Apology

Amy Lowell

Be not angry with me that I bear
   Your colours everywhere,
   All through each crowded street,
      And meet
   The wonder-light in every eye,
      As I go by.

Each plodding wayfarer looks up to gaze,
   Blinded by rainbow haze,
   The stuff of happiness,
      No less,
   Which wraps me in its glad-hued folds
      Of peacock golds.

Before my feet the dusty, rough-paved way
   Flushes beneath its gray.
   My steps fall ringed with light,
      So bright,
   It seems a myriad suns are strown
      About the town.

Around me is the sound of steepled bells,
   And rich perfumed smells
   Hang like a wind-forgotten cloud,
      And shroud
   Me from close contact with the world.
      I dwell impearled.

You blazon me with jewelled insignia.
   A flaming nebula
   Rims in my life.  And yet
      You set
   The word upon me, unconfessed
      To go unguessed.

From: Rittenhouse, Jessie B.
The Second Book of Modern Verse (1919).

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This collection assembled by Jone Johnson Lewis.
Collection © 1999-2002 Jone Johnson Lewis.

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