In the cathedral, I sat there, and read,
Alone, a lean Review and said,
"These degustations in the vaults
Oppose the past and the festival.
What is beyond the cathedral, outside,
Balances with nuptial song.
So it is to sit and to balance things
To and to and to the point of still,
To say of one mask it is like,
To say of another it is like,
To know that the balance does not quite rest,
That the mask is strange, however like."
The shapes are wrong and the sounds are false.
The bells are the bellowing of bulls.
Yet Franciscan don was never more
Himself than in this fertile glass.
from The Man with the Blue Guitar, 1937
[All rights reserved by the author's estate - Please do not copy]