Song Writer Paid With Air
I sit on a white wood box Smeared with the black name Of a seller of white sugar. The little brown table is so dirty That if I had food I do not think I could eat. How can I promise violets drunken in wine For your amusement, How can I powder your blue cotton dress With splinters of emerald, How can I sing you songs of the amber pear, Or pour for the finger-tips of your white fingers Mingled scents in a rose agate bowl? From the Chinese of J. Wing (nineteenth century).
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"I sit on a white wood box..."
"Song Writer Paid With Air" is a quintessential example of Edward Powys Mathers (As Translator)'s signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...