: A Pushcart at the Curb by Dos Passos John - Poetry

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WINTER IN CASTILE 13

NIGHTS AT BASSANO 65

VAGONES DE TERCERA 109

QUAI DE LA TOURNELLE 139

ON FOREIGN TRAVEL 163

PHASES OF THE MOON 185

WINTER IN CASTILE

The promiscuous wind wafts idly from the quays A smell of ships and curious woods and casks And a sweetness from the gorse on the flowerstand And brushes with his cool careless cheek the cheeks Of those on the street; mine, an old gnarled man's, The powdered cheeks of the girl who with faded eyes Stands in the shadow; a sailor's scarred brown cheeks, And a little child's, who walks along whispering To her sufficient self. O promiscuous wind.

I

A long grey street with balconies. Above the gingercolored grocer's shop trail pink geraniums and further up a striped mattress hangs from a window and the little wooden cage of a goldfinch.

Four blind men wabble down the street with careful steps on the rounded cobbles scraping with violin and flute the interment of a tune.

People gather: women with market-baskets stuffed with green vegetables, men with blankets on their shoulders and brown sunwrinkled faces.

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