by Pavel Chichikov
Whose autumn house is this with yellow-green
Parquetry of poplar, scarlet screen,
Carpets of vermilion and red-gold
Moved by windy weavers, fold by fold?
Ceilings of the bluest lapis made
Ivory the sashes and the shades
Hall receding hall by open ways
Distances foreshortened by the days
Those who wander in must know that here
Is majesty but nothing to be feared –
Prodigious are ceilings and the beams
But no more than the pillars of our dreams
Lordly is the autumn house of love,
And Love Himself about the mansion moves
(See Pavel's new book, Mysteries and Stations, here.)
