Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume III

The Garden at Dusk

He noticed the garden through the back door railings;

The gardener, on a ladder, was gathering fruit;

further away a girl with a basket had her eyes closed

and a book on her knees. At the far end the houses

looked rosy in the dusk. Only the kitchen window was

lighted. Someone from there called the girl. She got up.

The gardener felt so alone again, guilty, furtively happy,

since he had passed the whole garden under his arm

like a basket, hanging onto that internal voice that

deepened the whole evening; a basket full of leaves

and fruit  and the small golden knife among them.



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