He throws a fifty-lire piece in the fountain and wants to tell his outrageous wish but they won't listen. The wish won't count if you tell it she says. He broods. The air is full of these goddamn wops and their filthy pigeons. What good is a wish that can't be told, that was wished to anger those who won't hear it. Give me the single raindrop that fell through the hole in the pagan temple as my bride. Wishes must be phrased in old-time languages, a sort of fatigued Episcopalian; here and there is wasn't: that pinochle become the national sport of the U.S.A.; that dysentery disappear straightaway from earth; that the girl hidden in New York change her silly predilection for her sisters, fall like rain through the roof of a pagan temple on this gentle soul. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRAGMENTARY BLUE by ROBERT FROST AN EVANGELIST'S WIFE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON AFTER THE QUARREL by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE BLUE AND THE GRAY by FRANCIS MILES FINCH SEASONS (1) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE TENT ON THE BEACH: 8. THE CABLE HYMN by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER DROUTH WILL BE ENDED by GLADYS NAOMI ARNOLD THE LOAN by SABINE BARING-GOULD TO JOANNA, ON SENDING ME THE LEAF OF A FLOWER ... WORDSWORTH'S GARDEN by BERNARD BARTON |