Charles Randall Stanfield from a Bergamot Tree
Today I thought of him. I poured a cup
Of English tea and, as I poured, my mind
Did that strange thing that brains will do — filled up
With something unexpected. Life aligned
With beauty not related to the tea,
Its aromatic glossary. Within
The mind the fruit of some exotic tree
Expresses subtle tones like violin
Harmonics. These take over. Subtly they
Become Romanticism lusher than
The fragrant leaf infusion. They betray
The tea concoction and become the man
Himself, straight nose and head with curly hair,
As pure as Satan’s last unfallen prayer.