Horace Gregory
IN GEORGE SAND'S GARDEN
Someone remarked:
"The indecorous lady is no longer there,
Pursued by young and all too faithful lovers;
The print of small feet and the hooves of deer or 'satyrs'
Is not to
be
discerned among the grasses."
Nor are there signs, among bruised leaves, tom branches,
Of the encounter, almost breathless, and the fall,
As if into earth's center where the subtle movement
Of the sea is distinctly felt and promises of love
Are overheard among ferns, vines and a sheltering wall
Of roses.
She was neither .all heat nor cold:
Her fires were gathered from the autumnal light
Of the Moon in her first quarter who seems to walk
Between and above the trees in early evening–
And are as public as the Moon,
As
quickly turned from cloud-washed gold to silver.
What changeable colors, fragrances, river-like sounds
And glances entered and vanished
In the illusion of her eyes, of limbs and shoulder,
Of dress and nakedness, and in the green-reflected
Disquiet of her hair.
Even when one saw her
Stride like a man, heard her voice crack,
And knew her veins were filled with fluid that was not blood,
Was deftly poured, as in a wine-glass, for many palates
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