Fuschias and Geraniums / Charles E.S. Wood

Fuschias and Geraniums
What is Life? To me, life is to sit on these stone steps Under the peach-tree, eating green almonds, Watching the indolent shadow arabesques Shift on the terrace; While you couch on the coping of the steps On cushions of velvet from old Venice, Reading Endymion. Up from the city far below Comes the noon-scream of whistles. I watch the shadows of the slim peach-leaves, Gently finger your brown, soft-coiled hair, And know the sun is in love. Suddenly a lustrous humming-bird Poises under the bell of a fuchsia flower, His green back shimmering opal fire. He hangs there a moment, a jewel, suspended from nothing— How can his wings move so fast? He is gone. Sun-god, are you a mechanic, a painter, designer? A yellow butterfly wanders aimlessly, So it seems to me, among the red geraniums. It is gone. The fuchsias are gouts of blood; The geraniums are leaping flames. You couch on the coping of the steps On cushions of velvet of old Venice: And I am suspended before you a moment. This to me is life. It is gone.