Page:Harmonium - Wallace Stevens.djvu/105

 Ach, Mutter, This old, black dress, I have been embroidering French flowers on it. Not by way of romance, Here is nothing of the ideal, Nein, Nein. It would have been different, Liebchen, If I had imagined myself, In an orange gown, Drifting through space, Like a figure on the church-wall.