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1874–1925

II

Amy Lowell

Wax-white — Floor, ceiling, walls. Ivory shadows Over the pavement

Polished to cream surfaces By constant sweeping. The big room is coloured like the petals Of a great magnolia,

And has a patina Of flower bloom Which makes it shine dimly Under the electric lamps.

Chairs are ranged in rows Like sepia seeds Waiting fulfilment. The chalk-white spot of a cook's cap

Moves unglossily against the vaguely bright wall — Dull chalk-white striking the retina like a blow Through the wavering uncertainty of steam. Vitreous-white of glasses with green reflections,

Ice-green carboys, shifting — greener, bluer — with the jar of moving water. Jagged green-white bowls of pressed glass Rearing snow-peaks of chipped sugar Above the lighthouse-shaped castors

Of grey pepper and grey-white salt. Grey-white placards: “Oyster Stew, Cornbeef Hash, Frankfurters ": Marble slabs veined with words in meandering lines. Dropping on the white counter like horn notes

Through a web of violins, The flat yellow lights of oranges, The cube-red splashes of apples, In high plated‘ epergnes’.

The electric clock jerks every half-minute: “Coming!— Past!” “Three beef-steaks and a chicken-pie,” Bawled through a slide while the clock jerks heavily.

A man carries a china mug of coffee to a distant chair. Two rice puddings and a salmon salad Are pushed over the counter; The unfulfilled chairs open to receive them.

A spoon falls upon the floor with the impact of metal striking stone, And the sound throws across the room Sharp, invisible zigzags Of silver.

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II · Amy Lowell · Poetry Cove