When I have baked white cakes <br />And grated green almonds to spread on them; <br />When I have picked the green crowns from the strawberries <br />And piled them, cone-pointed, in a blue and yellow platter; <br />When I have smoothed the seam of the linen I have been working; <br />What then? <br />To-morrow it will be the same: <br />Cakes and strawberries, <br />And needles in and out of cloth <br />If the sun is beautiful on bricks and pewter, <br />How much more beautiful is the moon, <br />Slanting down the gauffered branches of a plum-tree; <br />The moon <br />Wavering across a bed of tulips; <br />The moon, <br />Still, <br />Upon your face. <br />You shine, Beloved, <br />You and the moon. <br />But which is the reflection? <br />The clock is striking eleven. <br />I think, when we have shut and barred the door, <br />The night will be dark <br />Outside.<br /><br />Amy Lowell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/interlude-16/
