It is cold. The white moon
is up among her scattered stars—
like the bare thighs of
the Police Sergeant’s wife—among
her five children …
No answer. Pale shadows lie upon
the frosted grass. One answer:
It is midnight, it is still
and it is cold … !
White thighs of the sky! a
new answer out of the depths of
my male belly: In April …
In April I shall see again—In April!
the round and perfect thighs
of the Police Sergeant’s wife
perfect still after many babies.
Oya!
Public-domain source text
The Cold Night
by William Carlos Williams
From Standard Ebooks · standardebooks/william-carlos-williams_poetry
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This is a source transcription from Standard Ebooks, published in Past Poetry’s public-domain archive without line-by-line editorial notes. Public-domain source edition. Availability can vary by territory.
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