves for a dry skin from the drench
of its passionate approaches we
yield and are made quiet by its fury
Pitiful lear, not even you could
out-shout the storm—to make a fool
cry! Wife to its power might you not
better have yielded it earlier? as on ships
facing the seas were carried once
the figures of women at repose to
signify the strength of the waves’ lash.
