Full text: The little review (12 (1926), 1)

I BOUGHT a seed and planted it 
a tree sprang up I tended it 
through the dry summer watered it 
the apples ripened in the fall 
I broke the apples open and I found 
the bitter ash of days 
The garden was rich and blighted 
thorns crowded through the wall 
I watched an empty calendar 
something is waiting and hidden 
magnificent kisses everlasting fame 
around the corner of next week between 
the edges of two days 
Wait only 
I shall heap your lap with pears 
oranges nectarines and rubies 
around your neck a chain of afternoons 
your head crowned with forgetfulness 
Wait only 
a tense man in a narrow house 
waiting without memory or hope 
asking for much too much expecting nothing 
A rain of days like ashes out of the sky 
Dipping an adroit hand into his hat he found: 
Successively, a patent razor, gin, a ukulele, five cigar 
bands,, 3-in-l, a jackknife with broken blades, a portable 
bathtub and a Sunday Times, as well as freckles, Matisse, an 
aeroplane and a white rabbit. The last he gave to the White 
Queen, who ran away. 
The red-haired man burst into genuine tears, they did 
not change to pearls. He went to a dance in Harlem. Sud

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