PlayAuthor(s): William Carlos WilliamsSource: Poetry, Vol. 13, No. 6 (Mar., 1919), p. 304Published by: Poetry FoundationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20572031 .

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POETRY: A Magazine of Verse

PLAY

Subtle, clever brain, wiser than I am, By what devious means do you contrive To remain idle? Teach me, 0 Master.

LINES

Leaves are grey-green, The glass broken bright green.

TH E DARK DAY

A three-day-long rain from the east An interminable talking, talking Of no consequence-patter, patter, patter. Hand in hand little winds Blow the thin streams aslant.

Warm. Distance cut off. Seclusion. A few passers-by, drawn in upon themselves, Hurry from one place to another. Winds of the white poppy! there is no escape! An interminable talking, talking, Talking . . . . it has happened before. Backward, backward, backward.

THURSDAY

I have had my dream-like others And it has come to nothing, so that

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