sliding shape has stirred them like a breath; Tall plumes surmount a painted mask of death. 

    WILD PEACHES 

   1 

   When the world turns completely upside down You say we'll emigrate to the Eastern Shore Aboard a river-boat from Baltimore; We'll live among wild peach trees, miles from town. You'll wear a coonskin cap, and I a gown Homespun, dyed butternut's dark gold color. Lost, like your lotus-eating ancestor, We'll swim in milk and honey till we drown. 

   The winter will be short, the summer long, The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot, Tasting of cider and of scuppernong; All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all. The squirrels in their silver fur will fall Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot. 

   2 

   The autumn frosts will lie upon the grass Like bloom on grapes of purple-brown and gold. The misted early mornings will be cold; The little puddles will be roofed with glass. The sun, which burns from copper into brass, Melts these at noon, and makes the boys unfold Their knitted mufflers; full as they can hold, Fat pockets dribble chestnuts as they pass. 

   Peaches grow wild, and pigs can live in clover; A barrel of salted herrings lasts a year; The spring begins before the winter's over. By February you may find the skins Of garter snakes and water moccasins Dwindled and harsh, dead-white and cloudy-clear. 

   3 

   When April pours the colors of a shell Upon the hills, when every little creek Is shot with silver from the Chesapeake In shoals new-minted by the ocean swell, When strawberries go begging, and the sleek Blue plums lie open to the blackbird's beak, We shall live well--we shall live very well. 

   The months between the cherries and the peaches Are brimming cornucopias which spill Fruits red and purple, somber-bloomed and black; Then, down rich fields and frosty river beaches We'll trample bright persimmons, while we kill Bronze partridge, speckled quail, and canvas-back. 

   4 

   Down to the Puritan marrow of my bones There's something in this richness that I hate. I love the look, austere, immaculate, Of landscapes drawn in pearly monotones. There's something in my 

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