JANE, Jane, Tall as a crane, The morning light creaks down again; Comb your cockscomb-ragged hair, Jane, Jane, come down the stair. Each dull blunt wooden stalactite Of rain creaks, hardened by the light, Sounding like an overtone From some lonely world unknown. But the creaking empty light Will never harden into sight, Will never penetrate your brain With overtones like the blunt rain. The light would show (if it could harden) Eternities of kitchen garden, Cockscomb flowers that none will pluck, And wooden flowers that 'gin to cluck. In the kitchen you must light Flames as staring, red and white, As carrots or as turnips, shining Where the cold dawn light lies whining. Cockscomb hair on the cold wind Hangs limp, turns the milk's weak mind. . . . Jane, Jane, Tall as a crane, The morning light creaks down again! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: CUPID AND VENUS by MARK ALEXANDER BOYD THE SPHINX by RALPH WALDO EMERSON IN THE SHADOWS: MY EPITAPH by DAVID GRAY (1838-1861) AT THE SHRINE by RICHARD KENDALL MUNKITTRICK THE MARSEILLAISE by CLAUDE JOSEPH ROUGET DE LISLE THE BALLAD OF CHICKAMAUGA [SEPTEMBER 19-20, 1863] by JAMES MAURICE THOMPSON THE LOON by ELEANOR STIMSON BROOKS PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE: CHARLES AVISON by ROBERT BROWNING |