ΓΟΥΙΛΛΙΑΜ ΚΑΡΛΟΣ ΓΟΥΙΛΛΙΑΜΣ

WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS

PORTRAIT OF A LADY

Your thighs are appletrees

whose blossoms touch the sky.

Which sky? The sky

where Watteau hung a lady's

slipper. Your knees

are a southern breeze -- or

a gust of snow. Agh! what

sort of man was Fragonard?

-- As if that answered

anything. -- Ah, yes. Below

the knees, since the tune

drops that way, it is

one of those white summer days,

the tall grass of your ankles

flickers upon the shore --

Which shore? --

the sand clings to my lips --

Which shore?

Agh, petals maybe. How

should I know?

Which shore? Which shore?

-- the petals from some hidden

appletree -- Which shore?

I said petals from an appletree.