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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384034" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Love Lies Sleeping</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Earliest morning, switching all the tracks<br>that cross the sky from cinder star to star,<br> coupling the ends of streets <br> to trains of light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">now draw us into daylight in our beds;<br>and clear away what presses on the brain:<br> put out the neon shapes <br> that float and swell and glare</div><div style="margin:10px 0">down the gray avenue between the eyes<br>in pinks and yellows, letters and twitching signs.<br> Hang-over moons, wane, wane!<br> From the window I see</div><div style="margin:10px 0">an immense city, carefully revealed,<br>made delicate by over-workmanship,<br> detail upon detail,<br> cornice upon facade,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">reaching up so languidly up into<br>a weak white sky, it seems to waver there.<br> (Where it has slowly grown<br> in skies of water-glass</div><div style="margin:10px 0">from fused beads of iron and copper crystals,<br>the little chemical &quot;garden&quot; in a jar<br> trembles and stands again,<br> pale blue, blue-green, and brick.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sparrows hurriedly begin their play.<br>Then, in the West, &quot;Boom!&quot; and a cloud of smoke.<br> &quot;Boom!&quot; and the exploding ball<br> of blossom blooms again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(And all the employees who work in a plants <br>where such a sound says &quot;Danger,&quot; or once said &quot;Death,&quot;<br> turn in their sleep and feel<br> the short hairs bristling</div><div style="margin:10px 0">on backs of necks.) The cloud of smoke moves off.<br>A shirt is taken of a threadlike clothes-line.<br> Along the street below<br> the water-wagon comes</div><div style="margin:10px 0">throwing its hissing, snowy fan across<br>peelings and newspapers. The water dries<br> light-dry, dark-wet, the pattern<br> of the cool watermelon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hear the day-springs of the morning strike<br>from stony walls and halls and iron beds,<br> scattered or grouped cascades, <br> alarms for the expected:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">queer cupids of all persons getting up,<br>whose evening meal they will prepare all day,<br> you will dine well<br> on his heart, on his, and his,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">so send them about your business affectionately,<br>dragging in the streets their unique loves.<br> Scourge them with roses only,<br> be light as helium,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">for always to one, or several, morning comes<br>whose head has fallen over the edge of his bed,<br> whose face is turned<br> so that the image of</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the city grows down into his open eyes<br>inverted and distorted. No. I mean<br> distorted and revealed,<br> if he sees it at all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Bishop">Elizabeth Bishop</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384034" data-title="Love Lies Sleeping de Elizabeth Bishop" data-description="Earliest morning, switching all the tracks
that cross the sky from cinder star to star,
 coupling the ends of streets 
 to trains of light.

now draw us into daylight in our beds;
and clear away what presses on the brain:
 put out the neon shapes ..."></div>
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