The Apple-Trees Bud, but I Do Not.

The apple-trees bud, but I do not.
Who forgot
April?
Happiness, happiness, which once I held in my hand,
Does it persist?
Does it exist,
Perhaps, in some foreign land?

Did it expand
Somewhere into something that would twist my wrist?
Does it exist,
Sweeter than I could bear,
Anywhere?

⨝

There is no speed
In Indianapolis, or in Monte Carlo,
Which can exceed the awful speed of my thought.

These tiny Fiats and Bugattis
With the behind-them bespectacled
Looking like beetles, men who must go fast
In order to live, in order to outlast
Those that pile up on sand bags,
There is nothing so fast,
I find, as the motion of the mind.

⨝

Why did you, June, June,
So suddenly
Arrive at noon
In the midst of July?

I was not prepared
For the deferred appearance
Of your purple-haired adherence
To all that we live for.

What can I give for
Your knowledge
Of when to expand
And when to contract—
This instructed, more academic college
Of when to act?

⨝

Oh sovereign angel,
Wide winged stranger above a forgetful earth,
Care for me, care for me. Keep me unaware of danger
And not regretful
And not forgetful of my innocent birth.

If ever I should get warm
Again, which I somewhat doubt,
I shall light two candles,
One to St. Christopher
And one for me,
To keep us out
Of danger, and free from harm
In our adventurous voyage
Over cold
Unseen sea.