Tamed by Miltown, we lie on Mother's bed;
the rising sun in war paint dyes us red;
in broad daylight her gilded bed-posts shine,
abandoned, almost Dionysian.
At last the trees are green on Marlborough Street,
blossoms on our magnolia ignite
the morning with their murderous five days' white.
All night I've held your hand,
as if you had
a fourth time faced the kingdom of the mad
its hackneyed speech, its homicidal eye
and dragged me home alive. Oh my Petite,
clearest of all God's creatures,
still all air and nerve:
you were in your twenties, and I,
once hand on glass
and heart in mouth,
outdrank the Rahvs in the heat
of Greenwich Village fainting at your feet
too boiled and shy
and poker-faced to make a pass
while the shrill verve
of your invective scorched the traditional South.
Now twelve years later you turn your white
Sleepless you hold
your pillow to your hollows like a child;
your old-fashioned tirade
loving rapid merciless
breaks like the Atlantic Ocean on my head.
Love Poem by Robert Lowell
Quotes by Robert Lowell
The light at the end of the tunnel
is just the light of an oncoming train.
- Robert Lowell
If we see light at the end of the tunnel,
It's the light of the oncoming train.
- Robert Lowell
Other Poems by Robert Lowell
The Quaker Graveyard in Nantucket
Memories of West Street and Lepke
Eye and Tooth
Skunk Hour
For the Union Dead
ROMANTIC
