The poetry and patterns / Poezja i wzory
Watch out, she is coming. My dear, unhappy Victorian lady, here she is: Uwaga, nadchodzi. Moja droga i jakże nieszczęśliwa wiktoriańska dama, wygląda tak: I walk down the garden paths, And all the daffodils Are blowing, and the bright blue squills. I walk down the patterned garden paths In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jewelled fan, I too am a rare Pattern. As I wander down The garden paths. My dress is richly figured, And the train Makes a pink and silver stain On the gravel, and the thrift Of the borders. Just a plate of current fashion, Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes. Not a softness anywhere about me, Only whale-bone and brocade. And the splashing of waterdrops In the marble fountain Comes down the garden paths. The dripping never stops. I shall go Up and down, In my gown. Gorgeously arrayed, Boned and stayed. And the s