| Alfred Kreymborg, ed. Others for 1919. 1920. | | | | Indian Summer | | By Alfred Kreymborg |
| | | WHAT was the tune you heard on the way | |
| that you must dawdle here, | |
| cut a reed, like any truant, | |
| cut crooked holes in the reed, | |
| and dabble with burbling phrases | 5 |
| which can only tremble and halt | |
| no matter how fearfully carefully you blow? | |
| The tune you heard didn’t limp? | |
| Time, you’re a dunce. | |
| My word on it— | 10 |
| you could have | |
| breathed echo when the air was near— | |
| now it’s a wraith | |
| beyond even tiny embodiment! | |
| That amorphous haze, | 15 |
| arpeggic fall of those leaves, | |
| glint of that bird—or was it a squirrel?— | |
| (had it been a rat it would have bitten you!) | |
| they ought to preach your heedlessness, | |
| no man can essay a pavanne | 20 |
| with his phrases at variance— | |
| it is a pavanne, don’t deny it! | |
| And why propose a pavanne | |
| when nobody dances pavannes, | |
| and why ask a flute | 25 |
| to mimic the tone of a spinet? | |
| Dear dunce— | |
| your tune begins to sound feminine— | |
| go away— | |
| the phrases are exquisite daggers— | 30 |
| move along, move along: | |
| we have all sought the same lady twice! | | | | |
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