Aubade

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 overtoncs 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 old 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!