The little coat embroidered with birds
Is irretrievably ruined.
We bought it in the Spring
And she stood upon a chair,
A blazing tree of birds;
I leaned my head against her breast
And all the birds seemed to sing
While I listened to that one heavy bird
Thudding at the centre of our happiness.
But everything is torn away,
The clothes which were young and gay
Lie like dolls in attics
When the children have grown and ceased to play;
Or they fall with Autumn leaves
When fashions are blown out on white sales
Before the models of another day.
That great bed on which there lies
The charming haunting animal
Is a torrent that carries away
All the nests and singing branches
Tangled among blocks of ice
Which were the springs of yesterday.