Monday, January 23, 2012

Poetry Monday

Piazza di Spagna, Early Morning

by Richard Wilbur

          I can’t forget
    How she stood at the top of that long marble stair
    Amazed, and then with a sleepy pirouette
Went dancing slowly down to the fountain-quieted square;

      Nothing upon her face
But some impersonal loneliness, -- not then a girl,
      But as it were a reverie of the place,
       A called-for falling glide and whirl;

      As when a leaf, petal, or thin chip
Is drawn to the falls of a pool and, circling a moment above it,
      Rides on over the lip –
Perfectly beautiful, perfectly ignorant of it.

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