Afternoon Tea with Olga Rudge
There is no internet connection.
All so long ago that house of shadows
in Venice. Time’s shadows like black velvet,
and hima wraith at the table.
I remember what?
Canals of green where Byron grandly swam.
Gay gondolas. And the walk to their house.
She gave the three of us tea and pastries,
and afterwards said: ‘You should listen to this!’
Ezra reading a sonnet of Shakespeare’s. And we did.
The Voice of Modernism but a few months silenced,
In that golden time grown dark
I remember my sense of surprise, for
I had not thought Old Ezra had cared much
for Avon’s sweetest swan.
There is no internet connection:
all so long ago.