<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="center" class="head">Patterns</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line">I <span class="smallcaps">walk</span> down the garden paths,</p><p class="line">And all the daffodils</p><p class="line">Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.</p><p class="line">I walk down the patterned garden paths</p><p class="line">In my stiff, brocaded gown.</p><p class="line">With my powdered hair and jewelled fan,</p><p class="line">I too am a rare</p><p class="line">Pattern. As I wander down</p><p class="line">The garden paths.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">My dress is richly figured,</p><p class="line">And the train</p><p class="line">Makes a pink and silver stain</p><p class="line">On the gravel, and the thrift</p><p class="line">Of the borders.</p><p class="line">Just a plate of current fashion,</p><p class="line">Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes.</p><p class="line">Not a softness anywhere about me,</p><p class="line">Only whale-bone and brocade.</p><p class="line">And I sink on a seat in the shade</p><p class="line">Of a lime tree. For my passion</p><p class="line">Wars against the stiff brocade.</p><p class="line">The daffodils and squills</p><p class="line">Flutter in the breeze</p><p class="line">As they please.</p><p class="line">And I weep;</p><p class="line">For the lime tree is in blossom</p><p class="line">And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">And the plashing of waterdrops</p><p class="line">In the marble fountain</p><p class="line">Comes down the garden paths.</p><p class="line">The dripping never stops.</p><p class="line">Underneath my stiffened gown</p><p class="line">Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin,</p><p class="line">A basin in the midst of hedges grown</p><p class="line">So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding.</p><p class="line">But she guesses he is near,</p><p class="line">And the sliding of the water</p><p class="line">Seems the stroking of a dear</p><p class="line">Hand upon her.</p><p class="line">What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown!</p><p class="line">I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground.</p><p class="line">All the pink and silver crumpled up on the ground.</p><p class="line">I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths,</p><p class="line">And he would stumble after</p><p class="line">Bewildered by my laughter.</p><p class="line">I should see the sun flashing from his sword hilt and the buckles on his shoes.</p><p class="line">I would choose</p><p class="line">To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths,</p><p class="line">A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover,</p><p class="line">Till he caught me in the shade,</p><p class="line">And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me,</p><p class="line">Aching, melting, unafraid.</p><p class="line">With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops,</p><p class="line">And the plopping of the waterdrops,</p><p class="line">All about us in the open afternoon --</p><p class="line">I am very like to swoon</p><p class="line">With the weight of this brocade,</p><p class="line">For the sun sifts through the shade.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Underneath the fallen blossom</p><p class="line">In my bosom,</p><p class="line">Is a letter I have hid.</p><p class="line">It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke.</p><p class="line">"Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell</p><p class="line">Died in action Thursday sen'night."</p><p class="line">As I read it in the white, morning sunlight,</p><p class="line">The letters squirmed like snakes.</p><p class="line">"Any answer, Madam?" said my footman.</p><p class="line">"No," I told him.</p><p class="line">"See that the messenger takes some refreshment.</p><p class="line">No, no answer."</p><p class="line">And I walked into the garden,</p><p class="line">Up and down the patterned paths,</p><p class="line">In my stiff, correct brocade.</p><p class="line">The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun,</p><p class="line">Each one.</p><p class="line">I stood upright too,</p><p class="line">Held rigid to the pattern</p><p class="line">By the stiffness of my gown.</p><p class="line">Up and down I walked,</p><p class="line">Up and down.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">In a month he would have been my husband.</p><p class="line">In a month, here, underneath this lime,</p><p class="line">We would have broke the pattern;</p><p class="line">He for me, and I for him,</p><p class="line">He as Colonel, I as Lady,</p><p class="line">On this shady seat.</p><p class="line">He had a whim</p><p class="line">That sunlight carried blessing.</p><p class="line">And I answered, "It shall be as you have said."</p><p class="line">Now he is dead.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">In Summer and in Winter I shall walk</p><p class="line">Up and down</p><p class="line">The patterned garden paths</p><p class="line">In my stiff, brocaded gown.</p><p class="line">The squills and daffodils</p><p class="line">Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow.</p><p class="line">I shall go</p><p class="line">Up and down,</p><p class="line">In my gown.</p><p class="line">Gorgeously arrayed,</p><p class="line">Boned and stayed.</p><p class="line">And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace</p><p class="line">By each button, hook, and lace.</p><p class="line">For the man who should loose me is dead,</p><p class="line">Fighting with the Duke in Flanders,</p><p class="line">In a pattern called a war.</p><p class="line">Christ! What are patterns for?</p></div><p class="byline">-- Amy Lowell.</p></body></html> · Great War