July in Vallombrosa

3 0 00

July in Vallombrosa

Old lady sitting still

Pine trees standing quite still

Sisters of mercy

whispering

Oust the Dryad

O consecration of forest

To the uneventful

I cannot imagine anything

Less disputably respectable

Than prolonged invalidism in Italy

At the beck

Of a British practitioner

Of all permissible pastimes

Attendant upon chastity

The one with which you can most efficiently insult

Life

Is your hobby of collecting death-beds

Blue Nun

So wrap the body in flannel and wool

Of superior quality from the Anglo-American

Until that ineffable moment

When Rigor Mortis

Divests it of its innate impurity

While round the hotel

Wanton Italian matrons

Discuss the better business of bed-linen

To regular puncture of needles

The old lady has a daughter

Who has been spent

In chasing moments from one room to another

When the essence of an hour

Was in its passing

With the passionate breath

Of the bronchitis kettle

And her last little lust

Lost itself in a saucer of gruel

But all this moribund stuff

Is not wasted

For there is always Nature

So its expensive upkeep

Goes to support

The loves

Of head-waiters