Still-Life

➳

 

Through the open French window the warm sun

lights up the polished breakfast-table, laid

round a bowl of crimson roses, for one –

a service of Worcester porcelain, arrayed

near it a melon, peaches, figs, small hot

rolls in a napkin, fairy rack of toast,

butter in ice, high silver coffee pot,

and, heaped on a salver, the morning’s post.

 

she comes over the lawn, the young heiress,

from her early walk in her garden-wood,

feeling that life’s a table set to bless

her delicate desires with all that’s good,

 

that even the unopened future lies

like a love-letter, full of sweet surprise.

 

Elizabeth Daryush

Done